Picking up from where I left off, my next stop was Long Island; the guy I was meeting there didn't give me very good directions, so I ended up driving about 200 blocks down Broadway before I got on the Long Island Expressway. I never wanted to drive in Manhattan, but once I did it, I kind of liked it; it's not much different than driving in Mexico or Central America. I got to Long Island to pick up Phoenix, a Lab/pit bull mix with a history of resource guarding and biting people who reached out at him to pet him; it's pretty normal dog 'stuff' and I didn't feel like it was severe enough to warrant me taking him, so I took him to the shelter in Warwick, with the understanding that if he does turn out to be non-adoptable by their standards, I would take him back. So far he's been doing well; he'll probably need knee surgery and he'll definitely need to lose some weight, but behaviorally he's been fairly good for them.
While I was in Warwick, I met Lana, the golden retriever; she was really fat and incredibly strong. I walked her around the outside of the shelter a little, and she dragged me all over the place. She didn't exhibit a lot of the behavioral issues I had been told about, but I did get a lip curl from her at one point. The story was that she always gave fair warning before biting, giving you plenty of time to react and not be injured, but that no one ever knew what was going to trigger an episode; one issue would be dealt with and another would take its place. I didn't take Lana that day, because I was going to be picking up a dog in Richmond, VA who was also going to Warwick, and there was no point in having her spend those extra days in the truck. So I left Warwick and went to New Jersey.
In New Jersey I picked up Lefty, a border collie/American Eskimo mix who had bitten his caregiver's mother fairly severely and had reportedly been getting increasingly difficult to deal with as time went by. Lefty was a victim of college stupidity - his caregiver's roommate, wanting to express his newfound freedom away from home, bought Lefty from a pet store, not bothering to do a little research, which would have taught him that a border collie is not a good first dog, and might be the most difficult breed to work with (border collies and pit bulls are the two most common breeds in my facility). Apparently, Lefty never got along with the guy that bought him, but liked the roommate, so he ended up being his dog instead. Unfortunately, even with far more dog experience, the guy in New Jersey wasn't able to deal with some of Lefty's behaviors, and had been trying to find placement for him for two years, with no luck. Lefty is another one that I think is highly adoptable, but he has been turned down by rescue groups after behavioral evaluations. I've seen some of the problem behaviors briefly, but the dog rides around in the cab of truck with me and four other dogs, I can give him commands and he responds appropriately, and I can pick him up or scruff him when I need to, so I'm not feeling like I have a particularly dangerous dog on my hands, but more about that later.
My next stop was Richmond, VA; a Germen shepherd names Zeus had supposedly bitten a four year old girl he lived with, and the father had called animal control to take the dog. Apparently he was brought into the shelter on a pole snare, as if he was some kind of vicious monster, but after a day or two, shelter staff began to think the dog was not as bad as advertised. The story was a little convoluted, but somehow a retired police canine officer took up Zeus' cause and emails began circulating about this perfectly good, well mannered, purebred dog that was scheduled to be put down, and eventually another city employee who had German shepherds got involved, along with her boyfriend, who had bred and trained the dogs for years before adopting a more ethical, animal welfare based approach. They originally contacted me when the dog had a day to live; I told them to board him somewhere and to have him neutered in the meantime. They were able to get him boarded at the vet's office where he was neutered, which worked out nicely. Unfortunately, when I arrived to take Zeus, he had such a severe inner ear infection that he could barely walk, and he had hip displasia; how this escaped the vet's attention is beyond me, because the dog was in terrible pain and was not healthy enough to travel. He had a painful episode when the vet tech was bringing him out of the kennel that morning, and they said they had never seen it before, slipped him a Rimidil for the pain, and sent him on his way. He had more pain as the next few days went by; I'm certain that the biting incident was related to his pain, nothing else. I'm also fairly certain that the dog was kicked around and severely neglected by the family that turned him over to Animal Control to be killed. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of person cares so little for a dog that he calls Animal Control to pick the animal up, rather than driving the dog to the shelter himself.
I took the next day and went to North and South Carolina, thereby visiting two of the last three states on my list; from there I went back to Virginia, and did a consultation in Fredericksburg with a couple whose pit bull mix had killed one of their other dogs. I explained some safety rules that they should follow, including keeping her separated from their two remaining dogs at all times, with two locked doors or gates between them. The dog is on my waiting list, and if a space opens up she may come to Washington at some point.
The next day I met my friend Jen near Washington, DC, who I hadn't seen in ten or twelve years. Jen is in charge of the State Department's armored vehicle fleet, and used to work Colin Powell's security detail, which took her to dozens of countries. I'm a little jealous of the travel part, although the government tours don't sound as fun as the stuff I do when I go abroad. It was good to catch up and hearing about government work is always interesting, even if there was a lot she wasn't able to tell me about, due to it being classified.
I returned to Warwick and dropped of Zeus; he'll have a long road ahead of him, but because medical rehabilitation is part of the Warwick shelter's specific mission, I believe he's in good hands and will make a great companion for someone. I spent some time at the shelter, walking Lana and talking with the staff. Some of the staff members were interested in Lefty, who was in his crate in the back of the truck; they began talking sweetly to him, to which he responded by snarling. So I guess there are some behavioral issues, they just aren't ever directed at me. That's one of the toughest things for me - I rarely see the unwanted behaviors, at least not to the degree that they've been described to me. For me, Lefty, Malaki, and Max are practically angels, but in someone else's hands I have no idea what they would be like. Certainly there are people that could adopt them, but finding them is the hard part.
Lana, who the staff had been calling "Beauty", had never been in a crate before, and due to her questionable history with other dogs and her reportedly unpredictable behavior, I wasn't comfortable having her in the cab. The staff was trying to get her into the crate, and she simply would not go in. They suggested putting the crate on the ground, but I pointed out that I was going to have to put her in and out of it quite a bit without their help over the next week or so. After trying treats, to which she responded by snarling and trying to intimidate them into giving her the whole bag, they opted to let me put her in on my own, which I did within seconds of them walking away. Now she goes in on her own, and always waits until her leash is on before she comes barreling out. As far as her name, we don't want to use Lana, in case she has negative associations with that name as a result of her abuse, but I already have a dog named Precious and I'm not about to have one named Beauty; when the shelter staff described her behavior as seeming to be a result of multiple personalities, I immediately thought of Shirley McClain for some reason, so I've been calling her Shirley. I don't think Shirley has dissociative disorder - I've only seen one personality, and it's a dog that's been through something horrific and still loves people. I've had a few resource guarding incidents with her, and she definitely distrusts other dogs to a certain extent, but from what I can tell, there's nothing more severe going on than some post traumatic stress and some bad habits.
I left Warwick and headed southwest, passing through Pennsylvania Amish country and through Punxsatawney, where the annual Groundhog Day celebration is held. There were certainly a lot of dead groundhogs along the roadside. I didn't go to Gobbler's Knob; instead I just laughed at the name. I passed through West Virginia, the last state I hadn't visited, so I've now been to all fifty states. I went through Kentucky, Tennessee, and spent the night in Little Rock. The next day I went through Oklahoma, where my paternal grandfather was reportedly purchased from an Indian reservation; I wanted to stay and do some research, and try to figure out what tribe he came from, or if the story is true at all, but I didn't have time on this trip. I'll have to uncover my roots some other time.
I crossed the Texas panhandle and saw the biggest cross in the western hemisphere; I wanted to congratulate the person responsible for completely missing the point of the very thing he cared most about, but I didn't feel like stopping, even if the billboard promised the spiritual experience of a lifetime. I guess living in Israel wasn't it.
In New Mexico, between Albuquerque and Gallup, I think I saw a dead dog every mile. On the way up 89 between Flagstaff, AZ and Page, I saw a pack of dogs eating a horse. The Navajo Nation is a mess on so many levels - they are the poorest people in the country, they have the highest unemployment rate, only 30% of homes have plumbing, and of course, their animal welfare is abysmal. Like other reservations, it's very difficult for animal welfare and human services organizations to get access, and the result is right in front of the face of anyone passing through. I can only imagine the horrors that longtime residents witness.
I spent the following day at Best Friends; it's important to see other facilities and get ideas from other people in the field, and everyone at Best Friends has been very supportive. I was able to see virtually all of the dog facility, and spent some time with a few of the Michael Vick dogs, who reminded me of some of my own. I left Best Friends feeling good about my own facility and the work I'm doing, having found people with similar philosophies to my own; it turns out I'm not crazy, and what I do really is as simple as I think it is.
Olympic Animal Sanctuary is approaching a crossroads, and we either have to start getting into adoptions, or we need to start only taking wolf-dogs and dogs that are non-adoptable due to court order. I'm leaning toward the latter, only because I have so few adoption resources available. Best Friends has 500 dogs and thousands of volunteers they can use as Guinea pigs to determine whether or not a dog can go out into the real world again; I don't have the same luxuries. I'm limited in the number of dogs I can take, but so is Best Friends; they have so many difficult to place dogs that their adoption rate is quite low. Trying to find someone qualified to adopt a dog with special needs is especially hard, not because the people don't exist, but because they already have more animals than they probably should. It's easy to hold Best Friends up as the ultimate no-kill group, and what we should all be aspiring to, but the truth is that despite their millions of dollars, thousands of acres, and dozens of qualified staff members, they're struggling just like the rest of us. They have a goal of a ratio of one staff member for every eight dogs, and they're nowhere near achieving it; they've downsized their number of dogs from around 700 to 500, and the more tough cases they get, the lower the percentage of animals that can realistically be placed in homes. They do great work, and they're doing a wonderful job, but it's also comforting to see that they aren't perfect, that there are areas where they need improvement, and that like all of us, they have a long way to go.
I left Best Friends and drove through Zion National Park, where I had an irritating conversation with a ranger about the difference between a commercial vehicle and a non-commercial vehicle owned by a nonprofit organization. Commercial traffic is not allowed in National Parks, but a nonprofit organization is non-commercial by definition, a point that far too many people seem not to understand. The fact is, if I was driving a company car on a business trip and decided to go through a National Park, no one would even question it, but technically, it would be a violation of park regulations. Yet, if I take a side trip through a park in a vehicle with a logo on the door, that also has the words "NON-COMMERCIAL VEHICLE" printed on it, I will occasionally be hassled by rangers who don't know what the hell they're talking about. I know it makes sense that a guy who sits in a booth and sells tickets all day would know more about business designations than someone who runs a nonprofit organization, but in this case, it happens not to be true. Regardless, Zion is worth seeing, and I recommend at least driving through if you're ever taking I-15 through Utah.
I arrived in California yesterday afternoon, after dealing with a lot of traffic west of Vegas. The wind was blowing hard from Utah all the way to the coast; I've been in almost every imaginable kind of weather on this trip: blizzards, white-outs, torrential rain, ice storms, severe winds, sand storms, and a new one for me, a sand mixed with snow storm. I've also had my share of pleasant, sunny days, which apparently can't be said for Forks, where I've been told it is still the dead of winter. Hopefully spring will arrive before I do.
I have two more dogs to pick up, a few friends to see, and I'll be on my way. I'm ready to get home, even if the hotel beds are more comfortable than the rollaway I'm sleeping on in the kennel. But at least I have a good TV.
I'll post pictures in the next day or two - they're just more shots from a moving truck, but you might as well see the country the way I've been seeing it.
