Gender Neutral

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.

Chilly Dogs

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.

May I Be Frank?

More than one person has said they want to come back as so-and-so’s dog in the next lifetime. It is a way of letting you know that So-and-So treats their dog like royalty. I haven’t decided if I want to come back as Frankie or not.
Frankie, ready for his centerfold.
 

Blown Away

California, it’s been said, has four seasons: mudslide, fire, earthquake & riot. Perhaps we should add one more: freak windstorms, one of which blew a giant fir down much too close to the Lodge.
  Life and limb.

Piss Off!

Those who work in the dog boarding industry become experts, aficionados as it were, of urine removal products. The formula must destroy both stains and stink. Nature’s Miracle, the most popular, used to be the go-to choice for the housekeeping staff at Little Pup Lodge. That was before we discovered The Equalizer. Though it’s name more befits one of Dirty Harry’s sidearms, it is the most effective pee-fighter we’ve found yet.
Get your flourocarbons now!

Dog Tired

There was a transition time when I started Little Pup Lodge but was still doing some private investigator work. As my business got busier, I let my former boss know that I was going to retire as a private dick to devote myself fulltime to the Lodge. Perhaps the envy and resentment had simmered in him for some time, but he couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I wish I could sit around and play with puppies all day long,” Greg said.

Hurricane Ed

Since doggie visits here are supposed to be like a combo of summer camp, visiting your favorite grandma and a Grateful Dead concert, guests at the Lodge enjoy quite a bit of leeway in behavioral guidelines. We expect our male (and sometimes female) guests to mark, so carpeting has been removed and Lysol purchased by the gallon. While they’re not allowed on the bed or sofa back home, the guilty pleasures of lounging on the coffee table and crawling under an electric blanket on the Cal King are to be savored here.

   Eddie would go.

Another Oldie But Goodie

Last week I wandered into the SPCA and let them know I was looking for a really old, unadoptable dog to adopt. Have I got the dog for you, says the director. Age? Somewhere between 90 and death, she says. Size? Less than five pounds sopping wet.
Grandpa? Really?

The C Word

Is there really any thing new to a say about cancer? Publishers certainly don't want any more heart rending/funny/graphic/irreverent memoirs about the Big C.  In just a few decades it has gone from illness that no one dare mention to one that no one can shut up about.
Kimberly & Lilly


We now suffer from cancer fatigue. At least, that is what Kimberly, my best friend of 30 years, thinks. I’m waiting for a flight to San Diego so I can assure her this is not true. Whenever you think you’re life sucks, a few highlights of Kimberly’s life: Raised by physically abusive alcoholics, raped at 25, diagnosed with melanoma at 35, lung cancer at 45. Against all odds, she’s still here five years later; wild, unbelievably profane and funnier than hell. And courageous. God she’s courageous. I know that’s a threadbare cliché­; “bravely battled cancer, et al,” but she is not the only cancer person I’ve known. Another acquaintance had breast cancer and I finally had to un-acquaint with her. There’s a difference between processing feelings and cementing yourself to the pity potty.

  The two best friends in Seattle

Say What?

A nice young lady visited Little Pup Lodge with her Coton de Tulear and mentioned more than once how valuable it was. Although she meant that breed of dog was viciously expensive to purchase, I could have pointed out that my Oliver was valuable, too. As in, I wouldn’t trade him for a million dollars.

  Coton de Tulears
 

The End of My Sabbatical

What did you miss during my sabbatical? Pumpkin finally got adopted, thank you Jesus, Mohammad & Buddha. That little round mound of sound was with us for almost a year, but it sometimes takes a long time to find the perfect Forever Family. And perfect they were. Two are retired and one works from home, so The Mighty Pumpkin Pie will never be alone. They already had two ancient, special-needs dogs and an older person that needs a fulltime lap-warmer.
The Mighty, Mighty Pie.

Big Ain't Small

An old friend called again this morning with questions about his recently adopted dog Freddy. Mark’s mother has Alzheimer’s so Mark, who lives with her, figured she could use a companion.

   Mark & Freddy (Freddy's the furry one)

What's The Story?

Lots of shelter dogs don’t have a backstory. Picked up as strays, their health issues, age and especially, personal history, is pretty much a blank slate. It’s left to the vets to fill in the first two categories and they tend to get it more or less right. But the dog's life, or at least life as we imagine it to have been, is filled in by the ones who adopt the little guys or gals.

   Sakura

Slow Down

Some weeks are very busy, and I’m in the middle of a furry hurricane. Dogs to my left, dogs to my right, dogs on top of me. It’s wonderful and so soul-satisfying. Then there other times, like this last week, when only one or two guests have checked into Little Pup Lodge.    Less cleanup, less barking, less pressure.


One of the gifts of growing older, if you’re lucky, is the ability to appreciate the moment for what it is.

Young v. Old

Licorice, the little black Chihuahua, came home with me again from the shelter for a sleepover. If I were in the market for a young, housebroken, lovable little girl, she’d be it. She’s sorta perfect. But, I don’t want perfect. I want far from perfect, in fact.

   Licorice

Babies R(n't) Us

I finally got up north to see a friend who had twins in July. I was prepared to hear her gush over the joys of new motherhood. But my friend told the truth. Of course she loved them; that’s a given. But motherhood? It left her dangerously exhausted, seriously bored and all too infrequently thrilled with her decision to have children. “You know why they make those little outfits so cute?” she asked. “It’s to remind you how adorable your babies are when you think you hate them.”

Used or Abused?

A friend sat in on a training session for a dog who would one day hunt birds. She said the trainer showed up a with something that resembled a wooden car antenna. She didn’t the hit dog with it, but would lightly tap it on the back if it didn’t respond to a command. Creepy, okay, but what do I know about training a dog to hunt? Here was the really weird part of my friend’s story: The trainer never rewarded the dog when he did something right. She also emphasized to the dog’s owner that she must never reward him—not with a pat on the head, no treats, nary an “Atta boy,” or “Good dog.”

When Forever Isn't

A frequent hotel guest ended up in the shelter a few weeks ago. It’s easy to judge someone who gets rid of his or her pet until you know the whole story. Chance found his Forever Family a few years ago with a young couple and their children. But the couple divorced, the house was sold and a single, working mother of three who lived in a small apartment could not give Chance the kind of care he needed. Fortunately, we bartered services so she did not have to pay for his visits here.

We Love You, Tex -- R.I.P.

Having a hospice dog means that the end comes sooner rather than later. But still we adopt, slide into denial and open our hearts much too wide. Sweet little Tex was euthanized Tuesday. Though blind, his eyes still gave him problems. We managed to fix one eye without surgery and then the other one went bad. His options were to live in constant pain or to have the eye removed.

Hospice meant that I would provide the ancient Chihuahua comfort and love, not more pain and suffering. We had a good six-month run, Tex and I. He hated all mechanical objects and furiously attacked the lawnmower, paper shredder, dust buster and vacuum cleaner. In order to engage me in play, he’d sometimes stand next to the carpet shampooer and stare angrily at it (Being blind, he could only approximate its location so might just as often stare balefully at the floor lamp or bed post.) He’d look to me, then back to the evil machine, then at me. With a sigh, I’d walk over and plug it in for a second so he could do a little ass-kicking on the noisy invader. I eventually swaddled it in towels so Tex wouldn’t break his teeth on the wheels. 

He marked constantly, humped every new client and bit me more times (accidentally) than I could count. But I still buried a little piece of my heart with him. He’s next to Lacy’s grave, so I figure they can growl and snap at each other for eternity.














My favorite definition of heaven: Where all the dogs you’ve ever loved are waiting for you.

The Air Up There

An unfortunate side effect of having a boarding service for little dogs is little-dog yapping. Neighbors have gotten a little… tense, especially when our hotel guests go off at 5:30 in the morning.

You Got Balls. Why?

The poor, beleaguered pitbull has once again made the news and not in a good way. Today’s San Francisco Chronicle reported that a pit bull attacked its owner, a pregnant woman.   I was shocked, shocked! to discover that the attacker was an unneutered male.

The pitbull breed elicits complicated feelings from me. I pity the pits for their rotten reputation, undeserved or not. I think of them as loaded guns—perfectly safe in the hands of responsible owners and dangerous as hell in those that aren’t. It certainly isn’t their fault and I can usually spot the ones to stay far, far away from on the beach. You may think of this time of year in terms of “beach weather” season. I think of it as “ Young Tattooed Dude in Wife-beater T-shirt with Unneutered Pit Bull” season. Not one to generalize, but I’m pretty sure those owners believe that a visible pair of dog testicles will somehow enhance their own manhood (which is probably really tiny and could use some enhancing).

And that, my friends, is the real problem. Not pit bulls, Rottweilers or Presa Canarios, but males. Specifically, males who own male dogs. Before you write me off as a cranky old feminazi, let me repeat some of the reasons I’ve heard from men about why they chose not to neuter their dogs. One fellow said (and I swear to God this is what he said) that he did not want to take away his best friend’s ‘best friends.’ Others have told me that it’s unnatural, unhealthy, not fair. I just want to scream, “We’re not talking about YOUR balls, nitwit, we’re talking about the dog’s.”

Why do I single out men when it comes to this issue? I know that not all men think this way. But, I have yet to hear a woman spout the same protestations regarding why their dog has not been spayed or neutered. Main reason they don’t? Hubby/boyfriend will not allow it.

My heart goes out to that poor man who discovered his wife’s mauled body. But as tragic as that incident was, perhaps it will serve as a cautionary tale and convince at least one guy out there to neuter his dog. If he’s got the cojones, that is.

Dress for Success

I hit my sartorial zenith around the time ripped sweatshirts and leggings paired with white pumps were considered cutting edge.   As the years ticked by and my passion for fashion faded, I began to envy those totalitarian nations like China and North Korea. They really had it going on, what with those blue pajama outfits everyone seems to wear. Why couldn’t the free world dress as comfortably without being cruelly mocked?

Love is Blind, But it Ain't Cheap

When I took Tex home from the shelter about four months ago, I tried to convince myself I did not just adopt seven adorable pounds of future credit card debt. Denial being what it is, I told myself that I would not pay vet bills to prolong the blind, arthritic, heart-diseased Chihuahua’s life. Given that he was about 15 years old, I just wanted to give him a couple more good months before it was time to trot off this mortal coil.

Plumpkin

Pumpkin, Little Pup Lodge’s guest here on scholarship (a foster), shows no sign of graduating to her Forever Family anytime soon. Yes, she’s rather mature and yes, she has the mildest tad of a seizure disorder, but c’mon!   She’s freakin’ adorable and quite mellow, that latter quality sometimes in short supply for the Chihuahua breed.

Play (Braille) Ball

Molly first visited about a year ago. A sweet and gentle poodle, she had a couple of problems; a tad of incontinence and failing eyesight. She loved to retrieve tennis balls though she had a hard time figuring out where we threw them.

Shock and Awe

Having run the gamut of dog repellents from citronella spray to Tasers, I finally found one I think I trust. It’s safe, harmless and effective: a stun gun.

Perhaps I worry more than most people about the safety of my dogs, but there is good reason. The hotel guests are tiny little things and much too vulnerable for me to relax and let down my guard. As a result, our morning beach walks just stoke my stress level rather than soothe my nerves.

Separation Non-anxiety

Most of the guests who check into Little Pup Lodge initially exhibit some degree of separation anxiety. We have many ways to work with this: Rescue Remedy (a homeopathic treatment for anxiety); diffusers of Dog Appeasing Pheromone (D.A.P.), which is reported to make dogs feel like they're back with their nursing mother; hugs and kisses if wanted and space if they are not.

Will the REAL Dog Whisperer Please Sit/Stay?

Not only did I attend a lecture by the Dog Whisperer, I also got an hour consultation with him the following day. No, not that one but Paul Owens, the "Original" Dog Whisperer.

There are probably dozens, if not hundreds, of dog trainers around the country who were inspired by “The Horse Whisperer,” Nicholas Evans’ bestselling novel about one man’s intuitive way with the equines. But it has really boiled down to two canine Whisperers: Cesar Millan; rich, famous TV celebrity and trainer to the stars; and Paul Owens–not as rich, not as famous and very, very different in his approach to dogs.

Guess Who's Not Coming to Dinner

Guess Who's Not Coming to Dinner…

…That would be pretty much everyone. The Lodge, for all its lovely furnishings and warm hospitality, was not designed for the biped type of guest.
 
Human visitors prefer to eat at a dinner table, which they will not find at our establishment. Although we offer a perfectly good coffee table to eat off of,  some find it a bit distracting that their plate is eye level to four or five sets of yearning eyes. They become testy when our hotel guests crawl over, around and through them to reach the contents on said plate.
We're always surprised when people expect us to do something about it. Hey–the dogs paid to be here, you didn't. End of discussion.

To Tell the Truth

When one is raised in a military family, and a slightly alcoholic one at that, one learns a to create and maintain an impenetrable façade:  everything is okay even when it’s not.  Especially when it’s not. Eventually, one may find therapy, thousands and thousands of dollars worth of therapy, and will begin to acknowledge the truth behind the happy face.

Job Opening: Dog Cop

This is an exciting, fulfilling position for the right person. Applicants must love to stick their nose in other peoples' business in the following ways: If an owner doesn't pick up his dog's poop, rush over and point this etiquette breach to him in no uncertain terms. If a pickup is spotted with a dog in the back, follow it to the ends of the earth, if need be and point out the dangers as well as illegality of this. Be prepared to eat crow after discovering the dog was safely restrained, after all. If an owner is correcting (the new word for disciplining) her dog in a way that you deem faulty,  be willing to approach and demonstrate the right way (i.e., your way). You must be willing to offer unsolicited advice on feeding, potty training, medical issues and any other tidbits of wisdom to each dog owner encountered.  They may appear annoyed, but they will appreciate your insight later down the road.

Dog's Day Afternoon

Sometimes the stress is just too much. Not for me, of course, but for my beloved Oliver. Imagine going from being an only child to surrogate brothers and sisters parading through your life. So, I do what all the other yuppie parents do: arrange a play date. Invest in Quality Time. Build his self-esteem by reminding him that he is special, very special.

The Yellow Roads of Tex's

The ancient, blind Chihuahua I'm pretending to foster has made a rather Lazarus-like revival.  Which is both good news and bad news. Tex now trots along on our walks like a dog half- (or more realistically, one-fifth) his age. Tex refuses to be leashed for his walks, insisting on following the rest of us by smell instead of sight. He loves to play with stuffed toys and jumps with joy when he knows he's going for a car ride.

Send me a tex message!

Unfortunately, the geriatric Chihuahua's  still-intact family jewels mislead him into acting like a furry Hugh Hefner, convinced he is still a virile hunk. But without the Playboy empire, a reality TV show and a bucket full of Viagra,  Tex has had miserable luck getting the Shi-Tzus to even give him the time of day. He will also attempt to mount male dogs to prove his dominance. When the six-pound wonder tried it with Corky the Corgi who, not noticing,  walked away, he had the distressing appearance of a mosquito hanging on to a beach ball for dear life.

All my exes live with Texas.

That still-present testosterone has yet another downside; Tex wants to–needs to–mark everything, everywhere, all the time. He's neck-to-neck (or weenie-to-weenie) with Chance, another infamous marker. Although diapers sort of worked for Chance, I just can't bring myself to burden Tex with any more humiliation. He is proud. He is mighty. And I don't want the visual of a diapered Chihuahua humping away.

Follow Your Bliss

Santa Cruz is weird. Some of it is bad-weird (panhandled every 10 feet on the main street, a cannibalistic serial killer running amok), but much of it is good-weird. Sort of like a Berkeley-by-the-Sea, we citizens here have an enormous tolerance for anything out of the norm (except the aforementioned cannibal).

That “do your own thing” attitude may be what allowed me to chuck the criminal-defense investigator career and create Little Pup Lodge. And indeed, it is more pleasant spending my days with Shi-Tzus and Chihuahuas rather than with alleged murderers, rapists and pedophiles.

However, my mid-life career change pales in comparison to others in this town. I recently ran into a true role model of reinvention as I strolled through the Saturday morning Farmer’s Market last weekend. Right past the rainbow chard and to the left of the Clementine tangerines my hero was holding forth to a small crowd of stunned onlookers.

   Singing the blues.

No time like the right time.

Frank Lima was a middle-aged stockbroker, calculating P/E ratios and betting on pork-belly futures until he decided to follow his bliss. Lima dumped his three-piece suits, grabbed an accordion and became The Great Morgani; street performer and undisputed king of bizarre costumes. The Great Morgani has bedecked himself as, well, the outfits are open to interpretation; each a bejeweled Rorschach for the eye of the beholder.

 What balloon payment?

Can't even think of a caption for this one.

While Frank’s new dress-for-success look is a far cry from my business uniform of jeans and a t-shirt, I like to believe that the same heart beats beneath both: contented.

 Play an accordion, to to jail.

Old and In The Way

The ancient throwaways; they’re the ones that break my heart. Our local animal shelter manages to find homes for the stray dogs, the surrendered dogs, even the severely abused dogs. But the old ones? And particularly the old, old ones? A snowball in hell has a higher survival rate than the shelter’s canine senior citizens. Which explains why a geriatric, blind, heart-diseased, dentally-challenged Chihuahua has taken up residence at Little Pup Lodge.

Since Cody had been adopted, I had room for another foster. The shelter suggested I take Helena, a five-year-old rat terrier, because she had begun to injure herself from kennel stress.

 Helena

As we were leaving, my neighbor and friend Ericka noticed the skinny little dog in a cage kept separate from the rest. I truly wish she hadn’t. I took one look at those sad eyes in that old face and knew I was in trouble.

  Kiko, aka Tex.

Sarah the shelter worker said Kiko had been found wandering the streets. They first thought he had been hit by a car as some of his motor skills showed evidence of head trauma. The medical intake exam discovered a heart murmur that rated a five on a one-to-six scale. The teeth were rotten and he was blind as a bat. They pegged Kiko's age as running a close second to Methuselah's.

  Kiko, better known as Tex.

A man called and said he recognized Kiko when he searched the lost-and-found website, but never came to pick him up. I’m not sure what reason would compel someone to turn his back on an aged and disabled companion, but it must have been a good one.

So what happens? I asked Sarah. He’ll probably be “euthed,” she said. I guess the word “euthanasia” is used so often around there, they just shorthand it. I tried very, very hard to hold my tongue, but it had to have the last word: “Call me before you do that, okay?”

Life is grand at Miss Kelly's Home for Geriatric Chihuahuas!

I thought of Kiko daily and, after a week of hearing nothing from the shelter, decided they forgot about me and went ahead with the “euth.” (euthe?)  I got an email the next day: Come on down if you still want him.

The Lodge has a few ironclad rules: #1–No unspayed or unneutered dogs. #2–Only one foster at a time. #3–Absolutely no adopting a foster. On top of all the other problems, Kiko still had his huevos. As militant as I am about spay and neuter,  a dog that old and in that poor of health probably would not survive the surgery.

As far as Rule #2, I already had two fosters, Helena and Sugar. But, I would not adopt him. I pretended someone else would be interested in doing that. (I also believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.) Nope, Tex (as I have renamed Kiko) will most likely live out his days here, allowing me to accumulate a sizable credit card debt in veterinary bills.

Now I have Rule #4: Absolutely no more shelter visits. This week.

Do the Right Thing

A beach buddy told me about a little Chihuahua she'd seen periodically running loose on 26th Avenue. Although any road would be dangerous, this one is a veritable autobahn from Portola Drive to the beach. Rather than go into a tirade about how irresponsible the dog's owner was (as I have been known to do), Patty approached the woman to find out what was going on. The answer was not that simple.

Lori had promised a dying friend that she would take care of her dog Sugar when she was gone. It was an oath easier made than kept. Lori had an old Lab who often shoved open the door to lie down in the front yard, thereby giving Sugar plenty of escape opportunities. The Lab did not like the Chihuahua. In fact, no one liked Sugar. Lori said she loved it, but the beleaguered caregiver also admitted she was not really a little-dog person.

 Hey neighbor, can I borrow a cup of Sugar?

After much cajoling from her neighbors and friends, Lori agreed that Sugar needed a different home.  So, we met. Lori ushered me into her 1940's-era beach cottage, past the black Chihuahua that sat motionless in a plush, leopard-skin doggy bed. Sugar made it clear that she would be less than thrilled if I touched, looked at or spoke to her. Sugar was definitely not going to be one of those curious, waiting for a hug-type of dogs.

I explained that the rescue group I volunteer with, Animal Shelter Relief, would make sure Sugar found a good home. Although I asked her to think about it before she made a decision, Lori insisted I take Sugar with me.

Where's my sunglasses?

Lori did not have an easy choice to make back there in the beginning. I mean, what was she going to tell her terminally ill friend;  "nah, find somebody  else?" And though it may not have not worked out, letting Sugar go home with me could not have been that easy, either. However, Lori knew she made the right decision; her friend  just wanted a loving home for her little Chihuahua.

Sugar has settled in nicely, however; a bit on the shy side, but always ready with a kiss for those she knows. I tell myself Sugar's  former owner is looking down from heaven with a great big smile.

"Suspect #3: Please step forward and turn to your right."

Sandi Pensinger, Living With Dogs

Kelly wrote this article for the Winter 2010 Edition of Coastal Canine

You might say Sandi Pensinger was born into a dog’s world.  A highly respected dog trainer, Sandi began her animal career by helping her father in his veterinary cardiology practice. Her business, Living With Dogs, has helped hundreds of grateful owners since it was established a decade ago. She offers private and group training for basic manners as well as for canine sports like agility training, flyball, dock-diving and, Sandi’s latest passion, Treiball (a cross between herding & soccer).

Sandi has made it her mission to improve the image of dogs and raise public awareness of responsible dog owners. She and her friends campaigned almost five years to see more off-leash beaches and dog parks in Santa Cruz County. By 2000, they realized the best way to affect change was to change public perception about dogs. In order to shine a spotlight on the positive aspects of our furry friends, the non-profit organization Coastal Dog Owners’ Group (C-DOG) was born.

“We wanted to create some good news about dogs,” recalled Sandi. “We wanted to find more ways dogs could be an accepted part of society.” One of the main ways C-DOG accomplishes this is by hosting the annual Spring Dog Festival, held each May at the Soquel High School athletic fields. This year’s celebration, with its ‘60s theme “Woofstock West,” drew more than 3000 human visitors and another 1,000 four-footed companions. Frisbee dogs, lure coursing, agility trials and police K-9 demonstrations competed with beauty contests, costume parades and races in four different rings to keep festival-goers entertained.

A percentage of the Spring Dog Festival’s entrance fee goes towards the Angel Fund, which gives grants to other dog-related non-profit groups such as the Santa Cruz SPCA, Annie’s Blankets, and Soquel High School’s Veterinary Science Program, where Sandi teaches dog behavior to about 60 students a year. She estimates that C-DOG has raised close to $14,000 since the Angel Fund’s inception.

In September of this year, C-DOG also organized the first Responsible Dog Owner Day, which offered attendees the opportunity to take the AKC’s Canine Good Citizen (CGC) test.  This is often the first step for those who plan to eventually certify their pets as therapy dogs.

The trainer uses positive reinforcement in her work and emphasizes the importance of recreation.  As evidenced in both her business and community involvement, Sandi lives by one of her favorite sayings: “People who play with their dogs stay with their dogs.”

www.livingwithdogs.us

---

Kelly Luker is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in Runner's World, Salon and various alternative weeklies. She owns Little Pup Lodge, a daycare and cage-free boarding facility designed exclusively for small dogs.

Who Rescued Who?

That magnetic bumper sticker,  "Who Rescued Who?" lived on the Yapmobile's bumper until someone grabbed it.  Those three words came back to me when the relationship between Carly Jeanne and Wilbur culminated in them finding a home for each other.

My adopted niece recently spent two weeks with me.  Wilbur, the year-old Chihuahua foster dog here at Little Pup Lodge,  also decided to adopt Carly Jeanne. Like, immediately.  Carly  was a little slower to respond. She has lost way too much for her young 13 years and in response, has had to build a moat around her heart. Apparently, someone forgot to tell Wilbur. He  quickly abandoned me and snuggled up to Carly  each night. Since Carly Jeanne stays up until 3am and sleeps until 2pm when she visits (We're not much into Tiger Mom around here), Wilbur thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Wilbur is not what you would call a morning dog.  I gave up trying to rouse him for our 7am beach jaunts as a Chihuahua with his cranky-pants on can ruin it for the rest of the gang.

   Rise and shine–almost time for dinner!

Wilbur adored Carly more each day. After I cleared it with her mother Kimberly, I asked  if she would like to adopt Wilbur. Carly looked away and her answer was less than enthusiastic. I understood. If I'd lost my dad to drugs at 10 and lived with a mother diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, I would be mighty slow at letting anything or anyone cross that moat.

Carly, with zonked-out Wilbur and zonked out Mom.

However, Kimberly called when Carly returned home to report that Wilbur was all she talked about. A week later, mother and daughter flew up to claim their newly adopted dog. The phone calls keep me updated on Wilbur's  progress. Morrison, as he has been renamed,  never lets Carly out of her sight and she rarely goes anywhere without him.

A dog is a dog, not a human. But they are so much better equipped to teach us how to open our hearts again.

Yap Stars

Yap Stars

In praise of little dogs

By Kelly Luker

WE'VE HEARD IT all before: "Is that a dog or a rat?" "Hey, a punt dog!" Or the highly original "Why don't you get a real dog?"

As far as membership in that sector of society still safe to belittle, we who own smaller canine breeds rate right up there with rednecks and the obese. Stereotypes abound, both for us and our pint-sized pals. We're airhead heiresses with a Shih Tzu parked in our Gucci bag or post-menopausal women who've restocked their empty nests with furry surrogates.

And oh, how they mock those poor dogs not quite tall enough to drink out of the toilet bowl. If a movie needs a punchline, a throwaway visual joke, bring in the Chihuahua. Or a bow-bedecked Papillon. Bantamweights really do need their own Al Sharpton to do a little barking on their behalf. Perhaps it's time to dispel a few of those tired old myths about us and our "kids," as so many of you are convinced that we call them.

Myth No. 1: Little dogs don't count as dogs.

Photograph by Felipe Buitrago
Yapper's delight: Buster Brown, rolling with Deputy Kim Allyn
of the Santa Cruz County Sheriff's Department

Oh yeah? Tell it to the American Kennel Club, which yearly ranks the most popular breeds. Almost half of the 10 top breeds to cycle up and down AKC's list for the past several years would barely clear your average Labrador's chubby thighs. We're talking Yorkies, Dachshunds, poodles, Shih Tzus, miniature Schnauzers, Pomeranians and Chihuahuas. As long as a burgeoning population of humans continue to cram themselves into ever-smaller living conditions, the little ones will eventually loom over the bigger lunks.

Myth No. 2: Tiny dogs bark more than big dogs.
Not really; it's just more grating. Those tiny vocal chords make for a higher-pitched yap. They're trying to communicate the same thing as German Shepherds or Rottweilers. They're anxious, they're lonely or they'd really appreciate it if you weren't all up in their grill. One sounds like a very large man asking if you want a piece of him. The other comes across like a kindergarten bully.

Myth No. 3: They snap and bite more often than the larger dogs.
Big dogs that bite will hurt people. They quickly change their behavior or end up on death row at the local shelter. Tiny jaws, however, rarely do much more than nip and annoy. Some of their less responsible guardians write it off as a small downside of a small dog.
It's true that your typical Chihuahua will not joyfully run up to slobber all over you like its bigger relatives. You, too, would be a little nervous if everyone you met were as tall as a six-story building. Additionally, most canines were originally bred to do some type of chore: bring down lions, retrieve birds, round up sheep. A Chihuahua was bred specifically for one job: companionship. That would be companion--singular, not plural.

Myth No. 4: The smaller they are, the harder they are to housebreak.
Yes, but it has nothing to do with bladder or brain size. Like their stealth-pooping, they just get away with it easier. Discovering where a Great Dane dropped its load is a lot easier than spotting droppings smaller than your pinkie. Trainers and dog behaviorists agree the best way to housebreak a puppy is to catch it in the act and quickly carry it outdoors while pouring on the praise. A youthful St. Bernard tends to make itself known as it prepares to squat, while a toy breed in its puppyhood can easily disappear behind a moderate-size potted plant. Also, it's easier to forgive a creature that leaves Jimmy Dean breakfast links vs. a steaming mini-Everest.

Myth No. 5: Only women and gay men leash themselves to dogs with balls the size of kibble.
As a middle-aged broad who tools around town with a car load of tiny yappy dogs, I'll be the first to admit that I fit quite snugly into this general preconception. So I would like to bestow the Golden Milk-Bone Award to Mickey Rourke, who attended this year's Academy Awards with a picture of his recently deceased Chihuahua Loki worn as a pendant around his neck. Showing further class, Rourke thanked all his Chihuahuas, past and present, when he won the Golden Globes for his turn in The Wrestler. He spoke for the legions of big, hunky men who don't think twice about a toy breed or two wrapped in their musclebound biceps.
It takes a real man to love a lapdog. A confident man, a fella comfortable with his sexuality. When hip-hop culture starts to venerate Pomeranians instead of pit bulls in videos, on T-shirts and in lyrics, we may grudgingly trust there actually is something inside of those baggy crotches they so love to grab.

Myth No. 6: We like our little dogs better than humans.
Oh, right, that one's true.

Myth No. 7: We think they're children.

Photograph by Felipe Buitrago
Glamor girl: Not only is Ella gorgeous, she's well-mannered too.

Finally, it's time to address this misguided assumption that our tiny charges take the place of children we wished we had. There are plenty who prefer a small, hairless, utterly dependent creature that takes up to four years to housebreak. Many more have committed themselves to young companions who scream "I want," fling food or collapse in a sobbing heap each time they are taken for a walk in public. When our Pekingese reaches the human equivalent of 14 years old, we do not worry about drug abuse, gang affiliations, morbid adolescent poetry or wonder what they do on the Internet hour after hour. Our "kids" set us back about $80-$100 for a six-week school session, not 15 grand a semester. We do not fear they'll lose their job and move back in with us. They never left.

We don't begrudge you and your muscle dogs (unless you're Michael Vick, of course). We'd just like a little respect. Think of us as dedicated environmentalists, just trying to leave an ever smaller pawprint on the planet.

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Kelly Luker runs Little Pup Lodge, a cage-free boarding and day care service created exclusively for small dogs. Reach her at Luker831@yahoo.com or visit LittlePup Lodge.

A Dog By Any Other Name

A little black Chihuahua re-re-named Cody  became the latest unpaid guest (i.e., foster) at Little Pup Lodge. The animal shelter had him listed as "Roker," a baffling moniker from such a studiously, painfully PC shelter as one would expect to find in a county like Santa Cruz. Perhaps an employee there had someone different in mind than the famed, newly-svelte weather anchor, but to be on the safe side we went with “Big Al.” We didn’t like that one either, so Name Number Three  should be the charm.

  Cody rocks!

Beach boy.

Cody is what we call a WTF shelter inhabitant, as in, “No one’s adopted him after three months? WTF!” He never barks, a phenomenally rare quality in Chihuahuas. He’s adorable. He likes kids and other dogs and is as smart as a whip (and no doubt smarter than a Whippet). Cody has a tiny problem distinguishing between the outdoors and my bedroom floor when it comes time to relieving himself.  This is most likely because he was never allowed indoors, a depressing thought for such a small, chronically-chilled breed. However, Cody has made progress to the puppy pad and it is but a mere few feet to the front door and the poop-appropriate yard beyond. The next big step? Finding his perfect family.

Little Lulu

People are idiots.
I really, really try to look for the good in people but some days it's really, really hard. A case in point:  The rescue group I volunteer for, Animal Shelter Relief, heard that a veritable tsunami of tiny dogs had flooded the local animal shelter. Very soon it would be time to bring out The Needle for some (or many) unlucky dogs.
Nickie and I showed up to pick up a new foster and, as we were leaving, Nickie promptly fell in love with Lulu. Lulu was a special needs kid; she had a broken pelvis and needed to remain crated for the next two months.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I will be needing a forever family in a couple of months. Thank you for asking. And I am so cute, you will have to take a number and stand in line.

Here is the story behind that broken pelvis. A couple driving by saw poor Lulu get hit by a car and stopped to pick her up. A nice gesture. They then took her home without bothering to  take her to the vet hospital. After two weeks, two weeks,  they decided that the gods of magical healing had not cast their wands over Lulu and dumped her at the animal shelter. A pelvis that may have healed quite a bit faster with immediate attention had begun to disintegrate into several bone fragments.
I never take more than one foster into my home at a time, so Lulu went home with Nickie. Which is exactly like going to my home. She lives in her crate or on Nickie's lap, going outside only long enough to take care of business.
Unlike most of us humans, Lulu does not know that she should be miserable and full of self-pity for this rotten turn of events in her life. In fact, young Lulu is full of joy and wiggles her butt so wildly when she gets excited that we fear she'll break her pelvis all over again.

Un petit ange,  je ne suis pas?

Lulu also does not know she ended up with the perfect foster mom. Since Nickie specializes in caring for old, ill or injured companion animals, she now has a perfect specimen upon which to practice her massage, Reiki and other healing techniques. Lulu is a lucky girl, but she does not know it. All Lulu knows is that she's insanely happy to be alive.

Gimme Sheltie

It's always exciting  when a new breed of dog checks in to Little Pup Lodge. That should give you an idea of what breathlessly fascinating lives we lead around here. This time it was a Sheltie named Grace. Shelties look a lot like Collies that hav been run through the dryer and got seriously shrunk.

That's amazing, Grace!

Grace brought along a wonderful temperament and extremely good manners. This counts for a lot with us. The Sheltie, a breed previously known as the Shetland Sheepdog, also brought her herding skills. The rest of the guests were good natured about it and allowed Grace to round them up. Grace did not stop at herding other dogs. Toss her a ball and she didn't chew or retrieve, but guided it around tight little circles.  I think she'd do a great job with my chickens.