See how they grow

For the blog readers who have not had access to piggy pictures from the beginning of my fostering adventure, I thought I would document their progress. First, a photo of the conditions Scotch and Soda were living in when seized by the SPCA. Note that they don't even have room to turn around!




Below is the picture taken 30 minutes after they arrived at my place. Note that they are both terribly obese (no wonder we didn't know Soda was pregnant) - their faces show signs of "fat blindness" which occurs when the rolls of fat on the face are so great that the eyes are not visible. And while potbellies SHOULD have a potbelly, their whole underside shouldn't be dragging on the ground as it is here. Note too the dull sparse bristles - more signs of poor nutrition and poor health. Scotch (the male) is the one facing the camera; Soda (the pregnant female) is turned away.



Here's the newborns - just 8 hours old! Born July 28th, 2007 - about a month after Scotch and Soda's arrival:



I love this one - he looks like a little monkey!



Twenty-four hours later, they are walking about. Here's the first one to go solo:



And the same day, July 29th, they start to bond. Wanna be my friend?


At one week old:



Two weeks old: I loves pablum!


First day out of the barn: August 14th



One month old:




October 12th. Soda chats with Lizzy,the only female piglet (10 wks):


October 27th(three months) - this was the sight that greeted me in the morning. Piggies are very clever at pulling blankets over themselves, and this little guy found a piece of blanket just his size!!!


And another one at three months - their personalities are really showing now!



November 17th: Scotch, Soda and baby


January 23,2008 (almost 6 months)


And here they are today:

Scotch, Feb 28th - dark thick bristles, healthy weight, happy pig


Soda and Babies, Feb 28 (7 months)



Both the parents and the piglets have come a long way!!

Rescuing .......FISH?

I have a small creek running through my property. On one side of the path it is perhaps 18” wide and 10 inches deep; on the other side it widens into a marshy pond under the big willow tree before tumbling over a rocky ledge to go off to the neighbouring property. The yellow grasses of winter are so tightly woven on that side that the dogs can walk right across without getting their feet wet.

Or so I thought. When I arrived home from work today, I immediately headed out in the pasture with my dogs. As we passed the creek, I noticed something frantically splish-splashing around. Still in my suit and dress shoes, I stepped closer for a look, shoes sinking into the goo under the straw and grasses, and there I saw……a fish! It was a brown trout about 7-8 inches long, virtually stranded atop the thatch of weeds, its little mouth gaping and its gills opening and closing as it attempted to get its head back under water.

Now, I am an angler from way back. From the first time my dad took me fishing along the streams that flow through Manning Park, I fell in love with the rhythm of the cast, the anticipation of the tug on the line, the pure pleasure at being outdoors, near water, enjoying the fresh air – not to mention the tasty meal afterwards, trout browned in a little butter in a heavy cast iron frypan held over an open campfire.

It’s been a year or so since I went fishing. And during that year, my involvement in rescue has increased. It has obviously gotten to me. For what did I do when I saw the fish? Think of dinner? Run for my rod? NOOOOO..... I raced to the house for gumboots and bucket, with visions of lifting the poor little fishy out of his predicament and moving him further along the creek to an area with more water.

Gumboots on, I sloshed back into the marsh. Reality hit. First, this wasn’t as shallow as I thought – the mucky water was almost to the top of my boot. Second, the gumboot, which was new late last summer, had a hole in it and was quickly filling up with water. Third, I was still in my dress clothes and the pants leg of my blue suit was getting rather wet and muddy.

But the rescuer in me argued that fishy mustn’t suffer. And so I ignored the wet and the mud and the muck as I bent over to scoop him up and discovered……he was gone! Obviously he was not as stranded as I thought, and could manage just fine on his own, thank you.

As I checked the surrounding area just to make sure he wasn’t still landlocked, Belle decided I could use some help. And so my arthritic little girl with the funny splayed duck-feet charged right into the water, only to find herself stuck in the mud up to her belly and floundering around as helplessly as the fish had been.

In rescue mode once again, I scooped her up, mud and all, and held her against my formerly-white shirt, dripping more mud on my jacket and pants.

But all’s well that ends well. Both fishy and Belle are safe.

Now if I could only find a drycleaner who gives discounts to Rescues.

What a difference a few supplements make!

Belle, my 12 year old recently adopted sheltie, was quite crippled with arthritis when she first came into rescue. She was put on Deramaxx, which really helped her mobility but exacerbated her pancreatitis. I took her off the Deramaxx, fed her a super-premium quality food, made sure she got her daily exercise, and she seemed to do fine for a while.

Then she started having difficulty walking again. It got worse and worse within a very short time. So I emailed a friend who has shelties and knows lots about supplements and doggy health care, and I took Belle to my holistic vet. One week ago I started her on a high quality fish oil and glucosamine hydrochloride. Five days ago I added blue-green algae, acidophilus, full spectrum plant enzymes, and something called vetamino.

The change is astounding. She not only walks the pasture easily twice a day, but this morning she was racing up and down the hallway, chasing the cat at full tilt - not once, but three times!!

Allie is not amused. She prefers the less mobile version of Belle.

Play with me, somebody, play with me!

Charley has never been a “typical” high-energy border collie. The runt of the litter, she has always been a quiet, calm, steady girl with one exception – she gets very excited and noisy when motorcycles or heavy trucks go by. But the rest of the time? She's friendly enough, likes people, good around all species of animals, but definitely not one to engage in doggy games.

Even though Charley has virtually always had at least one other dog for company, she has seldom actually exhibited play behaviour with them – play-bowing, wrestling, chasing, tumbling. She is never aggressive to others, but simply ignores them and does her own thing - kinda like her human mom!

But every now and then, over the past year, she has suddenly had a notion that age ten is the perfect age to begin to play. First to be invited to play was Isaac, an old dog I fostered during the endstage of his life. One day as Isaac and I were slowly wending our way down the pasture trail, Charley began circling around play-bowing every few feet and barking. “Play with me, Isaac, play with me!”. Isaac had a vague memory of playtime and half-heartedly did a few play-bows and woofs before continuing the walk in his stumbling, lop-sided gait.

Then there was Caleb. Only during the last month of Caleb’s life did Charley routinely try to engage him in play as we returned from the pasture. “Play with me, Caleb, play with me!”. Caleb would give that funny little toothy grin of his and anxiously lean his big brindle body against my legs. “What’s she doin’ mom??? Why is she barking at me??”. Occasionally, very occasionally, Caleb would give chase for a moment or two.

Yesterday, it was Belle that Charley tried to entice into play. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon, the air crisp with the scent of early spring. We had walked to the rise at the back of the pasture, then rested a while – Charley on the ground at my feet, me on the bench, Belle curled up on my lap. As we headed back down, Charley put on her widest grin (she is a dog who really knows how to smile!) and began play-bowing to Belle. “C’mon Belle, it’s spring, play with me!!!”

Charley pranced around, play-bowed, rushed forward then back, yipped and yapped and did all she could to engage the arthritic old lady in a game of chase. Poor Belle didn’t know what to make of it – she stood her ground, head to one side, looking up at me and asking “What the HECK is the matter with Charley?????” Then she eased back her lips and through gritted teeth issued a nervous warning “Grrrr, back off Big Dog, grrrrr.”

Today, Charley tried to entice a piglet or two into a game of chase. The piglets were out in the side/front yard once again (it has become a daily ritual), running around having a ball. Charley went up to Fizz and play-bowed. “Play with me, Fizzy, play with me!” Fizz squealed and ran around but didn’t play-bow back which confused Charley – was the piggy playing or was piggy running away?

So she tried the same thing with Whisper. “C’mon Whisper, play with me!” Whisper touched her snoutie to Charley’s crouched-down collie nose and gave a funny little “erf, erf” before calmly turning around and rooting up some nice fresh grass. "Thank you, Big Dog, but I'm busy right now. It was nice of you to ask though."

Eventually Charley, with a toss of her head and her tail, raced off whippet-like, and tore around the lawn, happy to be free, to feel the sun on her fur and the fresh air in her lungs, even if no one wanted to play with her. No sulking for this girl – she invites others to join in but if they decline then she lets her unbounded joy in life express itself anyway – a truly free spirit who lets nothing and no one drag her down.

Ah, what a way to live one’s life. It has taken me more than fifty years to learn the lesson that Charley has learned in ten – never let others’ lack of enthusiasm for an activity stop you from doing whatever you’d really love to do.

Hmmmm...... but Charley IS seventy in people years, so maybe I’m not such a slow learner after all.

How to feel really, really, really, really bad

1. Play with piggies, and have a blast doing it.

2. Feed piggies, and laugh at their antics as they fight for food.

3. Start to put piggies to bed, thinking warm fuzzy thoughts of them.

4. Get sidetracked before closing the barn door.

5. Remember the barn door an hour later when you look outside and see it is dark.

6. Go through pig yard, close barn door, and realize you have to step over 12 pigs who are fast asleep and so, so, so very cute buried in the straw and covered with their blankies which they have studiously pulled over themselves with their itty bitty mouths. Aaaaaawwwwww!

7. Accidently trip over one litle piggy that you thought was just a pile of straw, and send all ten piglets screaming in panic to the barn door – which is now closed so there is no escape. Ooohh nooooooo! Babies, don’t be scared! It’s just me, Foster Mama! Please, go back to bed…..Ohhhh, I’m so sorry I disturbed you!

8. Get the evil eye from Scotch and Soda, whose snouties, eyes and ears are peering up at you from a pile of straw, and who are clearly saying “Do you MIND??? We just got them all settled and tucked in!!!! Sheesh!!"

9. Slink out of barn and promise yourself that you will not get sidetracked putting the piggies to bed again. Feel really, really, really, really bad.

Hmmmm...On the other hand, Scotch and Soda, if you and your family slept in the OTHER stall like I wanted, I wouldn’t have to clamber over all of your babes to get through to the main part of the barn. But NOOOOOO, you had to drag every bit of straw from the other stall to this one, and pile it all up by the gate, and move right in to the space that was “supposed” to be an access route. “Sheesh” to you too!!!

There, now I don’t feel so bad.

Images from today

One happy pig


Fizz and Charley just hangin' out

piggy grazing


pigs through a tire


Charley and pigs grazing in yard


Whisper gets a bellyrub

Belle meets piggy - through a fence (she's not quite ready for face-to-face piggy interaction yet)!


Just look at that face!

Rootin', Tootin', Poopin' Piggies!

I cannot believe how much work 12 piggies can be some days! Now that the ground is soft, they are rootin’ up a storm, and with each rooting frenzy they uncover more non-biodegradable garbage that some previous tenant on the property had buried instead of taking to the dump or recycling as he should. So there I am, picking up bits of plastic and rope and coils of wire and the occasional old bottle or tin can, trying to keep one step ahead of the piggies. Every time I think “that’s the last of it” they root a little deeper or use their snouties to shove another stump out the way and uncover more.

And then there’s the tootin’ – the verbal squealing that sounds like those noisemakers we had at parties when we were kids, the kind that unfurl and whistle as you blow into them and then wind back up when you stop. It makes me laugh, these tootin’ piggies, but they can sure be noisy! Which, of course, gets the dogs going – not just my dogs but the neighbours’ dogs too…..and probably dogs three or four blocks away, given the racket the piggies make. The piggies seem to think that, as their personal slave, I should be out there feeding them rather than cleaning up their yard, and they let the world know it.

And lastly, there’s the poopin’ – do you KNOW how much poop 12 piggies make each and every day???????? I’m convinced someone is bringing in a couple of extra herds during the night and letting them …um….evacuate their “piggy pearls” in my pig yard. (Of course, I’m also convinced someone is bringing in a dozen dogs to my front yard at night, because I’m sure my dogs can’t be producing all the poop I clean up from them either! And the alpaca – who the heck is sneaking in a herd of alpacas to the pasture to produce all the heaps of ‘paca pellets??? )

So I’m out there scoopin' the poopin’ and generally cleaning up the piggy yard, with the ..ahem…”assistance” of all the piglets. Rickey is convinced, absolutely convinced, that the large white pail I scoop the poop into contains FOOOOOD….and consequently knocks it over, spilling the piggy pearls, every time I turn my back for another scoopful. The others seem to think this is hilarious and rush forward to check the bucket then race backwards when they see me giving them all the evil eye. Rickey isn’t fazed – he does it over and over and over again.

I finally get all the poops collected, rake up much of the debris and pick up all the garbage. I spread fresh shavings in the "poop corner" (not that the piglets are paying much attention to THAT at the moment!), I gather up my tools and my pails and my jacket that I hung on the fencepost and head back to the gate. And as I turn around to survey the nice clean pig yard, what do I see? Twelve little piggy bums producing more poops.... not one of them on the shavings. Aaargghhhhh!

To everything there is a season...

To everything there is a season,
And a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die…..
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn , and a time to dance….

I have always loved that bit of wisdom, and never is it more meaningful than today as I mourn Caleb’s passing while smiling at the antics of my other animal companions as they adjust to life without Caleb and as spring shows its face once again.

My house feels empty without my Caleb – he had such a “presence”. Last night, when I went to feed the piglets and close up the barn for the night, I thought how strange it was not to have Caleb by my side. I would just call to him “time to feed the piggies” and there he would be, barreling out the door ahead of me, straight to the barn door.

But animals know that we must live in the present, that life continues and new challenges and new wonders emerge every day. As I walked into the barn at dusk, feeling alone and lonely, I sensed a shadow beside me…….and there she was, my Charley. She had followed me in and was standing in Caleb’s spot by the feed bins as I prepared the piggies' dinner, a none-too-shabby substitute companion for that first night of grief.

And when I got home from work today, when all three dogs would normally bound to the back door to say “Welcome home!”, there were once again three critters –- because Allie the cat had decided to join the dogs in the welcoming ritual.

I have lost dogs before, but none so young as Caleb – a dog in the spring of his life. And I had so hoped to share the long days of summer with him, once my classes end for the semester – to take him swimming again, to have picnics with him on the rise at the back of the pasture, to have him by my side as I putter around my little farm. But it is not to be – his time came early.

And yet, life doesn’t just plod along, it laughs and dances along. Martin the alpaca is sunning in the pasture. The piglets are rooting, snouts deep in the finally-soft dirt, looking for those fresh spring shoots starting to sprout; Charley and Belle run happily in the field, Belle’s arthritic hips benefiting from the warmer weather and softer ground. And I grabbed my camera to capture this moment in time when the catkins on the hazelnut trees have appeared almost overnight, and bees are beginning their hunt for nectar and the birds are starting to think about nesting.

Spring is here, new life emerges, and my critters take good care of me and make me laugh. To every thing there is a season. My season with Caleb was one of my best ever. Who knows what joys the next season may hold?

Martin sunning in the pasture

My Caleb's journey on earth is over

My beloved Caleb went to the Bridge today, at home in my arms, with the assistance of our vet Dr. Federici. He went peacefully and quickly.

Caleb, you were the best of the best. Despite your sad past experiences which led to life in a shelter for seven months, you never held it against anyone and you were the calmest, sweetest, most cuddly dog I have ever known. You liked to lean up against people, to climb into their laps and their cars, totally confident that no one would mind in the least.

You loved swimming in a lake, running in the pasture, long walks on the dike, hiking Sumas Mountain with Kelly, visits from your friends Ellen and Kinley and Toby, any kind of treat, any kind of food. You were the daycare's "model student" getting along with everyone, always respectful - well, except that one little altercation with Shep! What was that about, eh???

You slept beside me and eventually learned to lie lengthwise, head on my shoulder, rather than smack dab across the middle of the bed. You obsessed over the cat and tormented her, but at last you learned to get along with her just fine, even letting her kiss you and bat you on the nose without retaliation. You accepted any and all species of animals (hmmm... maybe not the squirrels), and even though you were a bit boisterous around the piglets you never tried to harm them in any way.

You were my strong, silent boy. In the eight months you were with me, I only heard your voice three times, and then just a single woof. You whined only twice - both times at the sound of a gunshot in the distance. I wonder what sad memories that sound recalled?

Caleb, you forever changed my life. I shall so miss your funny, toothy grin when I arrive home from work, and your long-legged bouncy-kangaroo behaviour when you thought I'd been gone too long. I shall miss your snuggles and snoring and counter-surfing and even the drool on my pillow. I shall miss your beautiful topaz eyes and the cute little worry lines on your forehead. And most of all, I shall miss you, my beautiful brindle boy. Your presence in my life was truly an amazing gift and you left this world far, far too soon.

Run free, Caleb. I love you so very, very much.

Your mom.

Caleb: Adopted May 24, 2007, at age five, from Cowichan Valley SPCA. Died February 20th, 2008 of lymphosarcoma. Forever missed by mom (Jean), Charley, Belle, Allie, and many, many friends of all species.

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THE RAINBOW BRIDGE

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown...

Allie's not a sheep....

.....but Charley the border collie knew just what to do!!! This morning I accidently left the back door open just a touch - the dogs were outside and I dashed in to make a phone call, failing to close it firmly behind me.

When I returned to the mudroom, I realized the door was open a couple of inches, I thought "hmmmm - I hope the cat didn't get out!". Allie is an indoor cat, always has been, always will be. I don't believe in turning cats into road pizza, coyote snacks, or annoyances to neighbouring gardeners.

As I opened the door wider to return outside, there was Charley the border collie, less than a foot away, shoving Allie back inside the house with her long collie nose!

Good job, Charley!!! Good job!!

Sigh..........

Perhaps it is because of Caleb’s illness, perhaps it is because Belle is clearly in pain from her arthritis today, perhaps it is my lack of sleep, but this morning I am going to break my goal of keeping this blog “nice” and go on a rant – about people who indiscriminately breed dogs in their backyard and sell them without having them spayed and neutered.

At my place of work, we have a “classifieds” section on our in-house email system. This morning, once again, someone is posting puppies for sale – this time lab/rottie crosses for $300.

This infuriates me. It sickens me. The vast majority of dogs in shelters, and many of those in rescues, are large breed dogs. Many, many of them are rottie crosses. If they are in a rescue or a no-kill shelter, they may sit there for months. If not, completely healthy but very large and often boisterous dogs are unnecessarily put to sleep. Meanwhile, people who want to make a quick buck toss more large-breed pups into the system, without homechecks, without spay and neuters, without follow-ups and without any contract that guarantees they will take the dog back if the new owner decides they don’t want it.

Can you imagine a society in which people indiscriminately birth and sell human babies? In which people routinely buy babies because they are cute, and then when they become larger and more boisterous and harder to control they abandon them?

Animals are sentient creatures. They think, they hurt, they get lonely, they learn, they grow, they fear, and many – such as cows and pigs – cry real tears.

Of those lab/rottie cross pups for sale, I can guarantee at least one will end up in a shelter. One will probably end up hit by a car because it has been allowed to wander free. At least a couple will have pups or will sire pups, several of which will end up in shelters, or killed, or having more pups. And the cycle continues. Will it never stop???

Most likely, readers of this blog are those who already know all this, so I’m preaching to the converted. But at 6:30 in the morning, with one rescue dog about to cross the bridge and another in need of my attention, and thousands of others out there just waiting for a home…..an ad for rotti/lab puppies was the last thing I wanted to see.

If you or anyone you know wants to make a lifetime commitment to an animal, go to www.petfinder.com, not to a backyard breeder. Please. For the love of doG.

The morning walk

My pasture ends in a rise of land backed by a grove of trees. Last year I placed a bench there, and the dogs and I frequently watch the sunrise from that spot and enjoy the beauty of the mountains and the valley, listen to the wake-up calls of birds and occasionally sight coyotes or bear. It is one of my favourite places to centre myself and prepare for the day.

This morning, a beautiful, crisp spring day, Belle's arthritis and Caleb's ever-weakening condition could not deter them from joining Charley and me on our morning walk. At the top of the rise, Caleb and Belle were ready for a long rest, and so we sat for an hour, watching the world awaken and Charley explore her domain.

Charley surveying her world

Contemplating life

A rest on the hill

Belle in grass

Caleb and Belle

Caleb and Charley

Catching some rays

A rather long day

What started off as a beautiful morning became a fun filled afternoon with piggies having another day out in the yard while I did some cleanup out there. But this evening brought sorrow - Caleb vomited blood, necessitating a trip to the emergency vet an hour away. He received fluids subQ, and an injection of a new antinausea drug, and three hours later when we returned home he brought up clear fluids again.

He is such a good boy - no complaining, no balking at all the prodding and probing, and still alert enough to enjoy the car ride and to take an interest in the cat when we got home. He just had another drink of water, and is expressing interest in a little bland pureed turkey and veggies.

I have tentatively booked a home euth for him this week, but will cancel if he begins to be able to retain his food and fluids. It is not clear if his immediate problem is due directly to the lymphosarcoma (that is, a swelling of the mediastinal lymph nodes) or is the result of ulcers or gastroenteritis caused by the prednisone used to fight the cancer. It has been a week now since the vomiting began, and four days since he was able to retain any food, three days since he stopped eating. But he will tell me when it is time for him to go. Fortunately it is midterm break and I have most of this week at home with him. We plan to enjoy it to the fullest for as long as we can.

He is one very special boy.

How can you not smile........

......when you look out the kitchen window to see an awkward, ungainly alpaca with big body, long neck, and short little legs rolling around in the pasture in unbounded exuberance, legs flailing in the air, back squirming on the coarse winter grass, soaking up the sun on this beautiful spring day! Now that is one content alpaca - Happy Springtime, Martin!

A beautiful morning!

A clear blue sky, a touch of frost, crisp fresh air, sunshine, birds singing everywhere, green shoots just beginning to show – it is a beautiful morning!

Last night, I was outside with Caleb at 2:30 AM and it was a beautiful night – stars shining, bright moon, promise of a fine day to come…..and the hauntingly beautiful hoot of an owl in the old tree in the pasture. I’m so glad Caleb woke me to ask to go out – thank you for a magic moment with you, my boy.

This morning Caleb declined any broth (which contained his meds and herbs) and didn’t even want to lick out my oatmeal bowl, but he helped himself to some water a couple of hours ago and so far it has stayed down.

And then he ran to the gate for a walk in the pasture with me and the other dogs. There is life and a spirit of fun in my sick boy yet: he immediately trotted over to the alpaca poop, looked at it, and ran straight back to me to check my pocket for a treat -- we have been working on his instant recall and “leave it” commands by using treats on our walks for the past month.

He ate a tiny crumb of a treat, but refused another one at the end of our walk and headed straight back indoors to lie down.

I think I have to trust his judgment of what he can handle and what he can’t, and to give him the freedom to live and to die in his own way, and as far as possible in his own time. That isn’t as heartless as it sounds – I will continue to try to get him to take his remedies but I will not force them on him; nor will I let him suffer pain, and he and I will create many memories together these next few days.

It is indeed a beautiful morning when dog and human live in harmony and enjoy whatever precious moments they may have together.