The Good, the Not-Bad-at-All and the Ugly

Well, I got back from Turkey late Sunday night/early Monday morning, and I'm just now getting back to St. Louis time.

I will post more about the trip on Friday, but I wanted to share a few pictures and observations now.

Turkey is a gorgeous country. I'm not sure what I expected--I think a huge expanse of desert and nothing else--but it was beautiful and green and the ocean was an incredible blue.

We spent a couple of evenings exploring the area. Mt. Ida (also known as the Devil's Footprint) is a beautiful area. At night it was enchanting.

The food was not bad at all. In fact, most of it was delicious. Every day when in Istanbul, I had this omelet. Delicious and spicy...

The ugly side of Turkey is the stray dogs and cats. They're everywhere. On the sidewalk. In the streets. On the shoulder of the highway. In the middle of the highway, terrified and not sure in which direction they should go. In the fields, thirsty and hungry.

I'll post more about my trip and the dogs we rescued on Friday. And speaking of Friday, here's the picture for this Friday's Back-of-the-Book Blurb. (Sorry Val, that you have such little time to write the reviews and the blurb. I'll get back on my normal schedule next week.) 

photo by pixabay

Travel, Anyone? How About a Foster Dog?

In June I'll be taking a trip. Like the Blues Brothers, I'll be on a mission from God. Or, rather, on a mission from DOG (so maybe I'm the dyslexic Blues Brother).

Turkey is my destination. I'll spend a few days with a Turkish acquaintance about five hours from Istanbul.

Hagia Sophia--a church that was first built in 537 A.D. and is now a museum--is in
Istanbul. My teaching partner said it's amazing. Hopefully I'll have the time and the
opportunity to see it.

The purpose of this trip is to get three golden retrievers. In case you didn't know, there are thousands of stray dogs in Turkey, and hundreds and hundreds of those strays are goldens. Goldens don't fight back, so when dogs get into fights (as packs of hungry dogs tend to do), goldens don't last long.

Golden rescue groups in Atlanta and Michigan have been working together for the last few years to fly whole pallets of dogs (in crates) to the U.S. Individuals flying--and escorting 2 or 3 dogs--is a less expensive option.

We're always looking for foster homes--homes that have a fence, loving homes that are willing to care for a dog for a short period of time until the dogs find forever homes.

If you know someone who'd love to love an international dog (they learn English quite quickly), have them contact Love a Golden Rescue. If you've ever been to that part of the world, I'd love any helpful tips. And if you want to read a great post about travel writing, check out Renee Roberson's post, read this. I might actually try to write something about Turkey and sell it.

A "Made-Me-Feel-Dirty" Weekend

          A couple of weeks ago I spent the day at a puppy mill auction.  Dogs that were no longer wanted by puppy mill breeders--the younger dogs, the ones with one eye or three legs or one testicle--they were all for sale.

         And even though it was unbelievably muddy, that was not why I took a long, hot shower when I got home.

         It was a disgusting experience...And try as I might, I could not wash off the sleaziness and disgust that I had become encased in.

photo by Star Cat

        As I watched dogs, their hopeful eyes pleading, get sold for anywhere from $5 to several hundred dollars, I grew more and more despondent.  Only a few of the bidders were with a rescue group; the rest were Amish (puppy mills is now one of their new ways of making big money), Mennonite, and the rest were folks I considered "typical" for where we were and what we were doing.  And what we were doing was horrible...

       The auction was held on the property of a puppy mill that was retiring its "stock."  Their house was quite nice----spacious-looking (from the outside) and brick. Probably comfortable inside.  The family probably padded around in the evening on carpeting or lovely hardwood floors.

        Dogs that live to breed are not so lucky.  Some of them never get to stand or walk on grass.  Some of them don't even have enough room to turn around.  And almost none of them get the chance to know what a loving home is like...

photo by rglaser

        Unfortunately, most of the property was off-limits. Several large buildings could be seen, wire cages (empty) were stacked inside, but signs clearly said, "Stay away."  Also posted were signs warning us to not take any photos or videos. 

         The auctioneer, when a pregnant dog was being bid on, would call out, "She's showin' a belly, she's got a belly," and the assistants would hold the dog up for everyone to see. 

         By seven that evening, the Golden Retrievers we had bought were loaded in the car. Our rescue friends bid on Bloodhounds and Japanese Chin and various other canines. Altogether, 31 dogs were rescued, which meant no more litters would be born because of those dogs.  Thirty-one out of more than 300. Not very good odds, I'd day...   

photo by tcsails

        

Foley: A Guest Blogger

             My mom is swamped this weekend.  She is working on finishing report cards, and today, she has a board meeting for Love a Golden. (Love a Golden is the dog rescue group that saved me.  Before I was rescued, I was running the fields, I had to find my own food, and I was scared to death of storms but I had nowhere to feel safe---I spent all my days and nights outside.)

             Since Mom is so busy, she asked me if I would write a post today.  (It's slow going, because my paws are so big, so sometimes they hit several keys at once, and I have to erase and begin again.)  My day is usually spent napping on the couch in between sessions of playing fetch, so I figured, I have the time...

This is a photo of me as I contemplate where I will take my next nap...
In the hall?  On the futon? By the door?  So many decisions...

                 I admit, I have an easy life.  I get fed two meals every day and even though I eat the same thing every day, I don't complain.  It's pretty tasty stuff!  During the sweltering summer months, I suck up the air conditioning right along with Annie, the senior citizen I live with, and my mom and dad. When the snow piles up, no worries.  I can go outside and play in the drifts if I choose, but otherwise, I curl up on the couch where it's cozy and warm.



This is Annie. (I figured I might as well include a picture of her,
since she was nice enough--two years ago---to agree and share her home with me.)
Her eyes are really cloudy.  Mom and Dad say that she has something that sounds like "cadillacs..."

                 There's only one bad thing about living here:  the squirrels are quite wily.  They scamper around the yard in the early morning, and when they hear the back door open, they race for the trees and the fence. As fast as I run, I can never catch one.  Before I was rescued, I had to catch squirrels and rabbits for my meals.  It's been a long time since I've had a snack with four legs...



                                       

This is a picture of Love a Golden's booth at a dog rescue event.  Humans bake dog treats and spend their free time selling things so there is money to rescue more dogs.  Look them up at http://www.loveagolden.com/. (That's our president. She doesn't get any money for all the work she does, just like all the other unpaid "workers." I give them a rating of "four paws out of four.")

               
             I only do one thing that makes my family look at me in mean ways.  I love to chew. Sofa pillows. Shoes. (Only my mom's shoes. My dad says his are too stinky, too smelly to even tempt a dog!) Any paper within my reach.  Bags of bread. (I not only eat the bread, but I tear and rip the plastic wrapper until bits of it are strewn all over the floor.)  Now the house looks a little different.  All the pillows are put away, the bedroom doors are closed while us two dogs are alone during the day, and Mom does a final "security check" before she leaves in the morning. Shoes? Put away, check. Bread on top of the microwave or way back up against the wall on the table? Check.  Doors closed so they "click" shut? Check.  Any mail or papers or magazines or books set up out of reach? Check.

               I know what you're going to say.  I've tried.  I've tried to blame Annie on the mischief I make. (Hey, before you look aghast, she's deaf, so she wouldn't be able to hear Mom and Dad admonish her and she's also forgetful, so her shame would pass in an instant...)  The two-leggers are not buying my scam. They know that nothing ever got chewed up before I came along, so I can never escape the well-deserved reputation of being the Chewinator.

This is one of my "pin up" photos.  The girl dogs love me in this tantalizing pose,
but I have no interest in them.  (The vet made sure of that when I got rescued.)
At my side is one of my two favorite things. This one is "red ball." My other
favorite thing is "purple ball." I used to also have "disgusto ball" but my dad threw it too hard,
and it went into the neighbor's yard and since it looks like a jungle back there, no more "disgusto ball..."

                I suppose this is a long enough post. I hope my mom is happy with it.  She had this idea when one of her blogging friends Lisa Ricard Claro had her two grand-cats write a post!  Yuck! Cats!  They make me even more crazy than squirrels!

All That Lying Paid Off

        When I was a teenager, I lied a lot.  About my activities.  About boyfriends. About where I was going when I left in the car.  I got very good at it, yet once I got out on my own, I had no reason to lie.

           Occasionally I lie to pull my students' legs. (Yesterday when one of my students saw me leave an out-of-the-way staff restroom upstairs,  they asked me what that door was to. I told them it led to a small hallway and some stairs, and downstairs was the staff swimming pool.  Then the music teacher got into it, and said there was a spa there as well.  Then I heaped on even more:  There was also a sundae bar down there.  The teachers get to make ice cream sundaes and choose their own toppings. They bought it--hook, line and sinker--so I had to tell them we were kidding them.) However, recently I lied, and will answer to a "higher power" for it...

          The dog rescue group I work with had a call a few weeks ago about a Golden Retriever that was tied outside all night and all day on a daily basis.  I was the one who got the call, so I had all these sad images in my head.  The heat has been unbearable; I could not imagine having no respite from the humidity and the sun. The caller said the dog howled constantly, and got yelled at because of the noise it made. Goldens are people-oriented dogs, so not having people giving them the affection and attention they thrive on made me determined to do what I could do to help out this dog.

          The town where this dog was is situated about 2 1/2 hours away.  I drove there, having no idea if the family would be home, or if they would agree to sell the dog to me.  (I had a small amount of money with me, hopefully enough to tempt them.)

          Thankfully, the owners were not too suspicious or smart or savvy, because the tale I told had lots of holes in it.  (Or perhaps my teenaged lies have honed my skills more than I thought?)  Anyway, after speaking to them for more than an hour, I drove home with the dog.  At every rest stop where we paused, for a potty break, I tried to convey to this gorgeous Golden that life was going to be different from now on...

       This gentle boy has not had an accident in our house yet, he is a "sponge" when it comes to human contact, and is learning how to play.

      

photo by laurent.brun31

          Unfortunately, he will not be able to play or be active for the next month and a half.  The vet found he is heartworm positive, which means after he is treated--after his neutering and after the treatment for heartworms--he will have to stay quiet in a crate for a month.  He might not make it, although our rescue has had great results with dogs plagued by heartworms. (We're getting more and more dogs from rural areas, and when dogs are kept outside all the time, and don't receive the needed monthly medication, they're susceptible.)

         If he survives the treatment, and if we don't fall hopelessly in love with him while we are fostering him, he will be up for adoption. At least one of those is a big if...