When I moved back home to Washington, DC in August, 2012, I was unable to bring my two dogs with me. They stayed with Carl (my ex-husband) in Upstate Western New York. It was heart wrenching to leave them, but I knew they would be loved and well cared for. I am heartbroken to learn of the death of Annie, a precious stray bloodhound pup that came into our lives on July 21, 2011.
I am republishing two essays I wrote back then about Annie, the Bloodhound pup.
I am republishing two essays I wrote back then about Annie, the Bloodhound pup.
ESSAY 1: "The night we met Annie"
As I turned into the driveway that warm July evening, I noticed a brown figure trotting along the opposite side of the road. I wasn’t sure what the animal might be, but speculated it was likely a fawn. Upon exiting my teal blue minivan, I saw that the dark figure had crossed the street and was sitting in our yard. Gazing up at me was a lanky, brown, long eared, floppy jowled bloodhound.
I gasped at her gaunt, emaciated frame. She was all head and feet. Her hips and clavicle jutted out at sharp angles and her prominent ribs were practically bursting through her filthy thin skin. She was barely more than a walking skeleton, reminding me of the starving dogs in the SPCA ads.
She wasn’t wearing a collar and judging by her condition we guessed she had either been on her own a long time or escaped from an abusive owner. We gave her a much welcomed meal and a not so welcomed flea bath.
The next afternoon brought a trip to the vet for a microchip scan, an examination and series of necessary vaccines. They took pictures that will document her ‘before and after’ progress. We walked out of the vet’s office with a bag full of antibiotics, heartworm tablets, probiotics, a variety of other medications and a checkbook that was lighter by $250. Due to her malnourished condition the vet was unable to determine her age but guessed she was young and still had a lot of growing ahead of her.
Honey, our other dog, warmly received the stranger into her home and graciously shared her food, water, toys and chewies. It wasn't so long ago when Honey had been a hungry, homeless waif just like her new friend.
How fortunate we are this precious little gypsy that lumbered across the road and into our lives and hearts chose us for her family. I always heard once you name an animal they become a permanent part of your life, ready to give and receive loyalty and love.
"Welcome home, Annie."
As I turned into the driveway that warm July evening, I noticed a brown figure trotting along the opposite side of the road. I wasn’t sure what the animal might be, but speculated it was likely a fawn. Upon exiting my teal blue minivan, I saw that the dark figure had crossed the street and was sitting in our yard. Gazing up at me was a lanky, brown, long eared, floppy jowled bloodhound.
I gasped at her gaunt, emaciated frame. She was all head and feet. Her hips and clavicle jutted out at sharp angles and her prominent ribs were practically bursting through her filthy thin skin. She was barely more than a walking skeleton, reminding me of the starving dogs in the SPCA ads.
She wasn’t wearing a collar and judging by her condition we guessed she had either been on her own a long time or escaped from an abusive owner. We gave her a much welcomed meal and a not so welcomed flea bath.
The next afternoon brought a trip to the vet for a microchip scan, an examination and series of necessary vaccines. They took pictures that will document her ‘before and after’ progress. We walked out of the vet’s office with a bag full of antibiotics, heartworm tablets, probiotics, a variety of other medications and a checkbook that was lighter by $250. Due to her malnourished condition the vet was unable to determine her age but guessed she was young and still had a lot of growing ahead of her.
Honey, our other dog, warmly received the stranger into her home and graciously shared her food, water, toys and chewies. It wasn't so long ago when Honey had been a hungry, homeless waif just like her new friend.
How fortunate we are this precious little gypsy that lumbered across the road and into our lives and hearts chose us for her family. I always heard once you name an animal they become a permanent part of your life, ready to give and receive loyalty and love.
"Welcome home, Annie."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
ESSAY 2: "I Didn't Show Up Because the Puppy Ate My Calendar."
Annie, the emaciated bloodhound pup that appeared in our yard a few months ago, has grown. And grown. And grown. Her skeletal 40 pound frame has doubled, as well as her appetite. According to her breed description she will put on another 25 pounds and a few more inches.
One of the first things I quickly learned about bloodhounds is when they drink they immerse their entire head inside the water bowl. An apron is now part of my daily attire and I keep a kitchen towel close by for wiping her long, drenched ears and slobbery wet jowls.
The top two-thirds of our Christmas tree is decorated with twinkling white lights, pastel antique ornaments and glittering silver tinsel. The bottom third is bare. Annie apparently decided to redecorate the tree by swishing her enormous tail and knocking off the ornaments. She found a few appetizing, the others became toys.
Honey, our other rescue dog, gleefully lies back watching with that recognizable universal sibling smirk that says, “Boy, are you in trouble.”
I have learned a lot about dog training from Cesar Millan's TV show “The Dog Whisperer.” Cesar is all about positive reinforcement and praise. He also says in order to teach a dog not to do something is to catch them in the act and immediately correct the animal. Which explains why every room in our house has a prominently displayed air horn.
Granted, I tried to reason with Annie. I told her eating out of the kitchen trash bin is not ladylike. I told her barking is not polite, the living room coffee table is not a chew toy and that she is too big to sit in mommy’s lap. After she chewed up my datebook and shredded her bed I said Santa Claus is watching and if she wants to find rawhide chewies and squeaky toys under the tree Christmas morning she should stay off the "naughty" side of his list.
Alas. No amount of reasoning or stern lectures seemed to get through to her, which brings me back to the air horns.
This amazing little device has been indispensable as a dog training aide. When the first gargantuan brown paw touches the sofa, I grab the little blue can, press the red knob and...WHAAAAA! Furniture chewing? WHAAAAA! Barking? WHAAAAA!
Although her behavior is improving, I am still unable to break her from eating out of the kitchen trash bin. It seems her incessant, humongous appetite is immune to the air horn.
I am clueless about my December schedule. I will probably miss a few appointments and the trash can likely has a permanent home on the kitchen countertop. But this sweet, gentle giant with long floppy ears, way too much droopy skin, and soulful brown eyes brimming with love for her family brings joy to our home.
Watching her angelic, innocent snoozing beneath the undecorated bottom third of the Christmas tree gives me hope that she just might make the “nice” side of Santa’s list this Christmas after all.
Annie, the emaciated bloodhound pup that appeared in our yard a few months ago, has grown. And grown. And grown. Her skeletal 40 pound frame has doubled, as well as her appetite. According to her breed description she will put on another 25 pounds and a few more inches.
One of the first things I quickly learned about bloodhounds is when they drink they immerse their entire head inside the water bowl. An apron is now part of my daily attire and I keep a kitchen towel close by for wiping her long, drenched ears and slobbery wet jowls.
The top two-thirds of our Christmas tree is decorated with twinkling white lights, pastel antique ornaments and glittering silver tinsel. The bottom third is bare. Annie apparently decided to redecorate the tree by swishing her enormous tail and knocking off the ornaments. She found a few appetizing, the others became toys.
Honey, our other rescue dog, gleefully lies back watching with that recognizable universal sibling smirk that says, “Boy, are you in trouble.”
I have learned a lot about dog training from Cesar Millan's TV show “The Dog Whisperer.” Cesar is all about positive reinforcement and praise. He also says in order to teach a dog not to do something is to catch them in the act and immediately correct the animal. Which explains why every room in our house has a prominently displayed air horn.
Granted, I tried to reason with Annie. I told her eating out of the kitchen trash bin is not ladylike. I told her barking is not polite, the living room coffee table is not a chew toy and that she is too big to sit in mommy’s lap. After she chewed up my datebook and shredded her bed I said Santa Claus is watching and if she wants to find rawhide chewies and squeaky toys under the tree Christmas morning she should stay off the "naughty" side of his list.
Alas. No amount of reasoning or stern lectures seemed to get through to her, which brings me back to the air horns.
This amazing little device has been indispensable as a dog training aide. When the first gargantuan brown paw touches the sofa, I grab the little blue can, press the red knob and...WHAAAAA! Furniture chewing? WHAAAAA! Barking? WHAAAAA!
Although her behavior is improving, I am still unable to break her from eating out of the kitchen trash bin. It seems her incessant, humongous appetite is immune to the air horn.
I am clueless about my December schedule. I will probably miss a few appointments and the trash can likely has a permanent home on the kitchen countertop. But this sweet, gentle giant with long floppy ears, way too much droopy skin, and soulful brown eyes brimming with love for her family brings joy to our home.
Watching her angelic, innocent snoozing beneath the undecorated bottom third of the Christmas tree gives me hope that she just might make the “nice” side of Santa’s list this Christmas after all.
