COMING HOME

It was Saturday morning at 9 AM, and I fortunately found a parking spot right in front of the Fosters’ apartment on busy St-Laurent Street in downtown Montreal. I trekked up the stairs, two cages in hand, and knocked on the door. It opened on a scene of organized turmoil! The Agency people were already there, gathering up toys and food and blankets and dishes; puppies were scurrying around everywhere, and Pitiful Mom was running frantically from one baby to another. The Fosters stood back watching the activity, not quite sure what to do – mostly attempting to stay out of the way. Wow! Would you believe it took only 10 minutes to fill my truck with all the extras and 5 puppies sharing the 2 crates? In the end my contribution was to hang on to Pitiful Mom’s leash, which wasn’t easy until she realised that we were following the men carrying her puppies. I opened the back door of my truck, wondering just where she was going to sit, it was packed so tight...and she balked. She came to a dead stop.

“Oh, I forgot!” said the Agency lady. “She doesn’t like getting into cars.”

What???

I stared at the lady – here I was alone, with a truck full of puppies, going to have to negotiate heavy downtown city traffic then another 90 minutes following vacation-bound tourists, with a hyper mother pit-bull who didn’t really know me from Adam...and you tell me NOW she doesn’t like cars? The lady read my expression and hurried to add “She’ll be okay once she’s inside, she just doesn’t like getting in.” I stared down at Pitifull Mom, wondering just how I was going to do this, short of physically picking her up and stuffing her among the blankets on the back seat. The puppies saved the day. They began to yelp, and it only took a second for Mom to scramble up, attempting to reach the crates. I quickly closed the door. When I slipped behind the wheel, I was more than a little apprehensive for the ride home. Taking a deep breath, I turned the key, put on the air conditioning but left the windows open a slit for air, locking them into place, and turned up a CD of soothing music. I took it slow – heard more than one horn blasting at my cautious driving – and by the time we left the city Pitiful Mom was still moving between the back and front seat, but she was not jumping...it was more like a prowl. I talked to her constantly, but she ignored me. She was not happy with this.

She began to show an interest when we got onto the country roads. Her nose was in the air and she was sniffing – I imagine the smells were completely foreign to a dog that had spent her whole life in the city. When we reached the house I drove into the garage and took her leash, coaxing her out of the vehicle. I lifted the back door of the truck – the puppies were awake now and yelping again – so I let her see that they were okay before taking her for a short walk in the yard, staying close so that she could see her babies. By this time they were making a racket – they wanted to come out and investigate too.

This called for planning. I brought Mom upstairs, closed her into a room – Bandit, my cat, was in the house and a proper introduction would come later - then I returned to the garage and backed my truck to the door of the downstairs apartment. It took more than one trip to get all the stock and the crates inside. I fetched Mom, then opened the crates. Out tumbled five furry little bodies.... and my Foster-Fail began.

(To be cont’d)

Sorry folks – I’m still fighting the antibiotics and trying to catch up on 3 weeks of missed work – the story of my life, LOL! But I am feeling better, and this Friday will be the last of the pills and it should be all kool from there! Just that thought makes me SMILE – am sharing it with you as always!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.