She's Home!

With Apologies to Marilyn, "My Week With... Audrey"

Last Thursday, we took the plunge. We rescued a lab mix puppy from our local shelter. We rescued Audrey and in doing so rewarded Kate for a nothing short of miraculous turnaround in algebra.


My sister says rescue dogs are grateful, and that's why they make such good pets. Maybe. Sounds like a bit of a stretch to me, Banker Sister. But admittedly, my sister had perhaps the most wonderful dog I have ever known. She rescued Bogey, and in return, he brought smiles to her family for more than ten years. Bogey and My Banker Sister inspired me to adopt. And seemingly following in Bogey's footsteps, Audrey definitely was well-behaved, smart, sweet, loving, happy....playful. At least until Tuesday.....some five days post rescue......she was well-behaved, sweet, loving, happy...playful. Suddenly, Tuesday night, everything changed. Audrey changed. Audrey became violently sick. She stopped eating or drinking. Even scarier, Audrey stopped playing. She was, almost instantaneously, a different dog. We all knew. We knew before the adoption that she might have been exposed to parvo. We knew, but five days with this pup made us forget. This sweet, playful dog couldn't possibly be sick. But suddenly, she was. We couldn't bear to think it. No one dared to say it. But we knew.......



Wednesday morning at 6:00 am found me calling every vet in the area. Who opened earliest? Who could see us soonest? I had a scheduled meeting. It would have to wait. Audrey and I were at the vet at 7:45. The usual check-in questions. Roll call of our other pets. Yes, we still have Joe, Satchmo, and Landen. Sadly, Koko passed away. How old is Audrey....I don't know. What breed is she......lab....I don't know....lab something. They gave up with questions. I couldn't answer them anyway. They tested. They didn't need to. I already knew. And when they confirmed the worst, I still broke down. A fifty year old woman in sweat pants and no make-up before 8:00 on a day she is scheduled to be in a meeting crying as if there were no tomorrow....over a puppy I didn't know a week ago. How could this baby pup who had in a week brought so much joy to Kate and to our family be sick and fighting for survival? How could my Kate Bug be faced with yet another of life's catastrophes? How and why is so much thrown in one young girl's....in my girl's.... direction?



I barely heard the vet say 50% chance of survival. In the back of my mind I remember him asking if we wanted to try....if we wanted to treat. I wasn't about to give up on Kate's pup, on Audrey, without a fight. Yes, of course, they would do all they could. I vaguely remember a veterinary assistant saying perhaps Audrey's mom was a floosie. How do you spell that anyway, and was it absolutely necessary to question Audrey's lineage at this particular point in time?



I left Audrey at the vet. I clung to the empty blanket I now carried, wondering what the next few hours and day would bring. I tried to imagine how I could explain to Kate if Audrey didn't survive the treatment. I knew there simply would be no words. I dreaded the prospect. She and I have had far too many of these conversations already.



Thursday, one week post adoption, brought us a new outlook and a little hope. Audrey is improving. Still not eating, but no longer nauseous. Now standing, where yesterday she could or would only lie. And is that a wagging tail....yesterday, I wasn't sure we would ever see that.


We aren't there yet. We have a ways to go. But today is a day of optimism and hope for more "weeks with Audrey" in our future.

We're Expecting!

No, no, it's not what you're thinking. I promised Kate if she pulled her algebra grade up, we would consider a puppy. I know I need my head examined, but I honestly thought that was a pretty safe bet. Who knew that once motivated (and tutored), her D would become a B and ever so close to the elusive A? It is so like Kate to make me pay for my bribes and promises. I am again reminded that one of the best ways to move Kate to action is to tempt her with proving her mother wrong.

So, the search was on. We followed a lead provided by a favorite cousin to a 'pawsitively' precious lab litter. But timing and location just didn't seem to work out for us. From that litter, however, we did 'adopt' a name for our puppy to be....Audrey.

Next stop the animal shelter. I really encouraged Kate to at least consider a rescue. A totally unconvinced Kate and her only slightly less enthusiastic Daddy headed over to Lancaster's shelter. Once there, Kate was smitten with a lab spitz mix. I don't think I even know what a spitz is, and it didn't matter. Before the required waiting period for adoption passed, another shelter picked up the pups.

With a restart on our search, a friend who does great work with rescue pointed us toward a couple of pups as well as showed us a beautiful litter she was holding until they could be relocated. Precious puppies, but still not quite right.

Not to be dissuaded or defeated, a few days later, Kate, having cajoled transportation from her dad who is always a pretty easy target where this child is concerned, was back to recheck the shelter, and there she was. A black lab mix, female, star on her chest. Kate had found her star....it was Audrey. Now, I often think female labs are a little more homely (is that the right description for a pup) than males. Those female snoots just aren't as boxy as the boys'. I think back to a female yellow lab pup Adrian and I bought years ago after the seller assured us that her head would indeed box as she grew older. In real estate, the term is puffing....not sure what it is called in the canine world. The bottom line is, he lied. Ten years after bringing her home, we were still waiting for Sunni's perpetually pointed nose to box. Audrey, like Sunni, isn't the most beautiful lab pup I've seen. In Audrey's case, shall we say her pedigree is at least a little in question. She most assuredly has a ways to go to live up to the legacy of beauty and grace her Hollywood Royalty name would imply. But Kate loves her. We again have a waiting period, yet another six day waiting game. The countdown begins.

Five Days Until Release....I am officially introduced to Audrey. Nevermind that I have 2000 things on my mind and on my plate, or that I actually backed my car into a tree (the same tree I have hit with three different cars on three different occasions..... Note to self: Call Davey Tree. This target is soon to be removed....) as we left for the shelter. But when I saw Kate cuddle this leggy, lanky little lab, I agreed. This could be our Audrey.

Four Days Until Release..... just as we think we see a glimmer of the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel....shocking news. The puppy, our puppy, may have been exposed to parvo during her time at the shelter. We are utterly helpless...because of regulations, the puppy cannot be removed until the requisite waiting period expires. But every day she is there increases her risk of exposure, illness, or even death. We have told ourselves if it's meant to be....if this is indeed Audrey....it will be. Time is standing still.

Three Days Until Release.....calls to everyone I can think of to beg for reason and Audrey's release. Let us get her to a vet for check-up and treatment if needed. But continued and staunch refusal from the sometimes bureaucracy of agencies frustrates my efforts. I know they are doing what they have to do. But, where is the sense of reason? Keeping a puppy in a risky situation when a potential owner is begging to adopt.....I don't get it. Meanwhile, each day seems to last a month.

Two Days Until Release.......I call the shelter. Audrey and her litter are doing well today with no worrisome symptoms. They are playful and eating....so far so good. Will we make it 48 hours?

One Day Until Release.....Kate, Daddy, and Friends again visit the shelter. Audrey and her litter are still seemingly doing well....playful. Maybe as she shows her tricks, she knows this family, my family, might be hers. Twenty four more hours.....come on, Audrey, let's do this, Girl!

It's here....D Day. Or should I say A Day or perhaps W Day...as in what was I thinking. That star on her chest is actually beginning to look like a "W". Maybe she's Republican, right? Nonetheless, Audrey is set to arrive. After last minute trips to Petsmart for puppy supplies and chow, we are ready. Audrey is coming home! I am very proud of Kate for rescuing. Maybe we saved just one puppy out of millions, but it seems we did the right thing. Stay tuned for her unveiling.....we're just waiting for that head to box!

I'll have the Battle Hymn of the Republic and a Sponge Bob Popsicle

It's beach vacation time again...and with it one of those precious rites of a southern coastal spring and summer....the Garden City ice cream truck! Blaring, or tinkling may be more accurate, its crazy musical menu ranging from The Battle Hymn of the Republic to Love Story to Rock a Bye Baby....all blasting from the same unlikely source...an ice cream truck. There is something decidely southern about pairing Sponge Bob popsicles and the awe inspiring Battle Hymn, don't you think?

Two, three ...sometimes four times a day ....the ice cream truck approaches. Whether inside or outside, on the beach or at the pool, kids stop, kids listen. You see them putting fingers up to their mouths in the universal shushing gesture. Then suddenly mahem and the excited squeals of children whipped into an almost frenzy pierce the South Strand calm. Frantic races for parents' pocket change ensue. The music....whatever medley is offered today, faint at first then a little louder, then clearly recognizable.... tiny customers in a true tiz by now.

Drew, most certainly an expert in such things, tells me the yellow truck is the bomb. The orange one, at least in the world according to Drew, is a rip off. My occasionally thrifty son has noted this latter vendor charges $2.50 per ice cream while the sweet treats of the yellow are an even $2.00. I think I must vote that the yellow also has the best, albeit slightly eclectic, perhaps incompatible and, okay, probably downright weird musical offerings as well. Today, on Easter Sunday, I actually heard Jingle Bells.....a perfect fit for an April Sunday, don't you think....blaring from the slightly hippie yellow van that is the preferred truck of my ice cream connoisseur Drew.

No matter the musical offering, kids come running in every direction as the ice cream truck approaches. Giddy with anticipation for their treats as only slightly wary parents look on shouting their cautions, the 2012 children of the beach can barely contain themselves. Faint strains of Daisy, Daisy ride the beach winds and I find myself wondering if these Ohioan and Canadien children have ever even seen an ice cream truck before.

As I once again count the blessings of my southern heritage, I oversee Drew's race to catch up with the truck before it pulls back onto the Waccamaw stretch in search of more petite patrons.

You've gotta love the South Strand Summer, early as it may be, and the simple charm of ...whether orange or yellow.....the neighborhood ice cream truck as it injects its quirky music, its snow cones and sicles into our treasured days at the beach. We can't wait for our next trip!