Happy Birthday, Dad

Today my father would have been 89. We lost him ten years ago. Today my four sisters, my mom, and I are all remembering how blessed we were to have him and how much we miss him.

Had multi-infarct dementia passed him by, he would be fit as a fiddle today. He was so very good at taking care of his health. Dementia is a cruel trick to play on a man like him.

My father was not known to be overly sentimental about animals, so we never really knew how much he really loved our dog Scooter until she was hit by a car. It happened not long after he and my mother moved to a suburb of Chicago. My private theory is that she got loose and ran off to hunt for our previous home in another state. When we first moved from New Jersey to Michigan, she wouldn't want to go back home on walks; she'd just keep pulling ahead. I figure she was doing it again in Illinois, looking for our dirt road amidst the sidewalks of Hinsdale.

Fortunately, my folks lived around the corner from a vet's office. After she was hit, some kind soul scraped her up and took her there right away. She had some broken bones and a terrible concussion. Many people would have put Scooter down there and then. But not Dad. He took it very hard, perhaps out of guilt, knowing she was probably trying to run to Michigan. He nursed her back to health himself (my mom has a hard time with blood, injuries, etc.). When my mom called to tell me, I instantly got chocked up - I could already tell something bad happened from her tone when I answered and she said "Francesca..."

I went to see Scooter as soon as I could get a ride from Ann Arbor. What a nightmare to see this lump of fir bandaged up, and still wagging her tail. My dad would take her outside to pee on a piece of plywood. He gave us all regular reports on her progress. It seems to me it was weeks and weeks before she could lift her body, months perhaps before she could walk along, and she never really lost her lopsided limp.

Scooter was a great dog. She fully deserved the special dispensation to have her life prolonged. She was smart, fun, crazy at times, and a real dog. Our family life was far too chaotic to focus on her training, but kids and adults muddled through it somehow, and did our best with vets, tags, collars, and the like.

We chose her because she was the most active, sharp one in the litter of a beagle-type mom and unknown dad, advertised on a residential lawn by means of a scrawled sign offering free pupies (sic). As far as we were concerned, it came down to choosing her or the beauty of the bunch, a honey-colored, gorgeous male. But Scooter won paws down because she literally scooted all over the place and exuded sheer glee at everything. We used the same reasoning when we picked out our canary, who my folks named Enrico (after The Caruso of course).

I gave training Scooter a try, though I was only ten. I found a huge book on dogs in the bookcase, and skimmed through it one evening while sitting on the kitchen floor with our new, rubbery-limbed puppy. I worked on "sit" and "come", but didn't succeed much further. In a family of seven, it's kind of hard to be consistent. We spoiled her rotten, there's no denying it. Luckily she was good-natured and trained herself more or less, like so many family dogs do. Still, it was a real struggle to deal with the poop until she got the hang of walks. She did prove tremendously smart - and terrifically talented at getting into things she shouldn't. When that happened, she'd run and hide under our beds, with a pincushion or a hairbrush chomped halfway through, or worse, our miniature turtle. If I could get to her before Dad did (he could be a bit rough), or sometimes, after he gave up, I'd extricate the object from her jaws, being the only one
of five girls willing to do it. My sisters were either too afraid or grossed out, but I was pretty rational-minded about such things. Blood never made me faint, though I don't know why. So whenever Scooter got something in her mouth, I'd race to pull her from under the bed and carefully pry her jaws apart with thumbs pressed on the inner jaw joint, a technique I read about somewhere. Scooter was just small enough for us to pick her up, so I'd hang on to her, and she never snapped at me, though reluctant to give up her catch of the day.

As a puppy, Scooter nearly gnawed through the rungs of all eight kitchen chairs. Forever afterwards, you couldn't rest your bare feet on them without risking a splinter, even though Dad tried to sand them down. Eventually Scooter taught herself a special way of begging for food invisibly from under the kitchen table, by persistently beseeching one and all for tidbits, with a ghostly wail of howled arias, launched as shortish alto murmurs and worked up into lengthy and elaborate soprano phrases. Sometimes she'd eerily match Grace Slick's voice from the Crown of Creation, one of my sister Mary's favorite records. Scooter used the same high-pitched voice to utter squeals of delight whenever a man arrived at our door. The one exception was my friend Pat, who responded just as warmly, declaring her reciprocal and undying love above Scooter's crescendo shrieks and wagging body.

Scooter was indeed a very friendly dog.  But she was no fool, just the same. You never really saw Scooter at the dinner table, but you could certainly hear her. She stayed quiet, though, whenever my dad carved the Thanksgiving turkey and tossed her bits now and then. It was an unspoken deal between them. He wold scold us for doing the same thing, so he kept his transgression quiet. Scooter would just park her little body below the counter while he worked, and he'd toss her pieces of skin, gristle, and fat, and the odd scrap of actual meat without a word.

Scooter never failed to catch a piece of food thrown to her, however badly aimed. It became a past-time of ours. Some of us argued that she caught and swallowed in a single motion. I tested this theory by throwing something she wouldn't normaly eat, like a piece of lettuce. She caught it expertly as always, then spit it out a second later. (Whereas, Brindi will catch dog treats in her mouth just as accurately, but if she doesn't like one, she'll discreetly move to a corner and gingerly deposit them on the floor, as if reluctant to seem ungrateful or impolite!)

We used to take Scooter, squirming in our arms, up into our treehouse, where she could see birds a little closer; on occasion we'd walk her to the "sand pit" (an open slope where we sledded in winter), to let her run around in the deserted grass while we rolled down the hill. My little sister called this a "vacation".

After college, when I shared an apartment in the city with my sister Nancy, we took Scooter in for a week when my folks went away. We found we could cure her of her begging habit without too much trouble, and were very proud of ourselves for it, too. Sadly, we neglected to train my parents not to feed her from the table after they returned, so Scooter of course resumed begging as usual. It was useless to lecture my parents about it. They'd agree vehemently that begging was bad, then within seconds my mom would absentmindedly drop a scrap of food over the side of the table into the patiently waiting little jaws. You can teach an old dog new tricks, but human habits die pretty hard.

Our experience with Scoooter is a big reason why I was adamant about not giving Brindi food from the table, whether tossed to her or placed in her dish, from day one. I never did it. As much as I adore her, I know that giving in once virtually means a lifelong battle and I didn't want a dog constantly at my elbow with that expectant look in her eye. I found myself having to keep a sharp eye on friends and guests here because she sometimes gave it a try with them. It paid off, though. For instance, I don't have to think twice when I leave a plate of my food next to the bed or even on it to go down for a glass of milk. I know I will return to find the plate unmolested and Brindi lounging quietly two feet away, just as I left her. Not bad, I'd say! (It's a different matter with kitty food, however - it's got to be up on a table or out the door!)

My dad and Scooter were a funny pair, though. I don't remember him walking her all that much before I left for college though he must have. In general I guess it was our job, and fair enough. He made occasional comic half-hearted attempts to curb Scooter's begging, bellowing at her in his fluent Longislandese, "This is human food. You're a DAWG!" He gave the impression that she was a full-fledged German Shepherd as he ruggedly moved her around by the collar. But he didn't seem to mind if we dressed her in our old pajamas for fun, and was good-natured about it if she slept with us instead of the blanket "box" he set up for her downstairs. Usually she'd make the rounds of our beds and her box throughout the night - not his bed - but she'd always insist on being invited up first. I remember many a night being roused by her soft doggie murmurs. Not until I'd pat the bed once would she fling herself up and snuggle into the curve of my body for an hour or two before departing for somebody else's bed.

Scooter lived to be fourteen years old. The last few years she not only still limped, but her little head, with its big brown eyes, never fully lost the palsy from the concussion after the car accident. She was still our beautiful girl, though. And we all loved her deeply and told Scooter stories with relish. 

Dad used to pretend to complain to guests that he was the only male in the house of six women, "Even the dawg!" Scooter was a woman to us. I guess he felt the same. I will never forget how tenderly and devotedly he took care of her after that accident. I can forgive his impatience with her in later years; if I could have taken her to live with me, I certainly would have. 

In many ways Brindi reminds me of Scooter, even some of her markings. Brindi's luxurious eyelashes are more prominent, though, maybe because Scooter was only half of her size. Brindi is just as loving and affectionate, I think, although much more sparing about kisses. Scooter had deadly aim with her tongue and was quite aerobatic: during her customary gushy greetings, Scooter could jump up mid-wag, lick the kid or crouching adult right on the mouth, and be back down on the floor with split-second timing, never touching their bodies. They never knew what hit them.

We were so lucky to have Dad, who had a great sense of what kids liked without being asked. He built us girls a tree house and taught me how to hammer a nail and use a screwdriver, and let us have Scooter, tolerating the extra pandemonium she brought to the household. It made for great copy, if nothing else!

I love you, Dad. Happy Birthday, wherever you are! I'm sure Scooter is right there with you, waiting for savory treats. 

You decide

Chickens and dogs. 

Well, I heard another story. A German Shepherd in Shad Bay about three weeks ago killed a few chickens while their owner watched out her window. She hadn't had the birds for very long. Horrified, she called 911, and the cops that arrived put the dog in the back of their cruiser. They were followed by animal control, who issued a ticket to the marauding dog's owner, on the scene by then. End of story, except to say that the woman soon got rid of the surviving chickens. 

Was this a proper application of A300 when a dog kills two or more animals?

Follow and click!

Follow:

--I've added a "Follow this blog" feature. (If you sign up, please let me know if it works.)

CLICK!

--Every time someone clicks on one of the little blue ads in the very bottom left column, Google will send me a few cents. You'll be helping Brindi, so please, click away! Thanks!

And now back to our regularly scheduled program...

30 Million Dangerous Dogs?

Here's an excerpt from a recent paper that came my way, published by the Animals and Society Institute:*

"Dog Bites: Problems and Solutions - a Policy Paper"
Existing and Proposed Legal Remedies - Attempts to Identify and Remove high risk animals: Dangerous Dog Laws"

The second common legislative approach (the first is breed bans) to remove dangerous dogs from the population targets the behaviour of the individual dog, designating dogs with labels such as "potentially dangerous", "dangerous", or in some cases "vicious" based on actual incidents, and then either eliminating the dogs or limiting the conditions under which they may be kept (such as requiring sterilization, micro-chipping, training, behavioural consultation, muzzling, etc.) Such laws increasingly also specify civil and criminal liability incurred by people whose dogs injure someone after receiving such a designation.

There is some evidence that a "prior behaviour" approach to the "dangerous dog" designation may decrease injurious bite incidence. This has only been demonstrated, however, where the dangerous dog label is limited to dogs who have already bitten and injured someone. A program in Oregon showed a decrease from 25 percent to 7 percent in repeat injurious bites (of people) after the implementation of a program restricting conditions of ownership of dogs who had injuries.

Many dangerous dog laws try not only to control dogs who have already injured people, but to predict which ones will do so in the future and attempt to prevent this. Typical legal descriptions of "dangerous" dog behaviour include "approaches in a vicious or terrorizing manner", "in a menacing fashion", having a "known disposition, tendency, or propensity", or "engages in any behaviour that requires a defensive action by any person to prevent bodily injury".

Aside from the subjectivity of these descriptions, the main difficulty with such an approach is that the best research to date indicates the likelihood that a majority of dogs engage in such behaviour without hurting anyone.

One groundbreaking study found that 41 percent of the dogs studied had growled, snarled or snapped at a familiar person at some time, but only 15 percent of those dogs actually bit anyone. Of those who bit someone, only 10 percent of the bites were considered injurious, making the total incidents of injurious dog bites only 1.5 percent of the total dogs studied.

This means that a hypothetical net cast to identify the 1.5 percent of dogs actually captures at least 41 percent of the dog population. And since this study only included behaviour toward family members and other people well known to the dog, and only included guardians responsible and caring enough to provide veterinary care for their companions, the percentage of potential problems within the entire dog population must certainly be considerably higher.

A history of threatening behaviour has not been shown to predict that a dog will bite, much less that she will injure if she bites.
...

Other Outcomes

With regard to dangerous dog laws based on behaviour, as discussed above, definitions of dangerous are so varied and subject to interpretation that most dogs' behaviour could be interpreted to qualify.

A conservative estimate would be about 30 million dogs would likely meet the criteria (this estimate is based on a study that found 41 percent of dogs growl, snarl, or snap at a familiar person, and thus does not include dogs that only threaten strangers, so the real percentage is almost certainly considerably greater).

Some statutes require only that the dog "endangered" a person in some way, leaving the way open for complaints by anyone who simply felt (but was not really) endangered.

All this creates a serious danger of abuse in any system that attempts to weed out "potentially dangerous" animals who have not bitten anyone. It casts a net far too wide to be enforceable.

When laws exist without the practical means to widely enforce them, the result is selective enforcement based on grudge complaints, and widespread non-compliance.

*Boldfacing, underlining, a few parenthesized notes, and paragraph separations, added by me).

Do You Feel Lucky?

Pump going again, did two loads of laundry. I owe the flow to a kind man named Sheldon who lives up the road from me and came to fix the second leak, and redo the first. It was a pretty gusty afternoon to be standing on a ladder cutting copper tubing, with the risk of getting drenched when it was time to test the system.

I have an obscene amount of dishes to do now. No rush...

Okay, I've been looking at this deal with my dog from all sorts of angles for almost four months now - the next badiversary is the 24th - and the more I learn, the more I see, the more absolutely incredulous I become. (Hint: see the poll in the left column). Animal control officials from the US and Canada write to me or comment on the petitions expressing their dismay and disapproval for what is going on. When the pros do that, something's got to be off somewhere. And it is not merely the system; that's a fundamental factor, but one of many. Even with the various bureaucratic limitations, there were and still are a number of ways out of it that do not require me to spend practically a year's salary to go to court.

Essentially Brindi is being held without charges. The charges should go to me of course, and I'd have the option to challenge them in court. But they didn't, and I don't. So the result is either sign her over, or take on some sort of court process, and the question becomes, which kind? There are so many ways to shape injunctions, applications, and suits, with a spectrum of risk vs. timing. I'm no lawyer - though at times I may seem as argumentative as one - but from what I gather, it's like this: you cannot appeal an injunction, but you can get one within a matter of days. You might reverse the kill order and even win damages in a lawsuit, and you can appeal the outcome, but takes a year to schedule the first day; an interim application takes a few weeks, and I have no idea actually if it can be appealed; we've filed another kind that takes two months to go before a judge. And we could base them on a number of different factors, from the lack of charge to the by-law itself. How much more confusing can it get? And the way things are going, I'll probably wind up with whichever judge ruled twice against the poor dog that roughed up a greyhound last year. As if he never heard of training, or a fence, or anything.

It pains me deeply that so many dog owners out there in HRM seem to fail to grasp the danger, never mind the injustice. Maybe it's easier to label the owner irresponsible, rather than the authorities, if only to be able to sleep at night. I really don't know. But I doubt my lone struggle will tone down the zeal of animal control. The truth is, an order to destroy can happen to any dog at any time. If nobody from the city deemed it appropriate to apologize to Jean Hanlon for the loss of her family cat, anything is possible, it seems to me. If I happened to own some other dog and not Brindi - and there's lots of big strong dogs out there, bigger than her - could I quietly watch this struggle? It's a troubling thought. Like everybody else, I'm distracted by the animal abuse cases popping up on a regular basis; they deserve all the attention and action they can get. But the threat of a seizure and kill of our own dogs is still there. You don't always get a 14-day grace period, either; it can be as few as three days. I know of no local group actively working to change that.

So, if you have a dog in HRM, I guess what it all comes down to is, are you feeling lucky?
Just how lucky?

Drenched

OK. So the pump is fine, it just blew a fuse, which I grudgingly found out. I say that because accessing the fusebox means mounting a lightweight ladder balanced on the rocks and dirt next to a footing with two-foot rebars sticking out of it, and carefully removing plastic covering and tape. Fortunately, a friend who happened to stop by on her way to a tea in Musquodoboit Harbour (gosh I hope that's the spelling) was willing to hold the ladder for me so I wouldn't fall and be impaled on the rebars.

As soon as the pump started, my joy was detoured, because had to shut it right off again. A pipe split open right over my head and the pump, cascading rusty water on both of us. Only an hour to spare before closing, I made it to Home Hardware, looking absolutely lovely of course, and bought some plastic joints. It was dark and rainy once I got home so I waited until today, when it was gray and rainy, to attempt to repair the break. This meant the ladder straddling the water tank, and using a hack-saw to trim a section of copper tubing - which had broken cross-wise along a copper joint. Then a struggle to reach up and sand the ends smooth so they'd fit into the plastic sleeves, and match them up straight. I didn't have great sandpaper and I should have sawn off an extra millimeter or two, because it was not quite aligned. But it was close enough for jazz, and when it comes to repairs done over the past 100 years, this is a very jazzy house. Extremely jazzy indeed.

Then a prayer and a throw of the switch. Instead of a cascade, this time, a torrent of water from directly under the kitchen soaked everything in all directions - the floorboards, the steel, the cribbing. Great stuff. Took minutes to slow and stop after I shut off the pump. I cried. The break was at a joint with a shut-off valve. I must have been psychic, because yesterday I happened to buy a valve just like it. I moved the ladder over to the spot, and once the water stopped pelting my head, I took a closer look, and soon realized I cannot possibly fix it myself. I can't get it off, for starters. So another day without water. At least there was plenty of it around the footings. I filled one jug for flushing the toilet. It's not pretty in and out of this house, let's face it. Tomorrow I will have to find somebody with plumbing tendencies, if not a plumber, and try it again - I won't be surprised if another waterfall turns up. Then I've got to wrap the pipes with the stuff I bought last week. Loads of excitement.

Meanwhile. I have another serious problem with my laptop. After a period of loosening, the power supply stopped working altogether in early September. A friend took it for repairs as a favor. I haven't seen it since. It's my brain; Brindi's my heart; both gone. Don't even ask what's on it; everything, just everything. There was no way to back it up, since it had no power and the battery was dead, of course, no power to charge it. Last full backup was three months old. Inexplicably, it's been torn apart so much that it might be useless now. If I don't already have an ulcer, this will give me one. I didn't want anything more than the power supply to be fixed but my wishes evidently did not count. I don't know what to do now; I hijacked a Dell from a friend and he needs it back. He will get it because I intensely dislike PC's, no offense, and physical limitations make anything other than the Powerbook feasible for me. Apple no longer makes the one I have (titanium G4), which even Apple salesmen regret. Last I looked, they don't make anything comparable. If I had the money to buy a new one, which I don't. As it is, I have to buy myself a crown to cover my implant, about four thousand. Been walking around with a gap for months. I only mention this - why do I mention it? Not really relevant. Sorry.

Today I wrote to more people about Brindi, and forwarded the letter to Best Friends in Utah with a brief note. We don't have a place lined up for a Facebook meeting yet, but I hope we will soon. Yesterday I spoke to Heather Anderson again; she was so kind to call. She sure has her hands full with her own animals, four or five dogs, six cats, hedgehogs (!), and more, plus running the D.A.I.S.Y? Foundation. It's amazing. She was hoping to call Tom Young's call-in show tomorrow, on 95.7, if her duties permit her. Other radio possibilities: on Friday afternoon I may be a guest on CKDU (88.1 FM at Dalhousie University. The only station left, as WRFL at the University of Kentucky says of its same location on the dial). More on that as and if it develops.

Since this whole thing began, I've heard from two people with dogs that look remarkably like Brindi. It's really something, because I'd never come across anything like her before. I remember that when I dropped Brindi at the kennel last January, there was a dog that looked so much like her, it fooled me for a second. She was paired with another dog owned by the same people. She might even be a puppy of Brindi's, or maybe a littermate - none of Brindi's pups look exactly like her. She and her larger friend, sort of a greyhound, were recent arrivals and the kennel owner put them in an outdoor pen to get Brindi used to being there with other dogs. She was fine, just directed all her attention to me, out there on the icy ground. I hated to go, and I just cringe now when I remember her look of confusion changing to distress as I began to leave; it's so awful. It was a great kennel, new, clean, lots of room, lots of outdoor runs, but she was not thrilled, I can tell you. She didn't spare a second to look back once when I picked her up. That was a ten-day stay. I don't blame her, after being cooped up for two years, she paid her dues in spades. Now her stay at the SPCA is well over three months, going on four. I know she's tough, but inside, she's got to be hurting, and who wouldn't be?

Running dry

So. Another week sped right by.

No response from HRM's lawyer, Scott Hughes, to a number of letters and documents filed by my lawyer, Blair Mitchell.

No response from the SPCA's legal counsel to a letter Blair two weeks ago, with a second letter to the Minister of Agriculture.

We are filing an "interim application" to request access to Brindi for Silvia Jay to assess her. I forget why we are doing this now.

I am trying to organize a meeting for local Facebook members somewhere in HRM so we can meet face to face and work on strategy, and possibly a benefit concert. Where to meet???

Without a dog around to get me up and out in the morning, I'm losing the battle against major insomnia so that I have slipped into an odd schedule and I only see about three hours of daylight. Usually I only see it out the window. The muscles in my back, neck, and arms are really sore and tender; ditto my head. I made it to the last yoga class on Wednesday my the skin of my teeth about ten minutes late. As soon as I joined in, though, I felt an overwhelming urge to run from the room and sob, not necessarily in that order. Somehow I made it to the end of class, but my thoughts and emotions never stopped working like a roller-coaster, even during the relaxation/meditation at the end. The tears welled right up again when the teacher added a new instruction to the usual relaxation aids: "See if you can think of three positive things about yourself." Hmmm. I could hardly keep focused on the task. As it is, I forget urgent things to do from one day to the next.

Partly because of the insomnia, partly due to logistical reasons, I still have no water. No laundry or dishes done for over a week. To be honest, I couldn't care less. I really could not. I might run out of glasses. but I've got lots of plates. I bought prepared frozen food so I don't have to cook.

Rudy, one of my two cats, has taken to my side more than usual, snuggling in bed (where he's claimed the geographical center for his own). He's been licking my hand lately, a weird thing for a cat to do, especially when your hand is not covered in tuna fish or cheese. Amelia would be snuggling with me too, except that Rudy has become more territorial lately for some reason. One glance from him and she scatters.

Several more contacts this week, promising, I hope. Heather Anderson of D.A.I.S.Y? Foundation is connecting with local media. On the auction, so far there are bids on four of the eight items I posted on epier.com. I have to go pick up a few more - some WWII-era German stamps that a kind man in Dartmouth is offering.

Nothing more to report.

Posting the media list

I don't know why I didn't think of this before. It may not be well received, but I'll wait and see.
It's in the left-hand column, down low, under Brindi's close-up.

The most media coverage we got was when total strangers called and emailed the media directly. It's worth a try!

What if? (off the subject, just this once)

I was thinking about the recent tragedy at the SPCA, when a staff person accidentally backed her car over a kitten and a pregnant cat someone placed behind her wheels. Both kitties succumbed to their injuries. The staff were understandably upset, and the unknown person behind it is now the target of anger and hatred.

Now that my own horror and shock are beginning to subside, a few nagging thoughts have floated up that I'd like to share here, as an exception to my Brindi focus. The prevailing assumption in this story is that it is the result of an intentional act. But something else occurred to me, mainly because I can't help asking, is it really true? Is there a Nova Scotian so incredibly mean and cruel that they'd deliberately do such a thing? How awful would it be if they had a very different intention, and just messed up royally? What if they meant to bring the cats to the SPCA for adoption - and for some reason choked, because they were too shy or ashamed to go inside, and just left them in the parking lot and ran off? Or similarly, what if they had gone in, were told the shelter doesn't accept "owner surrenders", and didn't know what else to do? Did they take a chance that the SPCA would have to take the cats in as strays - and the bag or box ended up getting shoved too close to the car as others walked by?

Frankly, I don't know which scenario is better, on purpose or "on" accident. But if in fact it was unintentional, I doubt that person will never be able to come clean. Nobody would believe it or forgive them.

Aside from this unpleasant speculation, the story also made me aware that the Metro Shelter doesn't accept "owner-surrendered" pets. They estimate an additional 30 extra cats a day would turn up. Where do all those cats end up instead?? Does it mean that every day, people are drowning litters of kittens - or dumping a dog on the highway - because they can't drop them at the shelter? I don't know.

What also stuck with me was the judgmental - and a bit contradictory - overtone about those pesky "irresponsible owners" who want to give up their pets. The term always hits me hard, having been called an irresponsible owner myself lately. I realize lots of people have a low opinion of their fellow humans, even their neighbors. But surely not every person wishing to give up an animal at a shelter is just a selfish, shallow twit who failed to grasp or appreciate what pet ownership really means! I mean, come on!!! And even if they were - is that a legitimate basis for turning them away? Who really suffers then? A.: The animals.

The truth is, however, there are plenty of good reasons for giving up a beloved pet. Work schedules make keeping a dog impossible; allergies crop up and/or become more severe from one day to the next; a new member of the family, by birth or marriage or adoption or whatever, has allergies; the household budget can no longer afford a pet due to job loss or the addition of new family members, young or old; seniors become too weak, ill, or poor to care for their animal companions; single people of any age contract an illness and/or disability; couples divorce, both move into apartments that don't take pets; employees transferred out of town for a year or two with no one to take their pet; and so on. These are all legitimate scenarios that any "responsible owner" may have to confront one day, and in my opinion, somebody ought to be there to help. Like many others, I had always assumed that somebody is the shelter.

Saying goodbye to a pet is awful enough; having no shelter to bring it to is a sad discovery indeed. Sure, there are private shelters, but too often they're filled to the brim (and no wonder). Running an ad in the paper or online is all well and good, but doesn't always work, and how do you invent your own screening process? And if illness is the reason, how do you find and interview prospective owners, or even use word of mouth?

What's the answer? Fortunately, many others have gotten there before us. When there's not enough room in a shelter, they continue to accept animals, and send them to foster homes, which are vastly preferable to a kennel. (That's how I ended up with Princess Amelia - I fostered her when she had her kittens, and we found we just couldn't part.) There are networks of shelters across the continent that can help redistribute the extra "animal wealth" instead of destroy it. This cooperation happens a regular basis, not just after natural disasters.

I don't have any way to learn the truth about those poor cats at the SPCA last week. We may never know. I just so hate the image of some poor soul mustering up their courage and strength to give up their pet, walking into the shelter, ready to face disapproving looks and answer a lot of personal questions, only to be turned away. What do they do then? I hate to think. But somebody better!

News from Nowhere

Many people call and write to ask me how Brindi is doing. Not allowed visits, I rely on reports from others. These are usually one or two words long, until recently.

This is part of a series of emails I received. I've placed them in chronological order. They start with a letter from a Facebook member to Mayor Kelly. I forwarded her letter to SPCA board member Sean Kelly. He replied to both Jen and me. It is the most detailed information I've received to date, after a note from Sean about two weeks ago answering my questions. Sean included the vet’s letter as it appears here.

I am, as may be imagined, utterly and absolutely grateful for these and all reports on Brindi's welfare. I hope it turns out to be a step in the right direction. And in that spirit, Jen's reply raises very pertinent questions.

-----Original Message-----
From: Jen [mailto:]
Sent: Samstag, 1. November 2008 19:18
To: kellyp@halifax.ca
Cc: rogier@eastlink.ca
Subject: Save Brindi!

Hello Mayor Kelly,

I am writing you with my heart on my sleeve. There is a desperate issue that needs to be addressed right away, it is a life or death matter, which makes it all the more urgent.

Brindi is a dog being held on death row at the Nova Scotia SPCA in Burnside. No one is allowed to visit her, including her owner. Her owner rescued Brindi and gave her a loving home. Brindi was removed from her home for doing what comes naturally to her - defending her property. No one was hurt by Brindi, yet she was taken from her safe and loving home and put into a cage to await her fate.

Please, visit Brindi's Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=35473542760) and read the history for yourself. Brindi needs all of our help, financial or otherwise. I can't help financially but I believe, Sir, that you can step in and be a hero for the animal community, and a positive role model for children.
Please Mayor Kelly, please help Brindi in her desperate time of need. She is scared, she is lonely. She's been locked up since July 24 with no visitors.

I used to work at the SPCA where Brindi is being held. I know what kind of attention she is getting - none. Dogs in those holding pens are not allowed to interact with the public at all. Brindi will get walked once a day, twice if she's lucky. She will have to live in a pen that is bleached out daily, that is cold, that is lonely. It's a very scary place for dogs. Having come from a nasty home in the first place, Brindi is no doubt reverting to old behaviours, behaviours that humans themselves display when they feel unloved and forgotten about. She is pacing in her pen, panting, searching desperately for any way to escape, eagerly awaiting the humans who will feed her twice a day and take her outside for 10 minutes while her pen is being scrubbed with harsh-smelling chemicals and a fresh piece of scrap fabric is placed on the hard floor for her to sleep on. alone. in the dark.

It breaks my heart and if you're the empathetic person you appear to be in public appearances, you will help Brindi be reunited with her one and only loving owner she's known. Help her escape the awful cycle she's been living in, being in and out of shelters. Be her rescuer, her hero, and mine.

Please.

Jennifer Burtch

(Isn't she gorgeous?! Her coat is so shiny, it causes glare!)


-----Original Message-----
From: Sean Kelly Sent: November 7, 2008 6:31 AM To: 'Francesca Rogier' Cc: Jen Burtch
Subject: RE: Save Brindi!

Hello Francesca,

I just wanted to pass on some information. Last night I was out with Brindi in the backyard. She was having a great time we tossed the ball, she mainly played keep away J The people at the shelter are doing a lot of training with her to keep her mentally stimulated. Her weight is good she is eating very well. I have attached a letter from Dr. Pauline Giffin who is one of the vets we use. I can assure you that the information that is in Mrs. Burtch's email is incorrect!! It may have been that way in the past but it certainly is not now. I hope this information helps you in this difficult time.

Cheers, Sean Kelly Chair of the Shelter Management Team

Dr. Pauline Giffin's email is below:

I am a local veterinarian who was asked to address your concerns regarding Brindi's emotional and physical well-being during her time at the Metro SPCA. I am pleased to inform you that Brindi has adjusted well to her surroundings, showing no signs of stress-related problems. Her weekly physical exam by a veterinarian indicates no health concernsat the present time and her vaccines have been updated. Brindi has been given a quiet kennel that gives her some privacy from other dogs. She sleeps on a Karanda Bed with a blanket and has access to a large dog run. Her daily routine consists of a minimum of two 30-minute walks (during which time she is unmuzzled) allowing her an opportunity for interactive play with shelter staff. It should be notedthat a catch pole is not being used during Brindi's exercise/play time. Brindi is also provided with enrichment tools every day in her kennel to give her the opportunity to chew/play on her own while shelter staff is performing their daily duties. In conclusion, Brindi has adapted very well to her surroundings. While I realize this is a very difficult time for you, I assure you that Brindi's emotional and physical well-being is of utmost importance to the Metro SPCA and we will endeavor to continue to address all of her needs.

Sincerely, Dr. Pauline Giffin Doctor of Veterinary Medicine


-----Original Message-----
From: Jen [mailto:eastlink.ca]
Sent: November-07-08 10:30 PM
To: 'Sean Kelly'; 'Francesca Rogier'
Subject: RE: Save Brindi!

Hi Sean & Francesca, I am very glad to be proven incorrect! I am also very glad to know that conditions are much improved compared to when I worked there.

Sean, while Brindi seems to be adapting to her situation, what is being done to free her and send her home? I only want to see her happily returned to her home, and not needlessly killed. It was mentioned in the vet's email that she is being trained and worked with easily and without a muzzle. Why can she not be returned to her home? Her home has all of the necessary adaptations made to it to ensure she is safe and kept penned in her yard. Why is she still being held? Her execution date may have been pushed back, but has it been disregarded in light of how wonderful a dog she has proven herself to be?

Sincerely, Jen

calling out #2

Once again, I am asking for daily calls to Mayor Kelly and especially to Animal Services. The numbers are (902) 490 4010 and 490 1791, respectively. Email gets deleted. A human voice is harder to ignore, somehow.
Call every day if you can, it doesn't take long, and it can really help. What to say? Please request that they meet with me, and that they let Brindi go, and if they keep listening, ask them to scale back a bit on their interpretation of A300, because a muzzle order is NOT a mandate to automatically euthanize for violations, not under that law - not by any stretch of the imagination. Fortunately so, for other people: Brindi is not wearing a muzzle when she is walked at the SCPA. And she was not wearing a muzzle when they seized her.

The administrative and legal situation is unexpectedly complicated. What's important to understand out of all the details is that Animal Services does not actually have to meet with me or anybody in order to let Brindi go. It has sole authority; it needs no judge to act for it other than provide warrants based on Animal Services' reports. It can review its own decision and the process leading to it, anytime it likes. There is no law or rule or policy or limit on their ability to do this - despite what they may tell the public. It may be hard to accept, but it's a lot easier and simpler than anybody having to testify in court. The system needs changing, agreed. Let's all fix it. I'd prefer it, however, if I could just get my dog back first, please.

Not my job - thankfully

Two different people sent me a job ad recently for what I believe is a new position in the HRM Regional Police for a "Regional Coordinator Animal Services". I hope they weren't thinking I should apply; it sounds like a very difficult job, starting with being available 24/7 to handle emergencies, plus supervising nine employees, and working on legislation. The full list of job duties falls into the three categories of management, customer relations, and operations, and it is impressive to say the least. And this person's boss will be Andrea MacDonald, the manager of Animal Services.

I just can't figure out how somebody with the qualifications requested, if there is such a person, can possibly do a good job with the duties expected of them. That is, a good job in terms of both animals and people. The duties are so wide-ranging, and several have wide-reaching consequences. I really worry about which of them will wind up getting the most emphasis in the final choice of applicant, because the list of "Competencies" already gives the animals the least emphasis.

Just glance at some of the job duties listed under "Management" in the HRM job description:

• ensure veterinarian care of animals in the care of the HRM
• ensure that services are delivered in the most efficient and effective manner
• participates (sic) in setting and recommending benchmarks and performance measures
• responsible for the standardization of case file management practices
• document and address performance deficiencies

Added to this under "Communications" is the duty to: "serve the corporation as the subject matter expert in animal related matters."

Why do I worry? Simple: the job qualifications lack any requirement for actual knowledge of animal behavior, experience in the care and training of animals, or, heaven forbid, certification in animal control, let alone any other animal-related certification.

Without one or more of these, how can anybody serve HRM as an expert in animal-related anything?? How can they set standards, review the work of others, or monitor vet care?

Having a degree in business administration and experience in program management is fine - provided you're in charge of licensing limousines, parking fines, or the like. But it's not enough, if you've got power of life and death over people and animals. This job is full of pitfalls. Failing to prevent a dangerous animal from attacking people is as grave a concern as seizing and killing the wrong animal.

Without basic knowledge and understanding of animals (and by animals, I mean primarily dogs), the poor person walking into this position will surely find he/she truly "continually addresses concerns raised by Regional Councillors and disgruntled citizens" - emphasis on continually - because there are bound to be a whole lot of concerns and loads of disgruntlement.

Given that roughly half of Halifax owns pets, certification and training in animal control is an excellent idea. It so happens that the National Animal Control Association in Kansas City offers workshops and all kinds of resources and assistance. The NACA tells us:

"An effective program is no accident. No program was ever successful without well trained personnel. Personnel cannot be held accountable for making mistakes if they have not been instructed on what they are to do and trained how to do it properly.

The National Animal Control Association (NACA) was formed in 1978 for the express purpose of assisting its members in performing their duties in a professional manner. One method of accomplishing this goal is to make personnel training programs available. This training must be designed to prepare animal control personnel for the challenges of solving the animal/people problems in today's world."

Granted, the NACA is an American organization, geared to the American legal system. And I may not even agree with all of their policies. But I know NACA training would not be wasted on HRM's staff. The NACA Policy Statement states:

All Animal Control personnel should receive minimum training and seek certification in compliance with state law. Training should include ongoing in-service training in animal control.

BASIS FOR POLICY
Training provides Animal Control personnel with the minimum skills necessary to adequately prepare them for the duties they are about to perform.

POLICY RECOMMENDATIONS
A certified training program, preferably the NACA 100 Level 1 and Level II Training Academy which would include all aspects of animal handling, disease detection, report writing, constitutional law, and professionalism.

Proper training should be a concern for any municipal government, since, as the NACA wisely points out, "Animal Control Officers make four times the public contact of other law enforcement officers . . . 4 times the exposure = 4 times the liability."

The new Regional Coordinator will manage a budget of $700,000. Implementing a program of certification for animal control officers is a great way to use some of that money. And/or, for a few thousand dollars - less than I've already spent on legal costs!! - the NACA will even come and review the entire HRM animal control program, and make recommendations for improvement.

Seems like a great idea to me. But as Dennis Miller says, that's just my opinion; I could be wrong.

Interview with Andrea Macdonald, Manager of HRM Animal Services

...and Taxi and Limousine Licenses

Andrea MacDonald was interviewed for Live Haligonia. The interview is about 24 minutes long. It has many bearings on Brindi's case.

Joan Sinden's comments on the interview received further comment.


Meanwhile, sorry to say, looks like the well pump is broken - can't get it to turn on, no restart switch, no sparks. Not relishing the idea of replacing it, but not much choice is there?

The epier.com online auction is going slowly - more items are available now, though!
And the running total of funds donated directly is about $1850.

below basics

Pipes froze a few days back and didn't burst, but something happened with the well pump, so it didn't restart in today's warmth. No water. No resident or visiting male around to get it going again, and insomnia made it tough to get at one during business hours.

Probably needs re-priming or resetting. Can't do it, although I consider myself fairly handy around the house ("If women don't find you handsome, they should at least find you handy," as Red Green says - just before trying out a home-made elevator). I knew how to fix the old red cast-iron pump, ever since Charlie (?) Webber showed me. Sometimes the water would run out mid-shower, and it was necessary to exit the bathroom wrapped in a towel, climb down the contorted wooden stairs to the dirt cellar, switch it off, play around with the flywheel in a Zen fashion - not attached to outcome - switch it on, and over again from the top, till it restarted its comforting chugs. The preposterous connection to the ancient switchbox I won't describe here; certainly disturbed some plumbers on occasion, but works fine. But I draw the line at jet pumps. I know that air can get into the line, I sort of know the elements of the pump, but that's it. I have no problem being a classic helpless chick after that.

For pipe-freeze remedies I shopped at the mammoth Dartmouth Corners to Canadian Tire for a long while. But before that, a medical appointment and a stop at the pound. To prepare I took a shower at a friend's house so I could get to the oral surgeon more pleasant smelling, which made me a bit late (thanks, Otis!). The visit took only minutes - those digital x-rays are practically instantaneous; the implant is AOK - so I was off again to Burnside. I wanted to drop off soup bones with some solid beef chunks on them for Brindi as a treat. They had long since thawed in the fridge and sat around longer than I'd prefer, but I knew, as I explained to the woman at reception, Brindi's doggestion will have no problem with' em. They'll be gone in five seconds, of course, a bone-pulverizing workout to follow. One at a time dosage. (BTW, I am a stalwart vegetarian - okay, fishitarian - but Brindi makes her own choices about meat-eating; I'm not imposing my beliefs about meat on my dog. Some do; it's a choice.)

The white-coated woman chuckled at the beef, at my explanation, and looked at me kindly. She promised she would deliver the treats as requested, adding that she was very sorry about what I'm going through with Brindi. Who is doing great, by the way.


Well heck, if they wanna play rough! I mean, kindness? No fair! And what a great and rare thing in these parts, especially when sincere; how welcome. My face instantly got all crumbly and threatened to dissassemble into tears as she spoke. I couldn't keep it under control and speak at the same time, so I just nodded, then turned and left. Forgot - I guess I did manage to utter something in response; all that came to me was "I miss her so bad," however. Impressively put, Francesca...



Once back in the car, testing out the feeling, I noted once again that on these brief SPCA incursions lasting only about ninety seconds on average, I never think about Brindi actually being in that building. Try as I might, I can't place her there at all in my mind, or connect the spot I occupied to her actual location, breathing and sensing. It is not possible to visualize. My brain can only struggle under the sight of stacked metal cages of kitties looming into view in the next room, framed by the photos of dogs on the entrance walls.

I have no cognitive understanding of her location, of the space where she actually exists. I often wish I did. To cope with what that comprehension might feel like, my mind simply sets aside the question, as when a loved one has gone out of the world. That's how it is for me; she is no longer in my world. When your world is seriously off balance as a consequence of this removal, everything in it goes off balance, and setting it to rights again requires enormous capacity - not only for survival, but maintaining self, in every possible sense of the word. It may be impossible to convey what that's like, I don't know.

So then, anyhow, as I leave the parking lot, I have a dim sense that somewhere, she's enjoying a boney, without being cognizant of where it. Yet for a split second, I can feel a tad better. Then I beat it out of there before other thoughts mug me.

On many occasions, however, I must add, not far down the road from the pound, the tears overwhelm the comfort of the bone treat fairly quickly. I am getting a bit better at not giving in to it all the way at such times. Ormaybe it's truer to say that I am physically unable to. In any case, that massive impulse, the dread feeling, embeds itself firmly just below the skin and steadily draining energy and awareness past Wright Avenue and on to the highway connecting to Route 7. Sometimes I'd make it that far, though, without any trouble, and suddenly that mass would burst and expand. It's a gamble. No wonder I can't get back out and do any grocery shopping later on.

ASPCA Policies and Positions: What a difference an "A" makes!

(Another "compare and contrast" - to the SPCA guidelines and Halifax By-Law A300)

ASPCA Position Statement on Dangerous Dog Laws

Background
The ASPCA recognizes that there are dogs who by virtue either of training, or lack of training and socialization, especially in combination with a genetic predisposition to be wary of strangers, aggressive toward other dogs and/or predatory toward other animals, may pose a serious threat if inadequately supervised and controlled by their guardians. In order for dogs to live harmoniously with people and with other companion animals, it is critical to hold guardians responsible for the proper supervision of their dogs and for any actions on their part that either create or encourage aggressive behavior.


At the same time, laws that address “dangerous dogs” must be mindful of the rights of pet guardians and must afford them due process. They should target only those dogs who truly pose a serious, unjustified risk to other animals or to people, and they should recognize that there are situations where aggressive behavior is justified, such as when a dog is protecting himself or herself, her guardian, her offspring or her home, or where the dog has reason to fear a person or animal who has harmed her in the past.

ASPCA Position
The ASPCA believes that dog guardians should be held responsible for unjustified harm or damage done by their pets. Guardians who breed dogs known to be aggressive, or train dogs to be aggressive, or to fight, should be liable not only civilly for damage done by their dogs, but also under criminal provisions that prohibit such conduct. The ASPCA opposes “dangerous dog laws” that designate/define specific breeds of dogs as “dangerous,” “vicious” or potentially “dangerous” or “vicious” without regard to the temperament or behavior of the individual dog.

Dangerous dog laws should be narrowly drawn to define dangerous dogs as those who without justification have either attacked a person or other animal, causing injury or death, or who exhibit behavior that creates a grave risk of such an attack, as determined by a certified applied behaviorist, board-certified veterinary behaviorist or other trained and experienced expert.

Dangerous dog laws should focus on the behavior of the dog and all of the circumstances surrounding it, including those that may justify the dog’s actions. The law should ensure that common puppy behaviors such as jumping up, rough play and nipping are not deemed evidence of dangerousness.

Once a dog is deemed dangerous, the court should have at its disposal a range of dispositions from which to select those that suit the needs of the particular case. The choice of dispositions should include:

- Evaluation by a certified applied behaviorist or board certified veterinary behaviorist and completion of any training or other treatment as deemed appropriate by that expert;
- Spaying or neutering;
- Secure humane confinement in a manner that permits the dog adequate exercise, protection from the elements and that prevents escape and unauthorized contact with the public;
- Direct supervision by an adult eighteen years of age or older whenever the dog is on public premises;
- Restraint on a leash whenever the dog is in public;
- Muzzling in public in a manner that prevents the dog from biting any person or animal but that does not injure the dog or interfere with his vision or respiration;
- Microchipping.

Euthanasia or permanent confinement of the dog, being the most extreme remedies, should only be utilized when the dog, without justification, attacked a person and caused serious physical injury or death, or where a qualified behaviorist who has personally evaluated the dog determines that the dog poses a substantial risk of such behavior and that no other remedy will make the dog suitable to live safely with people.

Dangerous dog laws must accord pet guardians adequate due process to challenge the charges, including a full opportunity to be heard, the right to appeal a dangerous dog finding, and a stay of the disposition pending such appeal.

Enforcement of dangerous dog laws is ultimately the responsibility of local government authorities, and it is important that they exercise their responsibility with vigor and discretion to protect both the public and responsible pet guardians.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

This position statement, pubished on the website of the ASCPA in New York, is respectfully directed to Mayor Peter Kelly, the HRM Council, the SPCA, and the Animal Services division of HRM Regional Police. The document's many points of departure from the current version of By-Law A300 strongly suggest the desirability of, and offer an appropriate basis for, a comprehensive review of the latter. Such a review may be taken up and conducted by groups constituted within HRM bodies as part of administrative or legislative processes, or by HRM citizens in advisory and/or advocacy roles.

In other words: there's an awful lot of work to do out there. Thoroughly necessary, eminently doable work. The road map is there. What could be easier?

Going, going, gone! (home, hopefully)

Big news today:

A new fundraising venture! At present, there are a couple of fundraising efforts already underway. The goal is somewhere around $12,000, a breathtaking sum. It might be more or less; so far, however, I have already paid over $7,000 for legal counsel alone.

First, I have asked for direct donations, and so far, they total $1750. There is a paypal account and a special account at Royal Bank.

Second, a very kind offer came along a few weeks ago, which was posted on the Facebook Save Brindi page. Until November 8 (extended from the fifth), a jewelry company in Montreal called "Love, Montreal" is donating 15% of sales to the fund. The designer herself volunteered this generous offer, and the jewelry is very pretty indeed, with semi-precious stones and silver.

There is talk of a possible benefit concert, which would be absolutely wonderful. I'm crossing my fingers for that to work out.

And today, a third new venture begins: an online auction at epier.com!

Three items are already posted, and more are on the way. Donations are very welcome!Anything from a toy to a yoga class is welcome! We can even auction off dogwalking services, or dogsitting, or training, by the hour, if someone is so disposed.

The first item is a weeklong stay next June at a beautiful lakeside cottage not far from the South Shore, on Nine Mile Lake. There is also a Royal Doulton figurine, and an antique model train set. All you have to do is click here to see them:

And if you have anything around the house that you've never really used, that somebody else might like, why not add it to the auction? All that is needed is a brief description of the item, a ballpark price, and if possible, an image. Once the item is sold, the shipping costs will be paid by the buyer, and you'll be assisted in all the arrangements.

You don't need to live anywhere near Halifax, Nova Scotia, in order to donate to the auction. I only need the information and an image. You ship it directly to the buyer when it's over, and the buyer pays for shipping. The listing includes a city location so bidders can estimate the cost. Theoretically, this auction could be span the globe -barring currency differences.

What would be really helpful for the auction is for people to send the word around. That way there's a greater chance of finding caring bidders. I'm learning as I go, so this is a big experiment right now. And I'm really excited to see how it does!

Meanwhile, I have to figure out how to warm up my frozen pipes, so I can take a shower... Canadian Tire, here I come.

ONE HUNDRED DAYS

of solitude. Not solititude with anything to recommend it.

One hundred days of terror and grief and sadness and fear and disappointment, right, the whole "pity party" that some people seem to love to accuse unfortunate others of, should they have the audacity to speak of their plight, and risk ruining the party everyone else is at.

In the first excruciatingly painful days after they took Brindi, in a state of horror, I was even more horrified to learn about a dog that was held in the SPCA pound for eight months or so in 2007.

My reaction to the rest of the story was filtered by a visceral response to the gut-slash of those words that hasn't left me since.

Months? Months?? NO WAY.

The rest of the story got worse with every word. I've mentioned it here before. And sorry to say, I am no closer to connecting with the owner of this poor creature than I was back then, not for lack of trying, either.

The story goes, this unknown dog, mixed-breed, had an unfortunate encounter with another dog, which happened to be a greyhound. The greyhound is fine today; the mixed-breed is dead.

The dog was accused of one attack on another dog. Never attacked or threatened a human being. The other dog however had some sort of a minor bite, The bigger problem was a number of skin lesions it sustained. Apparently, greyhounds have very thin skin,that easily tears off during a scuffle just from rolling around on the ground. I saw the photo: the dog was covered with roundish patches where the skin had been lost, like big polka dots. It was a mess. But unless an infection set in, the injuries were not likely to be fatal.

The rest of the story is that this dog waited eight months or thereabouts during a court case mounted by the owner against the city. It may be that like me, he was never charged with any offense. He lost the case, but went right back to court to appeal.

Then he lost the appeal. And he decided enough was enough. He had to give in.

He was never granted the right to visit his dog at the pound. He was given two days to spend with his pet, nd then animal services (as in funeral services, I suppose) came and took the dog away again - where? - and put it down.

This story is so horrific one doubts it is true. But I know it's true: my first lawyer represented the owner. And I saw the photos.

What I will never understand is why this story didn't go anywhere. It never made it into the papers or the TV or the radio or the blogs of animal advocates or anywhere that I can see. It is simply not to be found. Unfortunately, my lawyer declined to give me the name of his former client.

When I heard that awful story I was absolutely determined to make sure my dog would not even spend a month behind bars, let alone be put down. Not this dog. I would rather die first. I will go to the pound and stand in line for the injection.

So now where am I? One hundred days - perhaps a day more or less, I cannot sit with a calendar and count precisely, I don't have the strength. One hundred days of utter agony with no end in sight.

One hundred days for Brindi, one hundred days for me. In many ways I suffer more, having the great misfortune of being able to understand human language. I don't understand humans, though, at all.

Brindi certainly knows something is up, I suppose she must feel my agony, too. Fortunately for her, she doesn't know all the intentions involved; she probably thinks she'll be there forever, as she must have believed after spending two years in a shelter. And she'd accept that with good humor, knowing her.

But I have other knowledge of what is going on and what is meant to happen, and it is incredibly damaging to my soul. It is already a soul-killing experience to be forced to live without her. To suffer and know she is suffering, yet have to move forward, for one hundred days and who knows how much longer? I am suffering in more ways than I can talk about, and for more reasons than I am able to reveal. In more ways, in fact, than I even want to reveal to myself.

Does the city intend to actually destroy dog owners along with their dogs? Well, it's working.

In case anybody wants to help, I am asking for daily calls to Mayor Kelly and especially to Animal Services. The numbers are (902) 490 4010 and 490 1791, respectively.

Email does nothing; they delete it. A human voice is harder to ignore.

Call every day if you can, it doesn't take long, and it can really help. Please request that they meet with me, and that they let Brindi go, and reign in their free-wheeling interpretation of A300, because a muzzle order is NOT a mandate to automatically euthanize for violations, not under that law - not by any stretch of the imagination.

Keep in mind: Animal Services does not actually have to meet with me or anybody in order to let Brindi go; it needs no judge or jury. It can review its own decision and the process leading to it, anytime it likes. There is no law or rule or policy or limit on their ability to do this - despite what they may tell the public. It may be hard to accept, but it's a lot easier than having to testify in court.

Please, put your mouth where your money is!

(Yes, I wrote the title that way on purpose.)

This is another sincere appeal to the Nova Scotia SPCA: please live up to your mission and help me and my dog. Please.
I realize you are concerned about your contract to run a pound - and rightly so, because it brings good compensation. But it also brings an automatic conflict of interest. Yet this is no reason not to "walk your talk", to be who your dog-owning public thinks you are.

After three months, publicly declaring neutrality, yet being paid to keep my dog locked up; is it possible for you to be sure of your mission? Are you really content to keep Brindi so long, and then - should I lose, go broke, and/or give up, heaven forbid - go ahead kill her on some unknown date? Really?

To the public, the SPCA's job is to look out for the welfare of all animals, and that means all animals; why should there be any exclusions? Running the pound is not your primary task; it should never preclude helping the unfortunate animals in the pound. They are among those who need you the most.

I understand that the board is new, or partly new. I understand you all have a lot to do and that you are all dedicated volunteers, and equally dedicated employees. I understand you are interested in restoring your relationship with the public and showing you really do put animals first. But I do not understand why you don't begin with just one animal, Brindi. She's be a great place to start! Heaven knows she's paid her dues in spades. She was the longest resident of Celtic Pets on record, over two years. I'm pretty sure she's been a patient and understanding good girl, just like she was there, and just like I have been for over three months.

I have no other advocate to turn to other than my lawyer, who, like all lawyers, comes at a pretty steep price. A lot of folks are trying to raise money to help me afford his help - money that could be going to help other animals instead. And my lawyer, as good as he is, does not have what you have.

You wield a great deal of power and influence in this province and in this city when it comes to animal control issues, although you may not realize it or choose to take advantage of it. You are trusted by the public and their elected officials. You are paid to hold the monopoly on anti-cruelty enforcement in the province. You are contracted by the city of Halifax to be its sole poundkeeper, and your contract continues for years. A new contractual period begins in March 2009, but your actual six-figure contract keeps going, according to your annual report. You influence public opinion, including the opinions of other animal welfare groups. You accept donations from hardworking people who believe you exist primarily to look after the interests of animals. You run the Metro Shelter directly, so you also look after Brindi every day. You work closely with Animal Services personnel every single day, and like no elected official, lawyer, or member of the public, you have their ear on many matters, including their policy of not allowing owners to visit their dogs in the pound, not to mention their methods of enforcement.

I am told your staff no longer use a rabies pole when they walk Brindi. That is good news, although I'm not sure at what point exactly this changed. I am told she is now allowed to use the outdoor pens. That is very good news as well, although it is no longer summer or fall weather. I hear that Brindi has been her usual good-natured self in your care, which is her survival mode, long-practiced in her two-year stay; she can't be her best self, show off her best, I'm afraid. And I worry that she'll need to relearn all the commands she was taught and spent hours practicing with me, after being in a cage so long. She doesn't know she's supposed to be killed, of course, or at least I don't think she does. But I worry that deep inside, she's hurt, but has resigned herself to a life behind bars, not understanding what happened. Will she ever trust me or feel secure again? But she's not herself anymore, and, I'm sure many will agree, neither am I.

I have no way of being sure, but I am worried many people mistakenly assume that
since the SPCA has not spoken in our defense, we must be guilty. Worse, I fear
some of them may have been misinformed, and passed on the information. It's pretty hard for a single dogowner to contradict the authority of the SPCA, blog or no blog.

I know you have an enormous task ahead of you as you plan for the care of a number of potential animals who will need you in the future. But Brindi is a real live dog. She was rescued once already, then put in a shelter-for very possibly longer than any dog in the province in recent memory. She's right there in your building, every day. Why not help her right this second, and help me get her back home where she belongs?

Interim

I can only report that my lawyer is working on something called an "interim application", which could speed things up a bit in terms of court. I remain hopeful that somehow, some way, we can finally sit down with the human beings who have the discretionary power of life and death over dogs in this municipality.

I wish they would regard my attempt to save my dog's life as necessary and right, not as a threat to their authority. They know better than anybody that the law is not perfect and the system needs improvement.

The world may be a tough place; nevertheless it is not a sign of weakness to change a decision. When it means sparing a life, being flexible enough to change your mind is the greatest strength there is.

Open, strong, flexible, balanced...

Trick or?

I was going to post a picture from last year of Brindi wearing a Halloween mask. Halloween was always my favorite holiday (or non-holiday), next to Easter. But I don't feel very festive today.

So for now, I want to post this picture of what used to be a sight I saw every day, a bit to the right of my bed-top computer, just as it is located to the right of this text.

Well, except for the roses. I never saw those every day. But who does?

Two poems to remember

Birthright

Despite illness of body or mind,
in spite of blinding despair or habitual belief,
who you are is whole.
Let nothing keep you separate from the truth.
The soul, illumined from within,
longs to be known for what it is.

Undying, untouched by fire or the storms of life,
there is a place inside where stillness and abiding peace reside.
You can ride the breath to go there.

Despite doubt or hopeless turns of mind,
you are not broken.
Spirit surrounds, embraces, fills you from the inside out.
release everything that isn’t your true nature.
What’s left, the fullness, light, shadow,
claim all that as your birthright.

– Danna Faulds



Healing

There is healing in the laying on of hands;
in the letting to of fear,
in asking for help,
in silence, celebration, prayer.
There is healing in speaking the truth
and in keeping still,
in seeking sunlight
and not shunning struggle.
Laughter and the affirmation of wholeness
hold their own healing.

When the soul dances,
when the day begins in delight,
when love grows and cannot be contained,
when life flows from moment to moment,
healing happens in the space between thoughts,
and the breath before the first sung note.

Healing is a birthright and a grace.
When we dare to be open to the unknown,
when we extend ourselves in caring,
when we welcome in the vast expanse of life,
healing comes from the heart,
and blossoms from the inside out.

– Danna Faulds


I am indebted to my yoga teacher, Lisa Grainger, for making me aware of the first poem. I discovered the second while searching for the author of the first.

Another letdown

In order to get Brindi out before Christmas (the earliest court date we could get is December 16), my lawyer and I have been working hard to get Animal Services to finally sit down and talk.
Today, Scott Hughes, the HRM legal counsel, sent a brief note (three lines) to my lawyer to say that Animal Services are not willing to appear at a meeting he had tentatively scheduled this week. No explanation. He did offer to meet with my lawyer, alone, but not until next week. No explanation for that delay either.

I did not publicize the possibility of this meeting in advance. I didn't want to get anybody's hopes up, especially mine. And my lawyer felt it would be more respectful of the city. Maybe that was a mistake, though, because this is the second time a meeting with Animal Services fell through. The last time, in August, the HRM spokesperson, Deborah Story, informed the press that all parties involved would be meeting within a week or so. It never happened.

A meeting took place, but not the one advertised. Only HRM counsel Scott Hughes appeared at the agreed on date and time. He had notified my lawyer at the time, only an hour earlier, that Andrea Macdonald and Lori Scolero would not attend. We agreed to meet with him anyway, so that we could put forward requests for an assessment and a foster home, backed by all the support letters and sound argumentation we could muster. But a few days later, he simply rejected the requests, again with little or no explanation.

I'm told I have a pretty good case. I'm not all that concerned about the case itself, knock on bone. The chief problem is time. Well, time and money. And the energy cost, and the strain on dog and woman, of course. Okay, there are four chief problems. By December 16, Brindi will have been confined in the pound for nearly five months. She was seized in the height of summer; it will be mid-winter then. A dog's life is relatively short. Each month of her life is more like a year or six months to us. By now, with two years in one shelter, another five months (if she gets out in December) in the pound, at five years old, nearly half of her life will be wasted behind bars.

Again, I have no intention of dropping this fight. There may not be much left of my life by the time she's back home, but I cannot abide the injustice of destroying a life for no good reason. Any life. When that life happens to be my responsibility, I will do whatever it takes. If I were Bill Gates, I'd gladly pay China whatever it wants in exchange for an end to their sick practice of putting bears in cages they can hardly crouch in, and hooking up tubes to extract their bile for so-called medicine. But I'm not Bill, I'm only Francesca. All I can really do is make sure all three animals in my care have good lives. They are all rescue animals. And I refuse to allow Brindi, who was abused as a young dog, to lose her only forever home, and become a victim a poorly conceived, unregulated system that is quite frankly (think of poor Ducky) out of whack and out of control.

There are folks on all fronts here who agree that the animal control system needs work. And I am sure nobody enjoys knowing what is happening with Brindi and me. But it's not enough to make sympathetic noises about it. And it seems to me that it is in the interest of Animal Services and the entire city government to resolve this case as soon as possible. In fact, Mr. Hughes did express an interest in a quicker resolution in August, when he urged us to drop the lawsuit in favor of a one-day injunction (a gamble, but a possibility). He even cited my dog's welfare as a main reason, i.e., the length of her "incarceration", and he also cited the added cost of a lengthy trial to the city coffers.

I have to say it again, at the risk of losing readers: cities represent the pinnacle of civilization, east and west. They are centers of business and industry, but also of art, literature, intellect, spirituality, knowledge, and wisdom. These things are not exclusive to cities of course, but it is in cities where they are sought and nurtured most. So why should cities engage in the slaughter of a species of animal so highly valued that people spend millions on them, their care and feeding, and a vast array of toys and clothes, including Halloween costumes? Why should cities be proud of putting dogs down, when it's been shown time after time, for years now, how unnecessary it is, even with so-called "aggressive" dogs. Best Friends, Cesar, and my future trainer, Silvia Jay, among many, many others. It's also been shown that behind every aggressive dog is a human who made it that way, through breeding or treatment. Most dogs are born to love and learn and play and be our companions. After all, humans spent thousands of years breeding them for that very purpose. But that's another discussion.

What's the next move? I really don't know. Yet.

Photos of Oct. 4 vigil

Jenn Richardson's Nova Scotia Duck Toller, Chessie, was among the dozen or so canines on hand for the vigil, which marked the feast day of St. Francis, and World Animal Day.


TV images courtesy of Jon Stone, taken of video shot by a very nice CTV cameraman.



Jon Stone and Bob Riley, with Richard Koekman in the background.
If you look closely in upper right photo, you may spot an orb right above Jon's head.

Bullet (I think it's him at least), dressed for the occasion.

Linda Koekman with Samara and Spirit.

Photos courtesy of Gail Gallant.