Angels From God Chronicle: Blank

The Snowball Effect

Sometimes a dog’s story is so unbelievable that I would not believe it myself, had I not borne witness to it. The saga of Snowball began three years ago like a bad pool hall joke, “Have you heard the one about the kid who bought her Grandparents a puppy for Christmas?“ The set up reeks of rollicking disaster. I suppose I would have chuckled louder had I not heard the same joke in so many variations over the years.

And so, the saga unfolds: I was contacted by a Long Island dog trainer who had been hired by “Hon and Deary“, a pair of frazzled seniors, to help them control their seven month old Eskie. The seniors were convinced that their Snowball was a defective nitwit because he would not do as he was told. Seems that Snowball was born without the “Lassie gene,” and could not speak English. Immediately, the trainer recognized a disconnect between the energy level of this kindly elderly couple, and the reprobate, Snowball. What a gag Christmas gift!

Puppies certainly are presumptuous gifts. A gift is supposed to be something coveted, like a diamond ring, or desperately needed, like a GPS. A puppy is a fifteen year, expensive, pain-in-the-ass. You’ll need a Valium drip to get through the first two years. Clearly, the acquisition of a puppy is best facilitated in the absence of surprise. And yet, thanks to the profitable retail pet stop trade, fueled by the dastardly Puppy Mill Industry, common sense can be thrown out like left over Brussels’ Sprouts as legions of hapless individuals are financed for dog ownership. Thankfully, a nation of Rescue people have mobilized like galactic erasers to correct these expensive multitudinous mistakes, at private and public expense.

Repeatedly, we see that volume puppy manufacturing leads to a tsunami of disposable dogs on the rescue circuit…which has become the secondary market for adult dogs...though blissfully free of high profit margins. Breeders make money while Rescuers spend money….clearly, Rescue people are not financial geniuses. And, the puppy mill profit motive is certainly fueled by the demand from multitudes of “dog lovers” who want that perfect puppy for Billy, Susie or Grandpa Bud. Lordy, isn’t the notion of the “perfect“ puppy an oxymoron? What is perfect about a puppy? Puppies are the miscreants of the canine world….hide your computer cords, your favorite 18 karat gold hoop earrings, your vintage 1950’s lamps, your shoes…and…you can kiss good bye your collection of mint condition 1960’s Charles Eames furniture…because the blasted puppies will chew it to pieces, and then pee on the kindling. Kudos to Nikita and Nadia, two thirds of the Angels From God, who taught me a valuable lesson in “letting go” of material objects. By the time Toot came along, I was nearly a Buddhist, and had learned how to puppy proof my apartment with leather and steel.

The “demand” served by puppy millers is rooted in cultural delusion. Really, there is no demand for dogs in the broad perspective. Available dogs far out number competent dog owners. However, there is a demand for puppies, perpetuated by the maddening Disney perspective that these tiny, animated toys magically train themselves and don‘t bite children. Certainly, there is no demand for adult dogs…a status which seems to be the obvious conclusion to puppy hood. A short Internet stint spent between Puppyfinder.com (the online resource for Puppy Millers to disguise themselves as reputable breeders), and Petfinder.com (the online Mecca for the disenfranchised ex-puppies) points up the disconnect between perceived demand and supply. It seems that the lion’s share of the puppies produced wind up in rescue at some point in their lives. So, really, many folks who think they want a puppy should relax the shelter and tax payer burden by simply expediting the inevitable: take a chainsaw to the sofa, rip up the carpet, pee on their own stuff and spend the puppy cash on a week in Margaritaville.

puppymill mother

Well, I stubbed my toe on that soapbox…but in homage to the Great Washington State Eskie Puppy Mill Raid last month, Toot felt I should make the point. Now, if one were to expect a “perfect” puppy, Snowball would be a bitter disappointment. By now, the teenager who perpetrated this hoax on her grandparents had returned to her home state, leaving the seniors flummoxed. The trainer advised them to pass the dog along to rescue because, clearly, there was not a Snowball's chance in Hell, that they could handle him. They agreed. I learned during our phone chat that Snowball was a complete pain-in-the-ass...with a bite history...and that he was unaltered and shotless. A rip roaring Bonanza for us…just our type of dog. So, we arranged for our New York foster mom, Janine, to pick up Snowball the next weekend.

Janine drove five hours in rush hour traffic to spend the night in Long Island so that she could snag Snowball before her five hour drive home. As far as volunteers go, Janine is an overachiever. In the morning, the seniors greeted Janine at the door only to tell her that their son had already taken Snowball. It’s hard to gauge the decibel level of Janine's phone update to me....but, my good ear was abuzz for days. Nothing astounds me more than folks who implore us for help and then waste hours of our volunteer time.

Ok, so Snowball was going to stay in the family, right? NO. Months later, we were called by Dr. Teri Meekins, a concerned veterinarian at a Long Island Shelter. Dr. Meekins had been charmed by an American Eskimo who had been her month long guest at the shelter. He was one year old and had some behavior concerns that ruled him out for shelter adoption. And, I said..."Is his name, Snowball?" Indeed...the witless son dumped Snowball in the shelter where he would have been euthanized rather than send him to a rescue group for rehabilitation and adoption. If Dr. Meekins had not intervened, Snowball would be dead. This is some piece-of-work family....stupidity must be hereditary.

So, we agreed to help Snowball for the second time. Dr. Meekins provided all the vet care, and then drove Snowball to New Jersey, where he took up residence with Diane Gonzalez. Diane has had her fair share of reprobates to rehabilitate, and Snowball fit in fine. Diane's boot camp combination of exercise and discipline worked wonders on Snowball, and he made a good deal of initial progress. However, in light of his language deficit, biting had become his preferred method of communication. Diane did her best to teach him English...but we have our limits. We don't live in the same Disney movie as some dog owners.

that other well know reprobate...Mystikal

….Mark Twain wrote, "If you take a dog which is starving and feed him and make him prosperous, that dog will not bite you. This is the primary difference between a dog and a man." Well...leave it to Snowball to defy such wisdom.

Actually, I have known many dogs who have proven Mr. Twain wrong….and if he were here today, I would put aside my profound admiration and take issue with him……starting with my Min Pin, Mystikal, and segueing to the reprobate, Snowball. Diane did her best to diagnose and correct the "bite the hand that feeds you" behavior to no avail. Snowball's biting seemed to reflect the bratty mindset, "I am going to do what I want to do," ...which was established when he got the leg up on his original senior owners.

I was concerned, because, "biting the hand that feeds you," is not the behavior of an adoptable dog. Who wants to devote fifteen years of travail to an ungrateful pipsqueak? “Thank God, he's cute“... was all I could say. People will take a lot more crap from a cute little dog, than a butt ugly one. Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and those quirky Pug lovers (my cousin Jewel is one) might not agree, but it seems to me that Snowball is pretty easy on the eyes, whatever your canine orientation.

Diane was frazzled. She was perched at the jaws of defeat, when she happened to see an episode of The Dog Whisperer, in which Cesar Millan featured some California rescue folks who travel to Tijuana to pull dogs from the City Shelter...where euthanasia equals electrocution. As she watched the horror unfold in High Definition, Diane had a personal revelation. Frustration and defeat gave way to her resounding mantra..."I'm not taking any crap from a seventeen pound dog!!" Ah….. Diane was back, baby.

Snowball's rehabilitation began anew, Diane's refreshed vigor was making an impact. But, just in case...we decided to drug him. Normally, we are not fans of mental drugs for dogs...but we were at the last resort. So, our Dr. Keefe prescribed an anti-anxiety drug at a moderate dosage, and indeed, we saw some improvement. Progress was slow but steady. After about ten months, we decided to move Snowball to another foster home…in order to vary his positive experiences, and see if another perspective might move him closer to adoption. I chauffeured him to our new foster home, where we had just ensnared a new foster mom, Susan.

I met Susan a few months earlier as we negotiated her surrender of the now infamous Eskie, Oscar, or in Massachusetts speak, “Oscah.” Susan had taken Oscar from a dodgy neighbor situation, in which, his behavior problems had ousted him from the family inner circle. Oscar had been tied up outside most of the time, and sealed his fate by biting a kid. And so, Susan took him at the urging of the local dog officer, and she began working with him. At the time, her dog pack included two gorgeous shepherd mixes, the Majestic Chloe, and the Shy Beauty, Lexy, as well as an Eskie Pom mix, Chester. All three dogs reflected Susan’s skill at rehabilitating rescue dogs and she was brimming with confidence as she approached Oscar’s issues.

A month later, Susan found our website and called me to admit that the Eskie had stumped her. She asked us to work with Oscar and place him in an savvy Eskie home. “Sure,” I said, “Give me a couple of weeks to make room for him” In those few weeks, Oscar played Susan like a 1955 Les Paul guitar, and when I called to collect him…Susan was in love. And so, Oscar became the barnacle on Susan’s behind….don’t we all have one? And, as we ended our conversation, she said “Let me know if you ever need my help…. I have a three bedroom house and large fenced in yard…I’d like to foster.”

Ah, Aladdin‘s Genie had just granted my greatest wish. I thought….. if only she is a wino….and, “Voila,” Kendall Jackson is her middle name. And, if things couldn’t get better…Susan is a trauma nurse. I ask you…”Who needs a trauma nurse more than me?” And so, with great relief, I brought Snowball to Susan, mental drugs in tow.

…but, we needed to see the actual behavior rather than the medicated version. What do you know? The mental drugs allowed Snowball to relax enough for Diane’s techniques to take hold, and now he was …dare I say?…a joy. It was hard to get Susan to imagine the initial Snowball Effect, when the dog that she was fostering was soooooo sweet. Oy.

We had a few snarky incidents that were easily corrected, but we felt that Snowball was greatly improved. Still, I was hesitant about his adoption, concerned that in less experienced hands, he might regress. Snowball is one of those “give ‘em an inch and he’ll take a mile” dogs.

So we coasted for a while. Snowball was living the high life at Susan’s and Christmas was a-coming. As usual, I was having a helluva time shopping for Diane. She buys everything she wants during the year, and has no jewelry fetish. And yet, every year, I say, “Di, give me some ideas on your Christmas gift.” And, this year, Diane said…”All I want is a home for Snowball.” Great…the woman who is impossible to shop for asks for the impossible.

I remember saying out loud, “Jesus Christ, how am I going to find this dog a home?” Even though the question was rhetorical, I had my answer in the next ten minutes. I received a call from Jackie…a delightfully quirky Hungarian yenta from Manhattan. Recently, Jackie had lost her Eskie to a terrible illness, and was ready to open her heart to another. As our conversation evolved…a crazy notion hit me. SNOWBALL! Now, on the surface, you might think I was nuts to consider a senior as adopter for a reprobate puppy who had been screwed up by seniors….and, surely I thought I was nuts too. Sometimes, when screening adopters, something strikes me in the gut, that signals a right situation. In Jackie’s case, it turned out to be this story:

back to Manhattan...

Jackie had lived in her snooty, Manhattan East Side rental building for over 20 years, and the building has a strict “no dogs” policy. And yet, she lived there with her Eskie for 13 years. As a lifelong renter, I was impressed, and wondered how she had pulled this off. She told me that she had received special dispensation for her disability. Ah…. I felt compelled to inquire, because although it certainly is not politically correct to consider disability in the mix…it is relevant when considering a dog’s reaction to walkers, canes, scooters, etc. So, I boldly asked the nature of Jackie’s disability. And she replied boldly, “High Blood Pressure.” In that moment, I thought that since this woman had convinced management of an upscale Manhattan high-rise that High Blood Pressure is a disability that warrants a companion dog, then, clearly she is much smarter, and has bigger balls than Snowball. I recognized Jackie as a card carrying member of the Alpha Bitch Sisterhood…..which just could be the best remedy for a reprobate puppy, in need of a balls-on broad. The next best thing to Diane.

So, I told her all about Snowball and he seemed to bear a striking resemblance to her recently departed Eskie. The more we chatted, the more I liked the match. We agreed to meet. I alerted Diane and Susan to the plan, and both thought I was completely mashugga…this adoption looked like a disaster in the making….on paper. But, honestly…I was onto something.

I invited my friend Judy to go for the ride….we always enjoy an Indian lunch and a bottle of wine in the East Village, after a bit of shopping and a dog errand. So, we made our way down to meet Jackie. After the four and a half hour drive, parking was easy, Snowball hadn’t tried to bite Judy, and I was high on life. The beautiful building was in a coveted neighborhood, and Jackie’s apartment was a darling showplace of ethnic and antique artifacts. The vintage settee was a vision to behold, and that is precisely where the incident occurred.

When Jackie opened the door, I was surprised to take in her diminutive stature. Four feet, 11 inches tall, her 95 pound frame was a shock considering that her telephone bearing suggested a WWE wrestling contender. She had BIG presence. She welcomed us warmly and then ignored everything I said in the next hour. As I perched on the settee, with Snowball peeking out from behind my legs, Jackie made it her mission to aggravate him until I thought his little head would explode. I repeated my dire warnings, “No touch, no talk, no eye contact…let him come to you,” while she did a spot on impersonation of a deaf person.

I pleaded, “Jackie, he is going to bite you,” and she replied, “No he won’t.” Oy Vey. I was losing control of this adoption fast and in the next second, Snowball jumped out and nailed Jackie in the hand. If it weren’t for that knuckle to knuckle gold ring….let’s just say that Snowball didn’t make flesh contact. And, then, I had to stand up and tower over this woman…use my girth and height to reclaim control in what was fast becoming the most disastrous adoption on record.

Jackie continued to ignore me. She marched Snowball into the kitchen to force feed him treats. Good Lord, I was really dumbfounded. I could not get her to listen to me, or to behave in what I thought was a reasonable way for an adopter to meet a new dog. I sat there looking at Judy with sheer panic in my eyes. And, Judy’s expression said, “Don’t look at me…I’m just here for lunch.”

It seemed like an eternity until Jackie and Snowball emerged from the kitchen. When I saw the whites of their eyes, Snowball was trotting along at Jackie’s side looking up at her adoringly. I thought, what did she do? Slip him a Valium? No, it seemed to be her sheer determination not to take any crap from a 17 pound dog. In the next few minutes, I saw quite the transformation, as Snowball deferred to Jackie’s lead on every subject. After half an hour or so, I figured that the adoption was worth a shot…and Judy and I could certainly use some lunch and libation. I figured we’d leave Snowball with Jackie, and check in after lunch before we made a final decision.

As we left the apartment, I began my meltdown. Something in my gut said that Jackie was a sheer force of nature, and she could handle just about anything, let alone a pipsqueak like Snowball….but, still, I was worried. And, what in the world was I going to tell Diane and Susan, who dearly loved this dog, if the worst should occur? I felt as far out on a limb as I have ever been in rescue…and Lordy, there have been some limbs.

However, nothing assuages the adrenaline rush of panic better than Tikka Masala and a bottle of Chardonnay at Mitali’s East. We sat there imbibing while I babbled about what a horrendous mistake I was making. And, the calls from Susan and Diane were numerous….I couldn’t bear to answer the phone. Finally, Judy said, “Denise, I had no idea that you have so many issues.” Well, neither did I.

Finally, after the first bottle of wine, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to find out how things were going, and I was fully prepared to collect Snowball and go home ….after our spa massage….another Manhattan tradition. Jeez, if I am going to do a 10 hour round trip drive in one day, I am due a spa massage.

So, with trepidation, I dialed the phone and said, “Jackie! How’s it going?” And, this is what I heard: “Oh, Denise, he is doing fine. I took him to Bloomingdales for a new collar, leash and bowl, and we had to stand in line for almost twenty minutes. Everyone commented on how well behaved he is, and asked me how long I had him. I told them that it had just been an hour! He behaved like a perfect little gentleman, and everyone he has met loves him. He loves to ride in the elevator, and he loves his new toys, and my Doorman thinks he is terrific!”

So, let me get this straight….I was racked with worry…binge eating spicy Indian food in the face of gastric upset, and taking a nosedive into a bottle of Chardonnay, while the little bastard was shopping in Bloomingdales? It was then that I realized what a blessed creature is the Alpha Bitch. Hell hath no fury as Jackie when she puts her mind to something, and her mind was on Snowball. His compliance is not negotiable.

And so, our updates from Jackie have been joyous. She has whipped the reprobate Snowball into tip top shape, and she has turned him into an international traveler, as they drive up to visit her sister in Montreal several times a year. Snowball has not yet created an International Incident requiring State Department intervention. In fact, Jackie has had Snowball over a year and a half…and he has not screwed up yet.

And, I have learned to relax and go with my gut feeling in situations, and trust that inner voice that says….“Honey, you are right way more times than you are wrong!”

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