Wacky Saturday

The three most ridiculous stories from work yesterday (there were four, but one involves the SPCA and may not be safe to publish):

3. One of our dedicated fosters came in with her family to pick out a new foster. She had her heart set on Hanky Panky, who's been in the shelter for almost a month and doesn't have the sparkling personality to easily win over an adopter. He doesn't even wag.

Hanky Panky

What kind of dog doesn't wag?

The foster wanted him, but her kids were complaining that she always got to pick the dog, so she was letting them come to their own consensus. She was getting mad that they wanted to foster Highly Adoptable animals and that's not the point of fostering. It's not about who's cute, but who needs you.

They finally settled on St. Thomas, a Rottie mix who has about two brain cells, one of which controls his butt shaking. He's sweet, but not too bright.

St. Thomas

He is also being treated for Demodex, a mostly non-contagious mange. When the foster started the process to take him home, she was told that since the vets weren't there to give out the medicine, she couldn't take him until Monday. Even though it is a daily treatment and he had to get it somehow while the vets weren't there anyway, she was told no. Seems a bit fishy to me, but it was 6 and I wanted to go home. Of course, Honey took a half hour nap on the couch first, but still.

2. On Thursday, a woman came in with her mother looking for a dog that would be good with her two-year-old. She had a Rottweiler growing up, so luckily she was open to all breeds. She met Dior and really liked her, so she went home to get her kid so that they could meet before she took the dog home.

Dior

By the time she got back we had already closed, so she came back Saturday afternoon with her child and partner. They looked around, introduced the Dior to the kid (she did great) and went to the front desk to process the adoption. Apparently they (mostly the man) didn't hit it off with the front desk lady who was helping them. When the shit hit the fan, he started cussing up a storm and tried to get his partner to leave.

Apparently, when they got the adoption process started, another family was already halfway through adopting the same dog. That rarely happens, and only with puppies. This dog had been around for a month with no serious inquiries. When they found out they couldn't have the dog, they were understandably upset, but the woman took it much better. She wanted to go look at the other dogs while they guy just wanted to cuss everyone out.

They ended up staying and adopted a different dog, but when it came time to do the paperwork, the guy asked if I could do it because he didn't want to deal with the same lady. I told him to go around to one of the other front desk workers and they could take care of him. He was not a nice man, but I feel kind of proud that we got through it and he still at least liked me. Plus, two dogs got adopted and hopefully they'll be well taken care of.

1. I had a jelly doughnut for lunch.

Rescue

Some dogs just have that "Save me" look. And sometimes you just have to say, "Okay. I will."

When I first saw Roxy, she was a pitiful little thing inside a big, lonely kennel. I couldn't figure out why she hadn't been adopted, since she was small and the small breeds are the first to go.

I found out she had a heart murmur and no adopters or rescues were willing to do the tests required before she could undergo anesthesia. I told my mom, and she took care of that mess. She drove over 2 hours to pick the dog up, took her to her own vet, paid for the heart panel, and drove her back to get the spay surgery, then took her home again. Now, she lives happily with my grandma, keeping her company and looking at her with those "Save me" eyes.

Bastian (now Bear) is another case where the new owners weren't willing to deal with a little medical issue. During his neuter, a huge lump was found on his neck (his new dad calls it his Adam's apple). He, too, was labeled rescue only because we didn't want to see him returned again.

Once again, Mom took him to her own vet. He's now happy and healthy living with them; they realized he was just too good to give up. He even has his own little corner, what I call Bear's Corner (like Pooh's Corner) where he goes when he's scared, which is fairly often. He's a big wimp. But once he loves you, he loves you completely.

So this is my new project. She's the best one yet. Even back when she had her puppies and everyone was warning that she was super protective, she just had that face that said, "Save me."

Now the question stands: Will we try to keep her for ourselves? Or will this be another sad/happy goodbye?

UPDATE (4/4/16): Roxy died about a year ago. She had an enlarged heart and likely had a heart attack. My parents still have Bear. We adopted and still have Honey.

Duma

Duma is that big cat that was in protective custody for a long time. The county finally got custody of him and he was placed on the adoption floor last week. The next day, because he's so awesome, someone wanted to adopt him. When he was told how much it would cost to feed Duma, though, he decided to adopt a different cat.

The decision was made to make Duma "Rescue Only" because of his special dietary needs and he was placed back in CQ. I hated it for him because he'd just gotten out, and was obviously awesome enough to be adopted, he just needed to find the right family.

Thankfully, one of the ladies at the front desk decided he would make a good behind-the-front-desk kitty, so he has been back there with them for a few days. He's doing so much better and is obviously enjoying stretching his legs. He's become so friendly and he'll come right up to you for attention.

I'm quite fond of him and will try to get a photo soon.

Thumbelina

It's been a heartbreaking week for cat lovers at the animal shelter. I went to work on Saturday and found out that my favorite cat, Ratchet, had been euthanized because he got sick and the treatment room was full, as it always is. I guess I didn't think to put my name on his profile to keep him safe because we haven't been fostering since we adopted Zsasz and it's horribly inconvenient.

Which, I suspect, is how we got in our current situation.

On Thursday, when the vets came around I was cleaning Thumbelina's cage. She'd been there almost a month, which was weird because she's a beautiful, sweet Maine Coon mix, almost 6 months old. I asked the vets why she hadn't been spayed as a Highly Adoptable animal, and they said that they aren't doing HA kittens anymore because they get sick so easily after surgery. I started talking to Thumbelina and told her that maybe I would talk to my husband and she could come stay with us and play with our kitty while she waits to be spayed.

As luck would have it, she got sick Friday. So it's good that I didn't take her because she probably would have gotten Zsasz sick. Bad news is, I got a text from the foster coordinator because the vet tech remembered me talking about/to Thumbelina. So this is what's in our bedroom now:

The photo really doesn't do her justice, but she's also not feeling well. Zsasz has been kicked out of the bedroom and she spends most of her time in that crate. First night we had her, she was like this all the time:

(video)

I must have woken up a dozen times that night. Each sniff and snortle would have me suddenly awake, heart racing. I even tried sleeping on the futon, but Zsasz was being an ass.

Since the first night, she's gotten significantly better and I think she gets more sleep. This morning I woke up to the most amazing sound: cat food being crunched. Since we got her, the only food she would eat was force fed to her. Her eating on her own is amazing. So happy about that.

It may be due in part to my husband clearing out her nose, which was an ordeal. Some of the spray ran down into her mouth and had her foaming for a good few minutes. Poor girl.

A family visited with her before she got sick and decided to put a deposit on her Friday. Her meds will be done on Sunday, so she can be checked out on Monday. If she passes, I expect she'll be put on Wednesday's surgery list. That would give her and Zsasz a couple days to play together before he loses his foster sister so soon.

Bad kitties

My job is mildly hazardous. I work with caustic chemicals and sometimes psychotic animals on a daily basis. I'm a very cautious person, though, so I tend to have less incidences than my coworkers.

Yesterday, though, was particularly nasty. Bad nasty, not feces nasty. Though, there was that, too.

Cats give me more trouble than dogs. They're less predictable and have easier access to you through the kennels. A dog can't bite you through its cage, while a cat can easily grab your shirt or anything within a foot of the bars.

My first encounter with a bad cat yesterday was Sassy Susie.

She did the fresh, short scratch. I let it go, assuming that it was a play grab and not an aggressive attack. It happens a lot, especially with younger cats and kittens. I was cleaning a different cage, so I wasn't looking at her. When I was cleaning the kennel below her, though, she attacked my head through the bars, and as I stood up she had that crazy cat face: ears back, mouth open and hissing. She was pulled from the public room. She had given other staff members problems before, and this was her final strike.

the faded crossing line is from where my arm rests on the laptop

Later on, in the same room, there was a kitten who played very rough. He was nice, but his easy play was worse than Zsasz's rough play, which is pretty bad. I was worried about him scratching a customer, so I was in the process of taking him to get his nails cut. As soon as the door opened, though, he spazzed out and scratched me. It bled for a good while. Hopefully he'll be taken by a rescue because he's too much for the adoption floor.

Zsasz, however, is the source of most of my scratches. For example:

The red line is one from a few days ago. My arms and legs are covered in small scratches.

The white arrow is pointing to a scar, my first one I got at work. That was Horvath, who I wrote about in May. In that first photo above, you can see another old scar, from a kitten that I believe is back in the sick room. That was an accident; it was just really excited to get out of the kennel. Like, leapt-from-the-cage-right-at-my-face excited.

I've been stealthily cutting Zsasz's nails while he's sleeping in my lap. If he scratches me, I try to make a mental note of which paw to target when he zonks out. It's not perfect, but it works. He won't sit still long enough to get all of his nails done at once.

We also had an ear infection scare with him, but it turns out he just has dirty ears. We (I) have to clean them about once a week. As if I don't have enough ears to clean.

Maximum capacity reached

Begin sending critters over the rainbow in 3... 2... 1...

The shelter is full. Dog and cat rooms, public and private. They will have to start making space tomorrow. Rescues have been given free choice if they can get animals out immediately. It's dire. This is the first time the entire building has been full since I've started working.

So we brought home this little guy:

A space is a space is a space.

We wanted to take a dog, but our apartment is not ready and I doubt I am psychologically ready. Fattening up a kitten is simply an easier job.

I love him already.

He is feeble. I don't really know what he looks like, actually, because he's been laying down and covered the entire time we've had him. He was cold when we got him, so we've been doing our best to keep him warm. He's estimated to be 6 weeks old, but he is stunted. Hopefully he will live. If he makes it 72 hours, I'll change his name to "Sinatra."

Gruesome work

There are some unsavory aspects to my job. The things that go on behind the scenes, like in the euthanasia room, I keep to myself. However, sometimes weird things happen in public places that just... are so ... strange.

If you don't want to know, stop reading now. You probably don't want to know. Just a warning.

This morning, around 8 am, my coworker, who was working cats, came and got me. She asked if I had seen anyone from receiving and I said no, so she asked if I would come look at something and tell her what I thought. "I really just need someone else to look at this, too."

We walked into the cat room and she went up to a cat cubby, pushed the button and opened the door. Inside, at the back, was an unhappy looking, fuzzy black cat. At the front, near the door, was a tiny head. A tiny kitten fetus head, so shiny it looked like plastic. It was no bigger than my pinky nail. It was quite possibly the most bizarre thing I've ever seen.

I wonder how many times I'll say that.

"..."

"...it looks like she had a miscarriage. That's a fetus head."

"Okay, I just wanted someone else to verify it."

"Gross."

Later, when we talked about it--because, really, what else is there to talk about?--she said that it wasn't as bad as the time she found a drowned kitten. I immediately thought she had found a kitten that had fallen into its water and drowned (the water dishes are kind of large, especially for the smallest kittens). No, a feral mother had given birth inside the feral box, then taken the time to carry the kitten out and drop it in the water dish. The rest of the litter were found dead inside the box.

Keep in mind, these aren't even the worst stories. These are just things that happen, because we deal with animals. It's so much worse when humans are involved. But I can't share those stories here.



On a completely different level of gross (just plain gross, not gruesome or gory), a dog vomited up corn on the cob. She's been in the building for one week, and no one (to my knowledge) has given her (or any of the dogs) corn on the cob.

... Corn. On the cob.

My job is straight crazy.