The Inevitable Return of Critter Corbin

Hey, blogland! Miss me?! Sure, ya did...
So, I was doing GREAT with my blogs, updating fairly regularly, keeping everybody posted on everything. UNTIL...
"...Suddenly, there came a tapping
As of someone gently rapping,
Rapping at my chamber door..."
'Twas some visitor, indeed, tapping at my chamber door...but it wasn't a raven, which is fortunate, because I have no bust of Pallas on which it could have perched. The jerk at the door called himself Life. He said he hated to interfere with my general plans, but it was part of his job description ("You know how that goes, am I right?" to quote him directly...). So, in he marched (uninvited, I might add...) and hunkered down to stay a spell.
Before you all wonder, he didn't bring any ill tidings. Instead, he just kinda hung around my neck and bugged the crap out of me for about a month. I was just generally dragged down, but by the end of it, I shook the "ick" feeling by heading out on a little vacation...to WV!
BJ finally got to meet my family (or, at least, what few of them we could see in the couple days we were there), and they got to meet the man who stole my little heart away. For those of you not in attendance for the Great Kati & BJ Visit, my mom can attest to the fact that I'm alive, well-cared for and VERY loved! The trip was nice, it was exactly what we both needed to clear our heads out and get some of the rest we desperately needed.
Now, on to the matter of that subject line...
Let me preface this by telling you all what happened very early Sunday morning.
I work the graveyard shift at my factory, from 8 pm until about 4:30 am. On my days off, I try to keep my sleep schedule the same so I don't mess myself up and get worn out at work. So, at 4 that morning, I was wide awake on the couch, reading a book with the TV on and turned down (BJ was asleep in the bedroom).
I was half-watching The Time Machine, half-reading my book, when I heard a noise outside that sounded like someone was killing something. It was high-pitched and squealy...I thought for a minute someone was beating a child. So, I ran out onto the front porch only to find a small, black puppy belly-crawling up my front lawn and yelping so loud it broke my heart.
I went down into the yard and he instantly came crawling over to me and climbed into my arms. He was wet, filthy, he reeked to high Heaven and he was so scared he was shaking. Once I picked him up, the shaking stopped, and he settled into a soft panting, instead of the yelping. I held him up to check him out, to see if any of the wetness on him was blood, and he appeared to be fine...the wetness was just water from the leftover rain on the grass.
So, I wandered down the steps to the street, wondering where the little fella came from - he couldn't have been thrown from a car, because he would have been wounded. He could have been dropped off at one end of the street or the other, but I hadn't heard any cars go by for hours, and our section of the street isn't that long, so that wasn't likely, either. Then I noticed some movement to my right and turned to see a familiar dog staring at me from low on the ground.
At the plant, we have stray dogs that roam the property, and a few coworkers and I leave our lunch scraps for them. A few times, this particular dog who was eyeballing me had eaten right from my hand in the parking lot. The dogs aren't too afraid of people, obviously, so they were probably pets at one point that were thrown out and became feral strays. It clicked in my head then that I was holding this dog's puppy. I had two options right then - I could put the puppy down, walk away and forget I'd ever seen the dogs...or, I could do what I did. I brought the puppy into the house and woke BJ, who wasn't too thrilled with the idea of being woken up at about 4:20 am. I told him about finding the puppy in the yard, and his first mumbled remark was an obscenity, followed by, "We can't keep it, baby...take it to the shelter in the morning."
That prickled me a bit, and got my tear ducts working. I couldn't do that, but it was too early in the morning to argue. So, instead, I very gently said, "He's just a baby, he's filthy, and I'm pretty sure he just peed all over me (and he had...). Can I at least give him a bath?" This was the beginning of the end for BJ...
BJ agreed, and told me to find something to feed him. So, into the tub went the tiny, fluff-matted thing in my arms. He is, quite possibly, the most rapidly-drying dog I've ever bathed. Once he was clean and largely dry, I carried him back into the living room to further inspect him. He has all of his teeth and they're in very good condition, and judging from the size of them he can't be more than 6 months old.
We don't have dogs, because BJ doesn't care for them, but we do have two cats, so we have cat food, if nothing else, and I got a small handful of food, barely enough to fit in my palm, and wet it with warm water to soften it. When I brought it back to him, I set it down in front of him to let him scent it, and he didn't seem too thrilled by it, probably because he's never smelled anything like it or remotely fresh, for that matter. I put a little in my fingers and held it out to him and he took it from my hand and chewed a few pieces, then took a bit more and simply swallowed - major sign that he was being raised feral. He has teeth and can chew, but doesn't fully understand how, so he just gulps food down while he can.
I reported my findings and his status to BJ, who was still not pleased about being half-awake so early. When I told him about the mother being outside when I found him, he said, "Well, then give the baby back to his momma, she can take better care of him than we can." That's what undid me. I've seen those dogs at work...I couldn't send the baby back out there to live like that, scrounging for a half-eaten cheeseburger or week-old chicken tender and at the risk of being run over on the highway or being shot by someone. I told him how I felt and begged him, "Please don't make me put him back outside...I can't do it, it'll break my heart..." and he caved a little. He didn't tell me I could keep him, but he also didn't try to talk me into putting him back outside again. He told me again that I should take him to the shelter, and I shied away from that idea.
Ever been to an animal shelter? Some people have, most people haven't. I can tell you now, most of them aren't the cleanest or the best kept. Granted, there are a few out there that are very nice and very clean, and actually try to take care of the animals that come in. Others, however...not so much.
Take the Robertson County Animal Shelter here in Springfield, for example. That's where we got our youngest cat, Skitz. From the outside, it looks like any other animal shelter you've seen, and it's about the same on the inside - kennels lining one big room, and a separate room for cats. Overall, it's not a BAD place, per se, but what first struck me as wrong about that animal shelter is that they had upwards of 4 full-grown dogs in a single kennel space barely as big as a typical doghouse. Overpopulation is one thing, but that kind of living condition is cruel, if you ask me. The cats seem to fare a little better...most of them have their own cages, unless they were found or brought in together, in which case they go into a cage together. The softest thing the cats have to lay on in those metal cages is their litter box, which is where Skitz was laying when we first saw him. It broke my heart, and BJ's, to see the cats like that, and it hurt me even worse to see the poor dogs crammed into those tiny kennels. I can't willingly put an animal in that situation, it's not in my nature. I managed to upset myself further in regards to the shelter, but I'll get there in a minute...
So, I gave BJ time to wake up and by the time he came out for his coffee, the puppy was laying contentedly on the living room floor in a dry towel. That's when I started to inch in on the subject of what to do about the puppy. I knew what I wanted to do, of course, and BJ knew what I wanted to do, but neither of us said anything about it at first. Once he had his coffee ready, I brought the puppy in and showed him to BJ to let him get a good look at him. He agreed that the puppy looks pretty healthy, and I could tell by the look on his face and the strain in his voice that he was having an internal battle...part of him wanted to order me to put the dog back outside or take it to the shelter, and the rest of him knew that if he said it, I'd break down sobbing and, thus, break his heart. I took my seat near his in the office and put the puppy on the floor next to my chair where he proceeded to fall asleep, snuffling and snuggling in the towel he was still wrapped in.
I didn't say any more about the little guy, and eventually, BJ turned to me in his chair and said "Three days...if no one comes looking for it, give me a number for the cost - vet visit, shots, the whole nine yards, cause we're not keeping it unless it has its shots." He also said that, if it came to this, housebreaking would be up to me, because he doesn't know how to housebreak a dog, and there will be no dogs sleeping in the bed or on the furniture. I agreed, of course, and starting attempting to research it on the net. This is where I upset myself...
In searching for some answers, I turned up an article, regarding the county animal shelter, from one of the local news stations. It was just a newsbrief about the shelter's opening a little over a year ago. What disturbed me were the last two lines of the article - "Dogs are kept at the animal shelter for about five days. Those that do not find homes through adoption are euthanized." I had no idea they were a kill shelter, and I said as much to BJ who very calmly told me that, yes, he knew they euthanized unclaimed animals. And he wanted me to take the puppy there?? Oh, no, I think not! I had reservations about taking the puppy there before I found out the whole story, and once I knew that, I told him that I absolutely would NOT take the puppy there, under any circumstances.
Webster's dictionary defines shelter as "a dwelling place or home considered as a refuge; the protection or refuge afforded by such a thing." That place may as well turn animals into Soilent Green, for all the "shelter" they offer... "Here ya go, little fella, here's a disgusting steel cage to live in for 5 days, if we let you live that long before we pump your little body full of heart-stopping chemicals..enjoy!" Animal "shelter" my ass...
Anyway, when BJ left for work that morning, he left with one request - "Just...don't name it...if you name it, you'll get attached and if you get attached, you'll cry if we have to give it up." I agreed, so for the remainder of that day, he was simply "Little Fella." I took him outside to let him get some fresh air, and he peed outside. I learned, then, that he will NOT pee in the house. If he wanted to go outside, he would whine a little and try to get to the door on his unsteady little puppy stubs. We went out a few more times that morning before I had to go to sleep, and I made sure to make him a make-shift bed from a clothes basket and a towel before I laid down.
By the time I woke up and was fully functional, BJ was home from work with surprising news for me - "I think his name is Scooter."
Hold up...didn't he tell ME not to name the puppy so I wouldn't get attached?? And yet, in he walks with the startling revelation that the puppy might just have a name?? Yeah...he TOTALLY hated the dog... *scoff scoff scoff*
After that, it was pretty set in stone that I could keep it, especially since BJ said "We'll find a way to make it work...he's young, he can learn, we can adjust the budget to include dog food and care...we'll make it work."
And so, it is with great pleasure that I officially announce the addition of Wado Lowry to the family! After much debate on a name for the little guy, he decided for us that his name was Wado, which is an Okinawan Japanese word meaning "peace and harmony". BJ tossed the suggestion out and the puppy went NUTS with squeals and yips and attempts at running toward BJ. So, it was decided for us that his name is Wado. It suits him, because he's a very mellow pup so far, and he's a very good boy. He's suffering some mild seperation anxiety, being away from his mother, and he'll whine incessantly if he can't see one of us, but we're breaking him of that by ignoring him when he whines and giving him plenty of love when he doesn't make a big fuss.
The boys, Swisher and Skitz, don't know what to make of him just yet. Swish was MAD AS HELL when we first brought him in...refused to come near him or us, wouldn't purr, wouldn't snuggle with us, nothing. Skitzy's taken a little better to him. He's still convinced that Wado's tail must be a chewtoy, but he's too apprehensive of him to attempt to play with him just yet. They've both fairly-well adjusted to him, and they'll at least scent him and come to us now.
So, onward and upward my family grows!
I'll post pictures of all the kids (Addison, Swisher, Skitz and Wado) soon, and I PROMISE I'll write more often! Now - to bed with me!