Spike & The Lostlings

Spike. That's the name I've given to my newest dog. The Lostlings. That's the name I've given to all the orphaned dogs and cats in my town.

Two friday's ago, in the early morning, when Kalili and I were gearing up to once again head out and hunt for a black and white Lostling doggy who had been wandering the neighborhood for three days, I was sitting on the porch steps adjusting Lili's leash when a feisty little black and brown canine Lostling came trotting by. He stopped to kick some dirt with his stiff little back legs as a little show of bravado. He spent some time sniffing Kalili and then took off running toward Lolo's yard. Lolo is the unaltered male pitbull who run's loose in the neighborhood and stops by now and then to lift his leg on my potted plants. I've yet to see a neutered male dog round these parts. I think it's a regional male (human) thing to not alter male pets. It's ignorant, stubborn and cruel. This is the bible belt for crying out loud so I just don't understand these attitudes. What ever happened to christian charity and good works? Well, whether they're churchgoers or not, they're a bunch of neanderthals. Judge and complain, grumble and whine... very constructive, Bucksnort, very constructive.

Anyway, Lili and I started to jump in the car to go after him but before I could even get the key in the ignition, he was back. I coaxed him into the house and ha! Mine! Yet another stray, destined to either starve or get hit by a car... saved! My very modest contribution to animal activism. I got the back story about him (and the black & white dog) from the kids who stand at the schoolbus stop on my corner. Both dogs belong(ed) to a guy a couple blocks away who had just moved in recently. He left them outside loose, without food or water.

At one point the b&w dog followed some of the kids to school (five blocks away). Even though it meant that they would be late for first period, they walked her all the way back to the guy, who put her in the house. But before the kids were a block and a half away she was back following them. Apparently someone eventually called the city shelter because she was picked up. My sister and I went down to visit her and my sister ended up going home with a very Lucky Little Lostling lynx-point siamese cat who is now named Gracie.

So I've decided that Spike is mine by default. If someone intentionally leaves their dogs out loose in a new environment with no food or water, unaltered no less, they're guilty of abuse at worst and neglect at best and they've given up all claim. So Spike is gonna get his little cojones snipped next week, have all his bloodwork and shots done and then he's an official member of my little family. Even if Mr. Micreant (that's what I've named his previous "owner") discovered where he was, I doubt he'd want him back after he's neutered. It's just not a cool thing according to most of the men round these parts. So even if Mr. Miscreant would want Spike The Girlyman back, he'll have a fight on his hands if he thinks he's taking my dog.

Spike and Lili get along perfectly, and he's the perfect size. A matched set, the two of them. I think he's a min-pin/pit mix with a little bit of chihuahua thrown in for the sake of humor. Here he is before I took his harness off and bathed him:





















He was filthy, dehydrated, nervous and had massive amounts of undercoat that needed to be brushed out. He also has several nasty bites on one of his ears, one that went all the way through, but I'm treating them and they're healing up pretty quick.

My cat Spackle loves him but then, she trusts everyone. My other cat Kiwi hates him but then, she suspects everyone.

Spike has gotten out twice now. He's very good at figuring out how to push open doors that don't close properly. I've since repaired the unsecured doors to prevent this ever happening again. Last week I had to engage in a wild goosechase around the neighborhood, driving in ever-widening concentric circles with that sickening frantic feeling in the pit of my stomach, dreading finding him squashed by the side of the road. When I was just about to give up, a neighbor who'd just spotted him tipped me off and I took off at quite a clip, found him again, scooped him up and brought him back "home".

Speaking of The Lostlings, I recently found out from neighbors and people just walking by that my neighborhood is a favorite dumping ground for dogs and cats. That explains why there's a feral cat colony at the park up the street and why there are two or three panicked stray dogs sniffing and running past my house every week. I need to do something more than just whine/complain/judge/grumble all the time about the laissez faire petowner attitudes that are so prevalent in my town. Uncle Barack has called upon us all to contribute some of our time to our communities and I've decided to heed his call to service. I'm going to a Clovis Animal Welfare League meeting on Monday evening. CAWL rescues animals from the city shelter who are destined for execution by gas and finds foster and forever homes for them. I'm going to volunteer to transport Lostlings from here to no-kill shelters around the state. Take that, Mr. Miscreant!