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| Turbo--Waiting for Julie to introduce him to the pack |
Friday, March 25-Day 1 (31 pounds)
I’m REALLY nervous. I really have no idea what I got myself into. I spend my nervous energy buying Turbo a soft bed, a new food bowl, and some toys. Of course I go over budget but I justify it…he has never had anything good in his life. I spend my therapy session avoiding the tough topics of my family, my dad, my trauma, my mom, our infertility, and I talk about Turbo instead. It feels good to have something to look forward to, someone to take care of and love and nurture. My emotional bank has been empty lately and I know I haven’t been giving enough of myself.
Cathleen will be here at 3:45 with Turbo to go over his meds (I guess there is a lot) and Julie will be here at 4:15 to help with intros. I’m nervous. I clean the house, wash the crates, organize the toys, and stare out the window. What if the girls don’t accept him? What if I can’t handle how bad he looks? What it I can’t love him because of how bad he looks? What if he is so bad off that he dies while at our house? Maybe this was a mistake.
Too late, Cathleen is here with Turbo. I rush out to greet her. She opens the back of her SUV and asks me if I bought some Kleenex because he is in such bad shape. I think, “It can’t be that bad. It’s a dog. I LOVE dogs.” And then I see him. It IS that bad. I have to cover my mouth so I don’t puke. I force myself NOT to look away…I don’t want him to feel as ugly and bad off as he is. He looks way worse than the photos. He has virtually no hair because the mange has completely eaten it away. His skin is bright red and hot to touch. His little feet are red and swollen and his skin bags around his ankles, neck, and waist. He looks like an old lady whose pantyhose have fallen down around her ankles. He is concave at the hips, and you can see his spinal column because he has no fat or hair. His skin is red and covered in scabs. And yet, when I say his name, “Hi there Turbo!” he wags his tail and perks up his puppy ears. He is happy; yet, sadly, he is very calm and subdued for such a young dog. I run inside to grab my husband and send my 3-year-old stepson upstairs. He is excited to meet what he is calling, “his” new puppy. I’m quite sure he will be disappointed.
“It’s bad, babe. I don’t know if I can do this. It’s really, really bad,” I tell Kevin. He grabs my hand and I know that I can do this. We go outside, put him on a leash, and let him sniff the yard and go potty. At this point, Cathleen tells me Turbo also has kennel cough and should be quarantined from the rest of the dogs for a few days. My girls just had it a few months ago, so I’m not worried. They have been treated and are vaccinated for it every 6 months. He needs as much support and normalcy from the pack as possible.
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| Bathed and at home-Day 1 |
We take him inside and put him in his new crate with his super soft padded bed and warm, fuzzy blanket. I put in a squeaky chew toy so he can play while we wait for Julie. He just lies down quietly in the crate, ignores the toy, and trembles. My heart hurts. Cathleen goes over all the meds he is on and rushes out…I think she is afraid we will change our mind.
Julie arrives and gracefully puts me at ease. Turbo, in his state of malnourishment and illness, has more energy than either of my girls. But it’s the anxiety-ridden energy from a dog that has kennel stress and his fragility shows through it all. It only takes Julie 15 minutes to introduce Turbo to the rest of the pack. It will take Greta longer to warm up to Turbo than Gracie, who is the same age as Turbo and more of a puppy at heart. But Turbo plays his role perfectly, by showing puppy submission to the older dogs and licking their faces.
As Julie prepares to leave, she congratulates me on how well balanced my pack is (boy was she fooled) and warns me of how difficult the first few nights are for foster dogs (oh yes, I remember Greta)…the whining as they adjust to a new environment and the hyperactivity from kennel stress can make it hard for dogs to relax and foster parents to sleep. Benadryl can make the first night go more smoothly, and it might help with his skin.
Julie and I make small talk while Turbo curls up in his kennel and I can’t shake the smell of dirty feet. Where it was coming from, I could only guess. He needed a bath. DESPERATELY. After a quick call to Cathleen, I learn that he can have hypoallergenic shampoo or oatmeal. Kevin runs to the store, I get the towels and shower ready for little Turbo and when Kev returns, I quickly guide the puppy into the shower and warm up the water.
The smell is nauseating. Overpowering. The small, enclosed space mixed with steam and moisture makes his smell that much more pungent. I can feel each and every one of his ribs and spinal processes. His scabs fall off his skin into the drain and I can see through his paper-thin skin. But I get through and wonder how I’m to do this every single day and why he doesn’t smell any better.
We put him in one of Kaenon’s old t-shirts, clip his nails, and give him dinner, treats, meds, and Benadryl. I give him the stuffing free fox toy that the girls loved when they came to our house, and Turbo chews it a little, starts tossing it up and chasing it around…he has learned to play. Kaenon loves his new dog. He doesn't seem to notice that he is ugly and stinky. The pureness of heart that kids show is refreshing...and reproving at the same time. It was a good night for Turbo and we all head off to bed.
Every 2-3 hours we wake up. Turbo cannot stop scratching and shaking. His smell permeates the room; the bath didn’t help. He has to pee. He whines. We try giving him more Benadryl. I want to go back to sleep. I’m exhausted and I don’t think any of us slept a wink. Well, maybe Kaenon did.
