Little Pup Lodge

How perfect is the name Lori Katz for a dog trainer? I first met her about eight years ago when she came out to give me some tips with the newly adopted Oliver. Her business, Kindred Spirit, continued to grow for two reasons: Katz consistently gave back to the community and she’s a damn good dog trainer.

  Peaches.

Katz has worked with some of the guests here at Little Pup Lodge. Since we have a zero-tolerance policy about aggressive behavior, even subtle signs are cause for concern. One guest did fine with some guidance from Kindred Spirit. The second, one of my favorite kids who had been coming forever, did not fare so well. Over the months, she had developed more territorial behavior around the Lodge, especially towards other female dogs. With a heavy heart, Lori and I agreed that her behavior could cause problems in the future. I miss that little girl terribly as she was funny and sweet most of the time.

Most recently, Katz worked with my next-door neighbor Laurie, a chiropractor who also happens to be my sister-in-law. Laurie recently adopted Peaches, a border collie mix with some issues. Primarily, Peaches gets a little unglued at the sight of another dog. Since the Little Pup Lodge guests take their noon walk through her property to reach the meadow beyond, Laurie’s problem became mine.

While both Laurie and I struggled and failed to teach Peaches and Oliver to walk comfortably side by side, hoping to work up to all the dogs eventually, Katz succeeded in about 15 minutes. She gave us a ton of information, but I realized Katz also had something that both Laurie and I would have to work hard to develop—Command Presence, as police officers call it. She didn’t speak harshly, loudly, or all lovey dovey, just confidently.

Along with the importance of naps, play time and living in the moment, our dogs have yet another lesson to impart.

‘Tis the season to be dreary. If you’re a dog person, that is. Millions of kids look forward to summer as a time of fun, freedom and adventure. Here at Little Pup Lodge? We steel ourselves for a few miserable months of heat, fleas, foxtails and, our favorite fair weather friend, the tick.
You sure you got enough to eat?
 

Ticks have moved from being a mere nuisance to Public Health Enemy Number One in just a few decades, primarily because of Lyme Disease. The nasty little parasite has so much more to offer, however, especially when it comes to our puppy dogs. Besides Lyme, our babies could be felled by Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Babesiosis, ehrlichiosis, anaplasmosis, hepatozoonosis or tick paralysis. The good news is these diseases may not be as prevalent in California as we fear. The bad news is one of those rare cases may be your dog.

  Fur. Skin. Tick. Bad combo.

The symptoms for all but the tick paralysis are maddeningly similar to a hundred other pathologies—diarrhea, appetite loss, vomiting and lethargy. Tick paralysis? The main symptom is a little easier to recognize; your dog is paralyzed.

Not an insect, an arachnid!
 
Depending on the disease and whose research you trust, the tick can infect its host within four to 72 hours. Prevention is easy—don’t let the blood-sucking bastards get a toe hold (or head hold, as the case may be) in your beloved dog. We check the guests at Little Pup Lodge every day, particularly after our noon walk around the property. We avoid trails and wooded areas from April until November, preferring to stick to nicely manicured parks and sandy beaches.

If one of them does find its way on to a guest, we use the Tick Twister, the best tool I’ve seen for tick removal. Then we send said vermin off on a nice ocean cruise via the toilet.

 

Bessie wasn’t with us long—nine days, to be exact. She was my first hospice case with CAPE (Center for Animal Protection and Education), a wonderful rescue group that saves dogs and various creatures others have written off. She looked like a rat terrier with a little Sudanese famine victim mixed in. I thought Candi, the last foster was underweight, but she had nothing on this one. Skin and bones, that was Bessie.

Bessie was found wandering around the ubër-rich Pebble Beach neighborhood; very old, blind, deaf and starved. The theory is someone dumped her there, figuring a wealthy person would save her. Peace of Mind Dog Rescue took Bessie in and when they realized her time was limited, contacted CAPE because of their hospice program.

 

There isn’t a lot to say about Bessie, since we only knew her a little over a week. Bessie slept 90 percent of the time, but did seem to enjoy her short explorations around the back yard.

With people, hospice care means you stay with the patient until he or she dies. But with animals, it is up to us to decide when they die. Did we wait too long? Or, did we pull the plug too soon because we, not they, were uncomfortable? In Bessie’s case, I knew without a doubt she was ready. Bessie rested in my arms while Dr. Tackabury sedated her, then gave her the injection. It was a peaceful transition. We brought Bessie home and buried her under the wisteria next to Tex and Lacy.

I like to believe sweet Bessie is bounding around doggy heaven now, once again young and full of life. If I had it my way, no dog would ever die alone. But at least Bessie didn’t.

Our elderly Chihuahua foster that hovered near death from starvation made a remarkable comeback in the three months she was with us. Candi once gained a little over a pound, which moved her status from emaciated to a-little-too-slender. Her eyes became clearer, her walk steadier and her poops healthier (yeah, we’re as bad as new moms, convinced everyone will find the analysis of our toddler’s bowel movements as fascinating as we do.)
Gimme some tongue!


The sweet girl needed a more appropriate foster environment. Candi took an enormous amount of time and energy to monitor, feed, medicate, clean up after and worry over. It was an ego-puncture, admitting that I could not keep it up indefinitely. After I hung my Superwoman cape up in the closet, I called the rescue group’s foster coordinator and told her the situation. Within a few days, Candi moved in with her new foster mom, a nice woman who did not have to split her attention among 5 or 6 other dogs all day.

For one whole day, I got to enjoy an office that did not reek of Candi pee. Although the floors were covered in large pads, Candi never quite got the aim down. Then I got an email about a dog needing hospice care. But, that is another story for another time.

Chance made me a better person. People often say that about their own dog, but Chance is a neighbor. You know those blind spots you have about your personality? I had a couple. I would stick my nose where it didn’t belong and then fly into a rage when that business was not conducted as it should be. These two dysfunctional missiles tended to intersect and explode whenever dogs were concerned.

  Chance on the left, O.G. on the right.

A few years ago this scruffy terrier and his buddy, a big mastiff, showed up on our property. We were able to grab the terrier and read his ID tag, which gave us his name­–Chance–and owners’ phone number. The two belonged to the people who lived across the road from us. It’s a country road, but don’t tell that to the Silicon Valley commuters who whip by at 50, 60 miles an hour. I didn’t know these neighbors, so we got to meet when I returned their dogs and let them know I was concerned about the pups crossing the road to our place.

Then the dogs showed up again. Missiles loaded and at Defcon 6, I went back over and screamed, I mean screamed, at the owners about how generally awful people they were to not watch their dogs better. As St. Paul might say, that was the Damascus moment. Who was this person? I asked myself. And, why was she so angry? According to an essay in Malcolm Gladwell’s marvelous book “Blink,” smiling could improve one’s mood. So I began to smile. Not now and then, but as often as I could remember. That facial expression felt so foreign that I was sure others mistook me for a Moonie.

It worked, however. The anger gradually disappeared, replaced instead by a general sense of contentment and well-being. And, yeah, it really was that simple–not therapy, not religion–just kept the corners of my mouth up. Apologies made and fences mended, Chance became a paying guest when his folks were out of town. He still drops by without an invite, but he fords a nearby creek instead of crossing the road. Chance is always welcome, given what he’s done for me.

It is with both love and a heavy heart that I dedicate this Dog O' the Day to Beau. Beau's a frequent guest of Little Pup Lodge, though he has not been here for awhile. A poodle, he’s a little white fluff ball who loves his car rides. Beau’s favorite place to sit is above the dashboard but, alas, the CHP would look unkindly on this personal quirk. He cuddles so closely with me at night that I like to think of him as a furry heating pad.  

  Beau in his Santa outfit.

I ran into Beau’s mom today at Whole Foods and was shocked to hear that Beau has cancer and has been on chemotherapy for the last seven weeks. His mom said the oncologist is hopeful, so we will find a light in this dark time by making a choice to believe him.
Beau's family.

Some dogs are fun. Others are funny. A few, like Candy, are both. She runs into the Little Pup Lodge, ready to tear it up with the rest of the gang. Give her a ball and the little Pomeranian-mix dances in circles with excitement. Actually, many things can get her to dance in circles: treats, the sight of a leash, her mom showing up.

  I look quite serious here, but I'm really pretty happy.

Why are dancing dogs so charming? They’ve been a staple of circus acts since forever. They look human, I suppose, up on two legs like that. Candy has yet another distinguishing feature – she always looks happy. That particular feature? Not so human.
No, really!  You should see my happy face!

Most Little Pup Lodge guests board here anywhere from a few days to several weeks. Aston, on the other hand, comes for daily pet-sitting Monday through Friday. He is quite the little gentleman, very quiet and well-behaved. Aston gets a lot of attention on the street for his exotic looks and keeps people guessing at his breed. No one knows for sure, of course, since his very lucky mom rescued him from the local shelter. Suggestions have included King Charles spaniel, border collie and Australian Shepherd. Then his mom found a photo of an old French painting and dang if it wasn’t Aston’s spitting image. Perhaps it was his great-great-great-great grandfather.
Parlez vous chien?
 

Although young and healthy, Aston did give his mom and us a big scare after he had a couple of seizures. Dr. Evelyn Sharp, his veterinarian, took him under her wing. Clients pay her a monthly membership fee for in-home comprehensive vet services. Aston hasn’t had any more seizures, so whatever his mom and the vet are doing must be working.
  Aston and mom.

Sometimes a name fits the dog like a glove. For example, Wookie. She has one of those faces you look at and just gotta laugh. I mean that in the most complimentary way possible, of course. With an underbite to rival Chewbacca himself, Miss Wookie has everything she needs to get at least a small part in the next Star Wars movie. (Get it? Small dog? Small part? never mind.)

  Orthodontia? Moi?

Wookie is more than just another pretty face. She runs the other guests at Little Pup Lodge ragged with her boundless energy and play demands. The little terrier mix is still young­­—two years old—and hasn’t found a human or canine she doesn’t love. Wookie’s separation anxiety with her first pet-sitting experience here lasted about three minutes, until she realized this was not a dog boarding place but summer camp for the four-legged children. Like many of my guests, Wookie was adopted from a local shelter by her very nice parents. Indeed, if you are looking  for diamonds, the shelter is a good place to start.
As Wookie says: Lick it or leave it!

Sadie has vacationed with us for at least a year. Not all at once, of course, but a day here, a couple of overnights there. She looks like an Italian Greyhound with a skosh of Min-Pin thrown in for good measure.
 Sexy Sadie
 

Sadie did not like her first time at Little Pup Lodge. Or her second. Or her third, for that matter. Her story’s not unusual for the timid ones when faced with a new dog boarding experience. The poor little girl cowered in a corner, convinced her mom and dad would never return. As Sadie gradually realized she would not be abandoned, she began to relax and enjoy the company of the other guests. Turns out that Sadie loves go running with her dad, which made her a perfect companion for my jogging forays around Land of Medicine Buddha or towards New Brighton Beach. No lions or tigers or bears, oh no. Not with my trusty little sidekick.

Fresh from the North Pole, our latest Little Pup Lodge guest arrived super-volumed with PPI (Play Per Inch). Actually, Mirka came by way of Scotts Valley, but since she’s a Toy Eskimo dog, somewhere cold and snowy sounded better. While more than a few of those that show up for dog boarding are initially frightened and confused, not Mirka. Give her a ball and a place to run and she’s in heaven.
Mirka - will work for tummy rubs
 

Mirka weighs only 10 pounds, but the dandelion fluff of fur coat makes her look about double that. I haven’t figured out what she does during heat spells. Maybe her folks give her a full-body Brazilian?

While Kim Kardashian (and that 72-day marriage that earned her 19 million bucks) represents one facet of God-fearing family values, I prefer my friend Kimberly’s grasp of the concept. Her son Trevor wanted to celebrate his eighth birthday at Hooters so off they went. Not to be outdone, his sister asked to celebrate her 15^th birthday at a drag-queen cabaret. Last Friday Carly Jeanne, her mom and a few assorted friends went to Diva Night at San Diego’s Lips, which bills itself as “The Ultimate in Drag Dining.” A marvelous time was had by all.
My, they grow up fast...
 

Carly Jeanne and her brother may be two of the sanest young people I know. Part of that is from necessity; the father died when they were children, their mother’s battle with lung cancer; but they are mostly a testament to being raised with true family values. Work hard, understand that failure and disappointment is part of life, tell the truth and be kind.

Why let the protesters in Oakland and Wall Street have all the fun? Dog lovers want Big Brother’s giant foot (as well as leashes), off their dogs’ necks and have decided to take a stand as well. Hence, Doccupy Santa Cruz. A few dozen folks and their dogs gathered at my once-favorite beach with howls of protest, demanding just a few lousy yards of beach to let their dogs run free.

 

Not that there was anyone to actually protest to, nor was there a sit-in, riot police or tear gas. Buda the pug’s mom Rebecca pulled the event together in just a few days. Brian, Dave and a few others spoke, email addresses were collected and Live Oak Beach Club’s Facebook page suddenly got a lot more “like” hits. As Norma Rae taught us, there is power in organizing.

The latest foster dog to arrive at Little Pup Lodge has had a rough time of it since being here. Candi showed up emaciated and no matter how much she ate she continued to lose weight. The ancient Chihuahua would have been fine at 6 or 7 lbs., but came to us at 4 lbs. and dropping. Candi had her blood drawn, an ultrasound and x-rays. Turns out her intestinal wall had thickened, making it impossible to absorb nutrients.

 

The prescribed regimen of pills and shots did not work. Candi got weaker, more listless, lethargic. Already skin and bones, she somehow shrunk even more. The question loomed: Is it time to let her go? I saw a dog slowly starving to death and said yes.

 

Prepared for the inevitable, we returned to the vet for that final injection. It didn’t happen. Dr. Burtch had another regimen she wanted to try. I would have refused if this amazing internist did not have the reputation she did for both skill and honesty. Also, I tend to want to pull the plug too fast because I can’t stand the thought of an animal suffering. Or a human for that matter, but at least they can tell you.

We now wait another five to seven days and see if this works. Keep your paws crossed.

Trouble in the ‘Hood

Years ago, we’re talking the mid-‘80s, San Diego decided to “revitalize” downtown, i.e. get rid of the pushers, bums and hookers. It worked; the gritty urban landscape transformed into a vibrant destination for shopping, dining and nightlife. However, those pesky problems it displaced had to go somewhere. Eventually, hookers were pushed as far north as Encinitas, a quiet little surf village with surprisingly few johns.

But they love dogs!!


Me and my dogs, we feel like those hookers as the anti-dog forces push us further and further south for some beach time. It started with a front-page article in the local paper; Animal Control would now crack down on off-leash dogs frolicking at the 20^th Street beach—my beach—and Soquel’s Blue Balls park—my park. That was the bad news. The good news was that it galvanized the Live Oak Beach Club into action. A bunch of dog owners created LOBC last summer in order to problem-solve how to keep the heat off us. We picked up trash and handed out doggie bags to the swarms of tourists that crowded the beach from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Then winter came and the crisis passed, until now.

Next stop for a dog-friendly beach: Tierra del Fuego.
 

LOBC has some politically savvy folks in it who put together a petition to allow off-leash privileges in the am and pm. They also contacted the supervisor and shot letters to the editor. Then more bad news. The opposition rose up put their own petition online to block off-leash access.

The pups and I despise conflict so we drove (I drove, not them) further south to Seascape, another informally off-leash beach. We were in the middle of nowhere when a sheriff’s deputy comes trudging across the sand towards me. She was quite nice and apologetic, but said a neighbor called the office to complain and, yes, we had to leash up. Since it’s a 45-minute drive, we will probably only do it once a week, but next stop? Carmel. In the meantime, I will enjoy the online entertainment of Petition Death Match.

 

 

Candi is a very, very senior dog and cadaverously underweight. Probably on the shady side of 17 years, she is toothless, practically blind from cataracts, deaf and not too terribly spry. I saw her picture on the web, read about all her health problems and said to myself, that’s my next foster. A wonderful organization, Peace of Mind Dog Rescue, saved the half-starved Chihuahua from euthanasia. POMDR tends to rescue and re-home dogs whose humans can no longer care for them due to illness, death or other challenging circumstances. Candi was not one of those cases however. Candi was dumped in the night drop box at Monterey County Animal Services. On Christmas week. Fortunately, POMDR also rescues senior dogs from the shelter.

 

It seems I spend too much time bitching about how wretched people are so I have to try really hard to look for the bright side of humanity when I hear these stories. The bright side is that somebody at least cared enough to drop Candi at the shelter rather than just let her out of the car in some unfamiliar neighborhood and hope for the best. The other bright side is that for every calloused human soul out there, I have to believe the Universe balances it out with people like POMDR’s founder, Carie Broecker, and all her volunteers.
      

Years ago, my brother told me about his special holiday gift to the universe, It is the same one he gives every year. Around mid-November, Jim moves slower, gets nicer and forgives all: enraged drivers, bitchy shoppers and the many other humans whose own personal “Alien” seems to rip from their chest this time of year to wreak havoc on those nearby.

        Jimbo.       

As a spiritual practice, it is one of the harder ones to adopt. Although relatively unruffled by a herd of yapping Chihuahuas, the gimme-gimme screams of tots can drive me nearly homicidal. But, like Jimbo, I try to smile a little more, complain a little less and count my blessings. Perhaps we should all remember the lines to that wonderful Christmas song by Tupac (or was it Notorious B.I.G.?): Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.

Once a doggy's size drops below five pounds, gender means nothing. It's still important to them, no doubt, but not to those of us who like to indulge our inner fashionista. Poor O.G. has been reduced to a furry Barbie doll as we tart him up in one outfit after another.

  Boys Don't Cry.

The chilly days, a huge supply of tiny-dog togs and the holiday spirit have merged into a perfect storm of “let’s-play-dress-up,” which O.G. has succumbed to with little argument.

 
Crappy photography, but cute outfit. Really.

If truth be known, the old Maltese doesn’t have a whole lot of personality dazzlers left in his repertoire. He just wants a warm lap to occupy and a stuffed toy to hump now and then. But, O.G. will wear anything with a minimum of humiliation. The Little Pup Lodge wardrobe is heavy on pink so he often looks like a mascot for the Susan G. Komen folks. People who meet him often refer to O.G. as “she” and we usually don’t bother to correct them. Given that O.G. is short for Original Gangster, we’re lucky he doesn’t cap us fools for dissin' him so. Barbara Billingsley isn't the only middle-age white lady who can speak jive. She just does it better.

Lessons from dogs, Number 241: A friend is a friend indeed. To maintain a friendship throughout one’s lifetime, even part of a lifetime, is difficult. To maintain one without serious arguments, long periods of angry non-communication or a couple of seething resentments may be nearly impossible. Unless you are a dog.

 

Two couples have guested here at the Lodge for the past few days; Gunner & Midgee, and Sadie & Buster. They are not romantically or genetically linked but live in companionable peace with each other. Midgee, the Yorkie, licks Gunner’s eyes and face clean every morning without fail. Sadie periodically performs the same routine for Buster. All four will become troubled, quite troubled, when they lose sight of their buddy.

 

Several years ago a book was published; The Friend That Got Away, a collection of essays about women’s friendships that “blew up, burned out or faded away,” to paraphrase its subtitle. I did not read it. I didn’t want to since I had recently lost one of my closest friends, someone I’d known for almost 25 years. It was over a family issue and now we say nothing more than hello to each other when we cross paths.

 

I’m a little envious of the two pairs of friends visiting here. Any disagreements they have last about a half-second, just long enough to growl a warning about some boundary being disregarded. If only human relationships could be so simple.

 

The Chihuahua breed may or may not have originated in Mexico. It may have actually had its roots in China. Then again, the present day Chihuahua may be a combination of both continents’ genes. The only thing not in doubt is that the little hairless creatures get damned cold outside when the temperature drops. Although the thermometer read 39 degrees this morning, those two Chihuahuas from last year were once again shivering outside of Peet’s when I stopped in for my java fix.
One of the two very chilly dogs.

The pair comes with their dad, who sits inside to drink coffee and chat. The summers are fine, but the same thing happened last winter. Not sure how to handle it back then, I finally gave one of my doggie coats to the guy and mentioned I was a bit concerned about his dogs out there in the cold. He thanked me and that was the last I saw of the jacket.

Wintertime is here again. The dogs look very cold and miserable and, as usual, I want to rip the guy’s clothes off and leash him to the outside rail. I am presently enrolled in advanced studies on how to mind my own business. This situation is none of my business, but I somehow think it ought to be.