Ken Foster - Dogs I Have Met: And the People They Found

For Duque, and the dogs of Costa Rica

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Copyright 2008 by Ken Foster

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed to The Lyons Press, Attn: Rights and Permissions Department, P.O. Box 480, Guilford, CT 06437.

The Lyons Press is an imprint of The Globe Pequot Press

10

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-59921-129-9

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Other books by Ken Foster:

The KGB Bar Reader (editor)
The Kind I'm Likely to Get
Dog Culture (editor)
The Dogs Who Found Me

IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND I'M SITTING AWAKE listening as my little Sula rattles the house with her snores. I'm not kiddingthe old barge-board floor is humming. And then Zephyr joins in, adding her own short nasal bursts in response to Sula's larger, more melodramatic performance. Together, they sound like dueling tubas. Occasionally a foghorn joins them from the Mississippi River a few blocks away. Of the four of us, Brando is the only one who isn't known to snore at all, but that may be because he is able to stretch out comfortably across the bed. Why he is allowed this privilege, before even me, is one of the mysteries of living in a house of dogs. And the crazy thing is that I don't mind at all. Crazy, that is, if you don't have a houseful of dogs yourself.

Last spring, Terry Gross asked me to describe my relationship with Brando when I was a guest on her NPR show, Fresh Air. He's my soul mate, I said, without thinking. I say some of my best things without thinking, but in this case I really hoped that it might be edited out. I wanted to appear at least somewhat rational on the subject of dogs. No such luck. And while I did get a few e-mails from people who accused me of being sick, irresponsible, and wrong, I found far more people who felt the need to write to say, When you described your dog as your soul mate, I was relieved to know I'm not the only crazy one. (And, just as frequently, I knew you must have been talking about a pit bull.)

Dogs are the common denominatorunless you are talking with certain cat people, or that rare unfortunate person who has missed out on the amazing lessons to be learned from dogs. Dogs transcend all of the things that keep us from thinking we can understand each other: age, class, race, vocation.

Even geography. When The Dogs Who Found Me was published, I discovered that I had an amazing opportunity: While traveling to promote the book, I got to meet hundreds of amazing dogs who introduced me to their equally amazing people. In many cases, the dogs had been rescued, quite literally, from death row, due to perceived health and behavior problems. But in each case, someone decided that they were worth the work of saving.

Before I get started, I have a disclaimer to share: Difficult dogs make more compelling stories. We all know people who have perfect dogs, well mannered, with no issues or health problems. But we're unlikely to hang on every word of that friend sharing the story of how their dog never barks, never vomits or gets diarrhea. There's no drama there. But the value of working with troubled dogs isn't limited to great storytelling. Humans and dogs learn from our challenges and working together to overcome them.

As I type this, my shirt features several blotches of Kaopectatenot from missing my pit bull Sula's mouth, but from the kisses she gave me immediately after receiving this morning's dosage. Brando, the giant brindle Dane/pit mix, is relaxing on the bed after a visit to the vet for his latest Adequan injection; at six and a half, he's been diagnosed with osteoarthritis. These latest ailments are just the tip of the iceberg with these two. If I have a dog who approaches normal at all, it is the rottie mix, Zephyr, who spends her time in the park squirming across the lawn on her back, going from person to person begging for tummy rubs, and then dragging a cloud of dust back to the house with her, like Pigpen from Peanuts.

One of the remarkable surprises of doing rescue workwhether it's fostering dogs or volunteering in a shelteris that each dog stays with you long after they've found their home. These are dogs who may have issues, but their issues, and our growing understanding of what they are about, are part of what bonds us to them. But it isn't just their complex personalities that sear them into our memories; it is also their history of relationships with the people who helped them along the way. It is their small triumphs and the simple fact that dogs don't ever give up.

This past year is bursting with great dogs that I will never forget: the pit bull who raised a piglet as its own; the hemophiliac dog trained as a therapist; the Ninth Ward dogs who returned with their owners to rebuild New Orleans. There were equally memorable people: the owner of a day spa who trained to provide acupuncture to special needs dogs, another novelist who rescued thousands of dogs in memory of his wife's unforgettable retriever and the woman who followed her young daughter to a shelter as her chaperone and stayed to work with dogs on her own.

All of this, some people will say, is not normal whatever normal is. Those people can put this book down right now; I didn't write it for you. I wrote it for the dogs, and their dog-crazy folks. And for Duque, who will never be forgotten.

Hi,

I just heard your interview with Terry Gross on NPR. Then I went to Amazon and ordered your book.

I'm going to attach a picture of my found dog, Emma. She's part pit, part Lab, part I don't know what. Our yellow Lab, River, died on September 10, right after my mom died. We had River for thirteen years. Emma came to us about six months later and was truly a healer. I loved the story about your dog who, after your heart surgery, kept putting his ear against your chest to make sure that your new heart was working. Amazing but I get it. I'm writing to you (something I never do) because I am a potter. My studio is called Muddy Dog Studio, after Emma, who is usually muddy. I would love to send you a dog they are made out of clay. You can see them on my website, www.muddydogstudio.com. But I need an address to send it to.

Thank you for your book and
a great hour on NPR.
Katie

IN AUGUST THE TICOS MAKE THEIR ANNUAL PILGRIMAGE to Cartago to honor La Negrita, the patron saint of Costa Rica. This year I arrived just a few days late, in time to see the news coverage in the local papers, declaring the pilgrimage one of the largest in years. It had been six years since I had lived in Costa Rica at an artists' colony in the village of Ciudad Coln, and during that time I had visited La Negrita several times, dragging reluctant Americans with me to the back of the basilica to see the tokens people left in thanks. Most of these are in the form of small metal charms representing whatever prayer had been granted: arms, eyes, legs, dogs, horses, houses, and also bowling statues, award ribbons, wedding photos. You could see the whole country in that one room.