RescueMe Documentary Keep Your Pet

Dog Dharma
Six dogs romp in the back yard. Three are officially ours, registered in our name. The others just think they are. Over the past year and a half, more than 50 dogs have transitioned in our back yard. Some have stayed a few days, others stayed longer, as long as it took for them to find a home of their own.

In Buddhism, the word dharma refers to understandings, truths discovered and taught by the Buddha that guides us on our path to enlightenment. Dog Dharma is just a variation. It comes in many forms: purebred, mixed breed, long or short hair, small, medium and large. According to my Buddhist Monk friend, “We are to treat animals as equal living beings, deserving of our love, compassion, protection and prayers. If we relate to them in this way we can learn a lot and make their lives easier and more enjoyable.”

For many years, it was just the three of us, me, my daughter and our gentle, smooth collie, Keni. A perfect “starter” dog, Keni never barked too much, always did his business outside and never chewed up anything that wasn’t his. A “pet quality” purebred, Keni remains our trusted companion, a perfect listener and a gentle herder of children, cats, and ducks. He’s family.

Because we love dogs, but didn’t want to add any permanent ones to our home, my daughter and I signed up as a foster family for the local animal shelter. A few days later, we got our first call.

A mostly Schnauzer mother dog and two puppies had been confiscated from a puppy mill. Mom was stressed, she wasn’t nursing. They just needed a week, maybe two, three at the most, to recover and be ready for adoption. That afternoon, I loaded the little family into the back of my car, brought them home and set them up in our guest room. We expected to have some puppy fun, do a good deed, and move on. That was not to be. The mother, Gracie, seemed almost bored with the pups. She wouldn’t nurse unless we held her down, scratched her under the chin and ears and cooed. Still, soon she would be up, wagging, wanting to play. We supplemented with puppy formula. On the second night, around midnight, the tiniest puppy, Doc began yowling and drooling with the ravages of distemper. He later died. We had to hold her down and pet her. We turned all our spare attention to the other pup, now named Cowgirl. We loaded her with nutritious organic puppy food mixed with Echinacea and vitamins and sprayed Colloidal Silver into her tiny little mouth twice a day. She never got sick and she never left our house. Cowgirl, our meant for the circus, what the heck kind of mix is she, trash scrounger, heel nipper, food stealer, keep her away from the Brie, dog.

Our collection of foster dogs has had representatives of almost every canine breed, and each has had their own story:

Rick’s namesake called late one afternoon and between sips of beer said there was a "hurt pup" in his field, the pit bulls had got him. Rick, a gentlemanly red chow mix puppy, had been dumped in a field full of other dumped dogs. Now he lives with a cat and two kids and his name is "Boots."

Dandy Lion, a stately purebred collie, held his head high as it to convey that by some mistake, perhaps a wrong turn, or one poor decision, he had ended up in the local animal shelter. I learned his owners had been called and were on the way. Three days later, Thanksgiving eve, and the owners still hadn’t arrived. Dandy was scheduled for euthanasia the next morning and I was scheduled to be on an airplane. Dandy found holiday accommodations with an older man who had recently lost his wife of 50 years and had no one to spend the holiday with. When we returned for Dandy three days later, the two were fast friends. Dandy couldn’t stay, as the man had health problems, but he went on to his forever-home six months later. His new home includes three kids, two rats and a cat. His new name is "Boscoe."

Silkie was next. A Dachshund/Labrador mix (yes, really), she arrived with tufts of hair sprouting all over and had recently had puppies. Then there was Ramona, a shy rat terrier, Finley, a purebred Aussie, Hank, a purebred schnauzer and his friend, Penny, a tiny fluffy mix. Pill and Treena were rescued from the shelter where their owner brought them and 50 other dogs that had been in his care. He claimed he'd just look out there and there would be more of them. Freddie, Vern, Bear, Rocket, Daisy, Blue, Cowboy and Penny Jr. were puppies no one wanted. Annie had heartworms. Bogart, Lulu, Gordon, Sunny, and Suzanne were lost and never found. How many is that?

Freebee, a happy poodle mix, ended up at the shelter when her guardian died. Now she lives in an assisted living center where she spends her days with her new adoptive “mom” and her evenings tending to the Alzheimer patients.

In his former life, Austin moved in the vicious world of the dog fighters. He was a bait dog and arrived at the shelter with half of his muzzle torn off, his eyes and ears infected and his tail wagging. Now, he has his own website.

Fats Domino, a 110-pound, brown chubby mixed breed was a shelter staff favorite who ignored by potential adopters. The shelter begged me to take him and I did. His behavior was superb, but his appearance and constant gas worked against him. A diet of yogurt and good food cured him of the gas. Though Fats loved to chase tennis balls and go for walks, he didn’t drop a pound. During his time with us, Fats was responsible for the disappearance of a pound cake, a bag of tortillas, a box of croissants and a left over pizza. He moved into his new home, four months after arriving in mine. He enjoys twice-daily walks and he and his owner have each dropped twenty pounds.

Rio was adopted from the shelter and then abandoned by his person. In his new home, he gets a daily jog and enjoys supervised swims in the backyard pool.

Courage and her five pups came to our house from my daughter’s summer camp when the season was over and they had nowhere to go. The campers sent her with the $200 they raised for shots and heartworm treatment by selling handmade bracelets.

These dogs were lost and never found, given up or no longer wanted. Now, all have families of their own. All carry the message of dog dharma with them, reminding people that animals aren’t disposable.

There are many reasons people want to get rid of their dogs. I’ve heard most of them: We’re having a baby. We have to move. My boyfriend doesn't like him. We're getting divorced. She chases the cat. The cat chases her. She barks at the neighbors. He marks on the patio furniture. She chews on my couch. He jumps the fence. He stares at me funny. The food's too expensive. I can't find any place in (fill in the name of your favorite city) that would rent to dogs. She won't breed any more. She won't herd the stock. He has worms. She's pregnant. She doesn’t match our new couch.

I'm sure Silkie's previous person didn't like her habit of gathering up all the stuffed animals in little piles and “mothering” them, but we thought it was pretty sweet and found her some of her very own. Maybe Finley's previous person didn't like his constant licking, but here he learned he could be petted without being annoying.

Some of them have funny tricks and behaviors that had to have come from someone who loved them in their former home. Bandit, a wirehaired dachshund mix, was in foster care for almost a year before he found a home. Potential adopters were worried about bringing an eight-year-old dog into their home. When Bandit had anyone’s full attention, he would sit up on his haunches and clap his paws together like a little seal. This endearing trick won the heart of his family. Bandit taught us the joys of fostering an older dog. It was good timing, because it wasn’t long after Bandit left that Molly arrived.

Molly, a.k.a. "Grand Old Dame", an arthritic, pigeon toed, 14-year old Labrador retriever was dropped off at my house one day. She had a bad wound on her back, a yeast infection, and smelled like mildew. Now, she’s stately and loud mouthed, Queen of her futon. I didn’t even try to find her a new home; she decided pretty quickly that she wanted to stay with us. Now, she greets me at the door with a teddy bear gripped between her few remaining teeth. Sometimes when it's quiet, she starts barking at nothing in particular like an old codger who just remembered a good story. She’s now dog number three.

When you work with street dogs, you see it all. Some of what I’ve seen, I’d like to forget. The dog with the two-inch wound around his neck, red swollen tissue where his collar had grown into his neck. The dog that couldn't sit or lie down because of the maggot wounds on her back. The pit mix, who was adopted by someone who cut her ears with scissors, burned her with cigarettes and forgot to feed her. Somehow they didn’t hold a grudge, they forgave people.

That was another questions for my Monk friend: How do I forgive people who hurt animals?” He said, "One thing you could do immediately is whenever you come across a suffering animal focus your energy on what you can do for the animal's welfare, how you now have the opportunity to help it. And don't think too much about how it happened. The mantra OM MANI PEME HUM is the mantra of the Buddha of Compassion and is very helpful in such situations. I hope this helps."

I first tried this prayer the day I found eight 10-day old puppies in a cardboard box. An ice storm coming, no mother dog in sight. Eyes closed. I was sure of three things: 1. Someone had left them there on purpose. 2. They would probably die if they stayed there. 3. I would bring them home.

I chanted the mantra, twice, three times. I found someone to take four of them and I took the other four. We went back and looked for the Mom many times. We set up traps rigged with smelly tasty meat and canned dog food. She never came. I bought goat milk to which I added puppy vitamins and Echinacea. A kindergarten class donated baby bottles, blankets and toys. At first, the puppies wouldn’t drink from a bottle, I fed them with a syringe. Every few hours they would howl and whimper in hunger and one by one, I would fill each tummy while the others waited impatiently. As the days passed, I realized they might actually make it . One day, they started drinking from a baby bottle and developed hearty appetites. The two largest, Clarence and Leo, could easily drink eight ounces at a time. The only female, Lulu had an overbite, which made it frustrating for her to drink as fast as she wanted, but we managed. The tiniest pup, little Dobbie, the runt, had the hardest time. He drank and drank and drank and stayed tiny. I learned to make their bowels and bladders work, I kept them clean, warm and well fed.

For several months, my house smelled, my clothes smelled and there were never enough paper towels. Still, somewhere in the midst of the smells and the worries, and the puddles, something amazing happened. I felt a connection to these creatures that was almost biological. I saw their first wags and heard their first barks. They grew up to be the sweetest, ugliest puppies anyone had ever seen. Brindly and black and orange and brown and completely in love with people.

Now, Lulu lives down the street, Leo lives with a dear friend, Dobbie lives with a college professor; Posey, Twyla Jean, Harry and Kody all have families of their own. Only Clarence didn’t make it and only after pawing his way into my heart many times over. The stress of visiting potential adopters was too much for him, causing a severe outbreak of demodectic mange, which led to an acute bacterial infection. Clarence didn’t want to leave my house, and if I’d have known that, he could have been dog number four. In a way, Clarence died from loving too much.

My family and friends have been supportive of my dog dharma work, but they don’t pretend to understand it. They wonder why and they wonder how long and they wonder how many dogs I'll bring with me next time I visit. Some think I've gone off the deep end. What they don’t know is that on the scale of "dog people", I’m still near the middle. My scale, developed during my two years of dog work goes something like this:

1. Doesn't like dogs. Won't talk to dogs. Washes hands immediately after seeing a dog.
2. Only likes poodles.
3. Has one dog they keep outside.
4. Has one or two dogs that get to come inside and donates to the humane society.
5. Has three dogs of their own, all from the pound or the streets.
6. Has three dogs of their own, advises people about dogs, finds home for dogs. (This is where I am.)
7. Always has at least six dogs and takes on more. Sends desperate pleas for people to rescue dogs that are about to die. Takes dogs for walks rain, snow, sleet, or heat.
8. The "professional rescuer". Believes that if a dog is lost, it must not like it's home and finds it a new one. Believes euthanasia is murder.
9. Believe that dogs are people. Sleeps with their dogs, in the yard.
10. Collects dogs.

I'm in the process of moving from a 6 back to a 4. 5, where I plan to stay for at least a year. It may be a slow transition.. I like dog dharma, it’s a good teacher for me. Somewhere between the messes and the dog hair and the chewed up shoes, each dog finds their contribution; they might cure loneliness; listen when no one else will, contribute a loving lick on the toe, or crawl up on the bed during a storm. Whatever it is, each dog shares a little dharma.