Farewell Jack d. 17th November 2010

When we picked Jack up at the Westmoreland Animal Shelter in 2003 he was out of time. However, the shelter staff was so keen to save this dog that they stayed open an extra couple of hours so that we could get across and pick him up. Jorg and I had been doing dog transport runs for some time, meeting other transporters at different rendezvous points on I-95 and I-81 and driving a leg or two on the rescued dogs' journey from kill shelters to the northern rescues that would take them. The plan for Jack was that we would hand him off to another transporter in northern Virginia, then he would be delivered to a rescuer friend of ours in Pennsyvlania and she would find him a home. The best laid plans.........

Jack was a brindle Amstaff (polite name for a pitbull mix). We reached the shelter, then duly signed and took possession of him. The shelter told us he was about 2 years old and that he was a really sweet dog. Well the latter part was true, but it wasn't many years before we realized that he was nearer 6 or 7 years old when we picked him up.

We had two hours to kill before we were to link up with his transporter, so we spent a little time by the Chesapeake Bay walking Jack along the sand. At first sight he was a mess. He was very thin. His toenails were worn to the quick, his elbows rubbed raw and the smell was indescribable (even though the shelter had bathed him twice). He had obviously come a long way and had a really bad time. When we reached Arlington, the time had come to pass him on, but the transporter arrived in a standard car with the back seat already taken up by some puppies. That put Jack in the front seat. I duly coaxed him in, only to receive a paw on the arm, and a look that reached right into my soul.

Now, we had been doing transport for over a year and had seen the sad and confused faces of dozens of puppies, old dogs and scared dogs. We had resisted taking them all home. Indeed it was a serious breach of the transport rules to do so, as these dogs were destined for new and better homes, one way or another. Back to Jack, who now looked so perplexed at being parted with that I just couldn't do anything except say "Jack, let's go home." Fortunately, our rescue friend in Pennsylvania was only too happy with this arrangement.

On the way home, we realized that a new dog meant a new bed, so we duly stopped to buy one. As we put it into the back of the SUV, Jack's eyes opened wide. He shot over to the back and spent the rest of the journey happily snuggling into his floofy bed! For the rest of his life, Jack's bed was his own, special place in the world.

Shandy, Jack and Sally

Jack took a long time to bond fully with us and he often he seemed far away. We always felt that he had had a good home, probably with children to play with, and that some bad event had befallen him that led to his finishing up in the shelter. A nice boy he certainly was, accepting Sally as "boss" and treating Shandy (another shelter dog formerly on death row) to regular ear cleaning, a service he provided later on for Bridgette as well. The shelter had named him Jack, and as he seemed to be happy with the name, it stuck. When we jokingly called him "Fuzzy Butt", it never failed to exact a wiggle of his minuscule stump of a tail, even when he was failing at the end. He seemed to know this tease from days long past. His only problem was a strong prey drive (but only for critturs!) that caused him to view an open outside door as an invitation to "bolt". He'd then arrive back at the door a while later covered in swamp mud and soaking wet, wagging his stump of a tail to let us know how much he had enjoyed himself. He did come unglued on one such episode, when running alongside a nearby fence, me following his tracks in the fresh snow, the llama who guarded our neighbor's goats suddenly appeared over the fence and did what llamas do. Jack bolted once more, but this time straight to me, pleased to be back on the leash and going home!

It became obvious a few years later, as his muzzle started to gray out, that Jack was a lot older than we had initially thought. His hearing also started to go, although it was remarkable that the chink of the cookie jar lid, or a spoon on an ice cream bowl, could bring him running from the furthest reaches of the house. Up to this year though, his health had been pretty good. A benign tumor on his butt was easily removed, but he had some bone spurs on his backbone, which started to affect his back legs, and the formation of cataracts was progressively reducing his sight. The neurological effect of the bone spurs was treatable with prednisone, but as we had experienced with Sally, it was difficult to get a dosage that helped keep him walking without the poisonous aftereffect.

Finally two days ago, his legs gave out completely. Along with a loss of appetite, it was obvious that there were a number of other things going wrong, too many for us to help him. That last night and day he did not move from the comfy bed that we had made up downstairs for him and we made the hard decision to let him go. Our thanks to our vet Dr Gates, who did a home visit so that we didn't have to take Jack out of his home environment.

Farewell Fuzzy Butt. Enjoy your reunion with Sally, Shandy and Bridgette. You really were a "good boy" and will be sorely missed. There is a big hole in the house that will never be filled.

Risk Management

Whilst I hesitate to return to the rather dismal happenings of a month ago and the current economic forecasts, they do raise the issue of managing a rescue (especially when inextricably bound up in one's own life and finances!) in trying economic circumstances.

Our role as a rescue, to paraphrase our mission statement and tag line, is to: rescue, rehabilitate and (where appropriate - my italics) rehome at-risk horses, and enable them to live in safety and dignity for the rest of their lives. Finding homes (whether as adopters or fosters) that will fulfill that mission is a careful process, not to be taken lightly, hurried or glossed over. And if such a home cannot be found for a horse, then we become that home for life. We cannot, and should not, so extend ourselves that we compromise the care of those we have already rescued. It is tempting, and Lord knows there are enough sad cases out there, to max up to the total capacity of one's space and energy. After all it is much simpler to say "yes" to someone with a genuine need to place their animal than to say "no". This is one of the most difficult decisions in animal rescue. But my premise is that, in the long run, saying" yes" every time does no one any favors if it puts the rescue at risk.

Risk Management has been a particular interest of mine in recent years, and the line between being overly cautious and overextended can be a difficult one to draw. This especially true when dealing with living things. However, there are some basic parameters that we try to consider (and could equally be considered by either a first time buyer or an owner looking to increase their herd). We offer these as suggestions to others in the hope that they may help in deciding whether to take on another animal, and determining whether you are becoming overextended in these difficult times.

First, we try to put our emotional response to a rescue request into some sort of context. One reason for doing this is because there may be other options. We have found that what often sounds like a crisis in an e-mail can be resolved with some ingenuity and thought, or additional time, and without necessarily adding another animal to the rescue. In other cases, the owner has other options that they prefer not to exercise. As we are an urgent need rescue, we must stay focused on the need of the horse as our first priority, rather than the convenience of the owner.

In evaluating our capacity for accepting another horse, we must consider the following:

1. Open space - do we have the space, acreage, paddocks, and ability to separate incoming horses of unknown temperament or condition? Can we accommodate the horse's special needs?
   
2. Shelter - if we have space, do we have adequate shelter against heat, rain, wind, cold and insects?
3. Stalls - if the weather turns really bad (remember the snowfall of '96!) can we bring everyone safely in? Senior and arthritic horses must always have their own stalls.
   
4. Hay - can we store enough hay for at least a few weeks ahead, better still do we have enough hay, either promised, bought, or from our own resources, for the entire winter?
5. Feed - do we have feed for more than our immediate needs, do we know what we expend in feed costs and can we maintain (increase?) this expenditure for the foreseeable future with the same (more, less?) number of animals?
6. Water - can we supply water to paddocks and barns under all conditions, what is our fallback for loss of power, frozen pipes, standpipes or hoses?
   
7. Medication - do we have meds just enough for immediate needs or for some period ahead, do we know our med costs for a month, do we have a regular supplier at a known cost, are we in regular contact with our vet to maintain continuity of supplies, do we know what we are taking on with a new horse?
8. Sufficient reserves - do we know how much it costs to keep one animal for a year, what is the likelihood that we can adopt an animal out, and how long will it take, where our funding is likely to come from - donations, us?

This may seem a hard-nosed way of looking at rescuing animals in need, but my whole reasoning is based around not subjecting our rescued horses to further risk by overextending ourselves. Too many rescuers are having to close their doors because at a certain point, their hearts began to override their heads. While compassion is an admirable human trait, it does no good to rescue 20 or 30 or 70 animals, only to have them once again put at risk because the rescue has to shut down. The suggestions above are good ones regardless of the financial climate, but these are particularly hard times. We are all fearful of the fallout from the current economic situation and rescue organizations are reeling from the sheer numbers of requests for help that they are receiving. Most of us will survive, I am sure, but it will require careful management on our part. Our animal charges rely on us to make good decisions on their behalf, and we are duty bound to make those decisions based on the best information we have available. As a consequence, we aim to continue to give the best care we can to all our current and future rescues.

C'mon, you can do it.

The rain started last night, initially as a thunderstorm, then settled down to a soft, monotonous soaker- exactly what we need. Like many hay growers we have been viewing this summer’s weather with some apprehension, as conditions are drier than we would like. Last year, drought conditions forced the price of hay up so high that many people either gave up their livestock, or tried to do without hay. Cattle owners resorted to unconventional silage sources and horse owners picked up an interest, many for the first time, in hay extender pellets. Rescue operators in the southeast faced the dual stresses of trying to feed their horses and trying to accommodate the high number of distress calls. Like many rescues, we reached an all-time high for the number of horses we housed.

While we recognize that recent weather patterns and economic conditions have made for more expensive hay and feed, we encourage people to hang in there and keep their horses. If you have had your best guy or gal for 20-something years, now is not the time to send them packing. If you do not feel a sense of responsibility to them, how in the world can you trust in strangers with no emotional connection to them to keep them safe? We rescue the horses that have or will have absolutely no one else to take care of them. Virginia has the 5th largest equine population in the country and we have many horses displaced through genuine owner hardship or lack of owner accountability. Please don’t add your horse to this population. Do the right thing- keep them safe at home, even if you have to give up Netflix and fast food for awhile. It’s not that hard. Maybe not everyone can do it, but most of you can.

Still no calves. The cows are oblivious to our anxiety.

Yesterday, a potential adopter met one of our horses for the first time. It was love at first sight. Our little mare, to our great relief, was the epitome of grace and good behavior- especially for a four-year old. Four-year old horses are generally more likely to step on your feet and panic in wild-eyed, snorting, full-scale alert over bugs and planetary motion when someone shows up who might be interested in them. The potential adopter was kind and skilled and I was jubilant when she handed me the application.