Living with 20ish dogs

If you had told me twenty some years ago (ouch I’m old!) that I would once live in an old brick house, lost in the middle of nowhere, with mostly cows as neighbors, surrounded by a herd of quirky little dogs, playing the nurse and housewife, the city girl I was then would have laughed at your face and say “who, me, you must be kidding?!” This adventure in rescue changed my perceptions drastically, so much that even if we are back to an urban setting today, I own up to the fact that having a substantial pack may sound crazy, but heck, I wouldn’t be happy otherwise. Although it requires quite a bit of organizing, it is totally manageable to me. I know it’s not “normal” according to the majority (I always get astounded looks when we say how many we have, even if we end up lying to make it less shocking), but that’s who I am. When we love we don’t count, right?! Besides, having reached our limit of 31 dogs at one point, when I ran the rescue organization, having a now reduced by more than a half pack helps you put thing into perspective I guess! And I know this is what I’m good at, caring for the quirkiest four-legged, besides taking their picture.

I first knew I wanted a big pack of dogs when I saw an episode of the dog whisperer where he was walking, I don’t know, maybe 8 dogs at the same time. I thought it such an awesome sight, just like when you see dog walkers in big cities, all kinds of dogs around them, walking in sync. I already had three doggies (Wallace, Charlotte & Elliott, our very first special needs) and felt I was up for the challenge, a few more was no big deal. After all, I had managed to train them well enough so that they were super behaved and balanced. Yes, I was a great dog mom! We added two more to the crew, a Crested (our first weirdo, just like Gurky!) and another Chihuahua, but I quickly realized that we became an attraction anywhere we went. I once heard a guy telling his pal “hey, look at the dog freak!” and I was walking “only” three!

How it started: Charlotte, Elliott (recovering from Demodectic mange) and Wallace.

Trying to get a group shot with five dogs…

The extended crew before the organization once in Normandy. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and… 7!

Once in Paris, we had 7 doggies, Gurky in the mix. A little more complicated, not just because of Gurk or because they were a few more, but mostly because the streets were narrower and people not used to seeing a pack of dogs walk together, getting all kinds of questions or comments. And to be honest, many passerbys were not very mindful (dogs were just dogs, they should shift if they wanted to avoid being stepped on!) or respectful (many other dogs not being on a leash and heading straight to us, freaking out the most insecure members of our pack). Although I was always extremely cautious and they remained close to my side, it was challenging to handle the stress and commotion. So I made two to three groups each time, to avoid attracting too much attention and making sure they were safe. And particularly with Gurky, who transformed into a lunatic once his paws touched the concrete, so I needed to be focused on him to avoid any drama. Yes, this took me quite some time! Still, I got many “are they all yours?”, “are you a dog walker, how much do you take?” or some rather nasty comments. Nope, Paris is not as romantic as you might think!

Too many obstacles for such little paws.

That take a toll on the most sensitive ones.

All much happier in a peaceful setting (this was our house in Normandy).

I already knew I wanted to take my dedication to special dogs up a notch and create a rescue organization. A little different one, to fill in the voids, where others were failing. But of course, we needed the appropriate setting and moved to the countryside of Normandy. A beautiful brick house in a peaceful setting, surrounded by a gorgeous yard! Heaven! The perfect home for the less privileged. We rescued the most damaged four-legged, mostly seniors with health issues (diabetes, epilepsy, hypothyroidism, senility, heart or kidney failure, etc.) and unstable or disabled/incontinent dogs. To be honest, we mostly inherited weirdos, not sure why! Gurky had set the stage probably… We were very often their last chance, nobody else wanted to bother with such demanding dogs, and we became their safe haven, looking after them until the end. A sanctuary. They lived with us, our home was their kingdom, and I personally cared for all of them. Although I tried to keep it “reasonable” and make sure they all got the attention and care they deserved, it was hard to say no when a needy dog crossed our path. We had other organizations handing us their dogs, the ones not adoptable, just to make room for others. Or just, honestly, to get rid of these millstones, taking up too much time and money. It seemed like a never-ending battle, the more you rescued, the more there were to be rescued. This later became very hard to cope with, not to mention the fact that too many people involved in rescue were seriously psychotic, those I call the zombies of rescue! Sad but true, these broken dogs were the ones more balanced in the end, who were genuine and grateful. They actually helped me keep my sanity in all that mess.

The headquarters during an important meeting!

The conference room. Not much space for the humans…

So this is how we ended up with quite a pack! On average, we had around 20 dogs in the house. Half of them needed constant supervising (our original crew were a piece of cake compared to them, even Gurky!), so this pretty much was my life, looking after them 24/7, that I did all alone. A handful, but I loved nothing more than being with them. Anywhere I went, I could hear dozens of little paws following me. I was their achor and they wanted to be where I was. I could feel their soulful eyes looking at me when I was doing stuff on the computer, their nose pushing me or paw scratching my leg for attention. If I sat on the couch, my laps would be invaded, if I lounged in the yard, they would gather all around. At night, I often woke up with a sore back or leg or arm because they were squeezing me. They had no sense of personal space, but I didn’t care, even when they followed me to the bathroom! Having given another life to so many, who were in danger of euthanasia, had endured abuse and neglect, had been shamefully discarded like a piece of trash, was truly priceless. When I had to bring one for surgery and leave them at the vet’s, each time I went to pick them up, you could notice how relieved they were to see me, as if they’d been scared to be left behind again. This bond was truly different. Each of them was special, each taught me something new, some were more challenging, others more damaged, making me adjust my approach, a different training, specific care, another relationship. The initial crew was of great help, showing them the ropes and how to behave. And how to have fun too, they shared their toys and our attention without complaining! I gave my all for each of them: I cooked for them, tried to favor a natural approach as much as possible, avoiding harsh medication, groomed them, rehabilitated and trained them, walked them, played with them, gave them love and comfort. Many who were very sick or shut down soon perked up and blossomed. It was amazing! I could spend hours watching them, cuddling with them, rolling in the yard, snuggling on the couch, just being a human member of this bountiful pack. I knew them all by heart, could tell who was breathing heavily, snoring, barking, growling, etc. A friend who came to visit us was amazed when I once called a dog that was barking by her name, without having seen who that was since my back was turned.

Giving them the caring home they never had.

This bountiful crew was work to stay balanced, that’s for sure! We had a routine, that honestly shouldn’t change a bit otherwise it was a mess. Seniors don’t like changes, at all, they will clearly let you know, and the insecure ones go to pieces if it’s not as usual… Don’t even make me start on the unstable crackpots! Same for those needing special care for their disorders, their health would clearly not be lenient. I just couldn’t mess up. The days I took the liberty of sleeping in, I would pay for it! Not only did I have to let them in the yard before I could go to the bathroom myself, but I would also most likely not being able to drink my cappuccino before I had cleaned their mess, which often made me nauseous… There were beds and blankets that I didn’t even bother throwing in the washing machine, it would have wrecked the pipes, so it went straight to the trash! Not to mention that I happened to step in a puddle of pee or gooey turd I hadn’t noticed! But I learned my lesson and quickly adjusted, many wore diapers to at least prevent a scene of squalor! And some had their own room, so that we could sleep with fresh air! OK I’m exaggerating, but some days were really gross, especially when we had severely sick or senile doggies. Raymond was the worst! He was a dinosaur, not only looked like one, but acted like one a lot! His mind had been lost in his dreadful past, no wires were making any connection to his brain anymore. It was sad, but also quite a penitence for me. He didn’t understand anything and nope, was not housebroken a bit. I thought making him sleep in a crate would at least make him understand soiling his space was not very pleasant, but what a mistake! I could find him looking quite content to be lying in his pee and poop, on the bed that was clean and fresh the day before, had even some leftovers on his truffle, he had helped himself with a yummy snack during the night! Yes, he was beyond hope…

The almost daily routine for Raymond: a shower!

Arnold, only relaxed if his routine is followed.

One of our incontinent Chis after having cleaned his weenie and emptied his colon, with a fresh diaper! And yes, he was quite insecure as well.

Cookie & Maggie needing reassurance since they heard an unusual noise…

The Chis needing help since Raymond invaded their space… Again.

My life was eventful, even without leaving the house. Apart from unexpected trips to the vet, various health crisis, behavioral issues were the most electrifying. As if you had stuck your fingers in a plug socket! Several were dreadfully traumatized and without the proper handling, you’d be left with serious headaches or damaged fingers. Puppy mill rescues trying to flee when you needed to give them meds, squirting pee in the process, other unbalanced ones trying to bite because they didn’t want to be handled, the seniles not getting the other’s annoyance when they stepped on them for the fifth time or tried to eat their food, etc. It was constant supervision and I was the conductor to make sure that this sometimes out of tune band would remain in harmony. And not to brag, but it worked. They all felt at ease with us, there was a special soothing atmosphere. They all respected each other and believe it or not, the house was clean and most of the time quiet and drama free. But without me, this crew would fall apart. Some were only trusting me, the one time I had a sciatica and asked my hubby to just take them out for potty because I could hardly move, it was chaos, they couldn’t understand why I was not there! They were happy when he came back from work and gave them attention, but that was pretty much it, they knew he was not the one “in charge”.

Although I did not realize it at first, I loved taking care of them all so much, this kind of became my guilded cage. I never left them for long. Forget about getaways, it was just impossible to envision having someone else taking care of this quirky pack! The incontinents needed their bladder and colon to be drained, the diabetic one needed two shots of insulin a day and a strict feeding schedule, the toothless needed help eating and a good clean afterward since they splattered everywhere (their face and floor/wall), others needed meds, drops, specific care and handling. When the epileptic ones had a seizure, I knew what to do without panicking. When dogs with trust issues were losing it, I knew how to reassure them. I knew each of their little idiosyncrasies, like if I turned my back for a second when they were in the yard, some would go on a poopy hunt and eat any turd I had not picked yet, only to puke once inside, on the freshly cleaned blanket! I knew if I left this or that toy with the nervous ones, I would find shredded pieces all over the place, and well, in their poop later as well (making it easy to spot the culprit). Yep, lots of poop stories when you rescue and lots of cleaning! But also lots of love and precious moments. And this unique feeling of doing something that really matters. Being a family for the discarded ones, that will never be let down ever again.

Helping them recover (Kwet was epileptic and in heart failure).

Making sure everyone respects each other’s space. Er, whatever!

And sometimes getting precious signs of gratitude.

They were loving their pawrents very much!

But of course, my “fairytale” couldn’t last forever. Seniors grew older, health issues got worse, deranged minds became harder to keep under control. Some became blind, deaf, senile, had heart or renal failure. Me who thought I was doing miracles (so many had another spark of life when they were almost listless when they arrived) realized it had only been a little break, the neglect and abuse they had endured in the past came back like a boomerang, taking a toll on their being despite our going above and beyond to keep them sane and stable. We endured many deaths in a row, it was devastating. And when in the midst of all, our precious Wallace had a heart attack at only 7 and a half years old, this shattered us. We felt it was so unfair, we had saved many dogs with hearts way more damaged than his, who were much older, but they were still here and he had to go so soon, he who had been pampered all of his life… I confess, this tragic event broke a bigger piece of me. In addition, I was constantly torn between knowing my limits and seeing still so many dogs needing rescue. Other organizations were putting more pressure, trying to get rid of their dogs.

When our sanctuary had reached its peak, we had 31 dogs! Only for a few weeks though, since several were at the end of their journey. They were all pretty small, mostly Chihuahuas, so they did not take as much space physically (we did have an extension to the house built though), but they were each different and needed specific attention. I have to admit, at one point, I became some kind of robot, set on one mode, caring for the dogs only and knowing exactly what to do at what moment, putting my own life on the side. My days were ruled by them, and even if it was my thing and felt more than responsible for them, I would have needed a breather, but it was just impossible. I had to be there for those who others turned their back on. A worthy but heavy task. Some nights, I would wake up with a start, worried I had forgotten to administer meds or anything else that was crucial for their helath and comfort, mulling over the day’s events, but I could rest assured, the robot rarely made any mistake. I had not wanted kids because I felt they required too much devotion and yet, I now looked like one of those worn-out moms, with heavy bags under the eyes, shaggy hair, no make-up and wearing rags.

Our precious Wallace, here cuddling with our diabetic senior.

All loving and respecting each other, no matter their age or background.

Checking out the new extension to the house. More space for all!

Enjoying the comfort and peacefulness of our home.

I mean, really! The cutest love sandwich!

And appreciating the humans’ attention (especially as a cushions).

Saying this calling backfired is an understatement, and I didn’t see that coming. I spent many days worrying, being upset, hurt, disenchanted, and cried a fair amount. My batteries were running down. When two dogs from two different organizations were handed to us too late (they were very ill and their state worsened once under their care, leaving us with almost dead corpses), it was the last straw, I was about to short-circuit. This is when I decided to quit the organization (but not the dogs, they all stayed with us until the end, we had still around 24 at the time). It felt like a failure, but I needed a break, this rescue world was tougher than I had expected. My skin was probably not tough enough, I was like Gurky, a sponge, way too sensitive, the external assaults were too harsh on my system. I mean I could handle the dogs and their issues, but the people and their neurosis, not so much. We never got much support or donations (most people only gave if they could get something in return, like adopting or fostering), so doing it in the shadow would not change much in that regard. It would at least spare me the hassle with the too many maniacs involved in this yet worthwhile endeavor, who disserved the advocates that were truly legit (the scary zombies). I felt bad for the dogs still needing rescue, but I had to focus on the ones we had. I had always favored quality over quantity, although I reckon, we had reached quite a substantial number. My devotion to this pack was spotless, but it had a price that was starting to weigh on me and I had to be kinder to myself. That break didn’t spare us from more heartbreaks though, since we dealt with more illnesses and deaths. But the feeling of having being there for so many until the end lifted our spirits once the mourning subsided. I would do it all over again, except I learned my lesson and would be more careful who I get in touch with and not let my emotions take over. But if you’re reaching out to dogs in need, it’s that your heart is larger-than-life, so how can you really reason yourself? You sometimes had to endure the worst to do good.

Mamie Nova, the first super senior to leave us and break our hearts.

Titus came to us too late, he was too damaged and did not get the proper care from another organization…

Same for Leonie, senile, blind and in a very bad shape.

Raymond being his usual self… Not friendly at all!

Tania apologizing for being a little brat.

Today, the pack is quite reduced, and although we still have some special needs and the dogs from the initial crew before the organization are now in their senior years, caring for them is easy peasy. No major health issue, just some arthritis (and partial disability for Elfie), missing teeth (and missing chin for Muffin, who needs a little help to eat), limited eyesight (blindness for Gurk) and loss of hearing for some (unless it’s the usual senior strategy to do as they please! Yep, we had quite a few). Onsets of kidney failure and a few UTIs that are easily treated with homeopathy. I know, a few issues still, but really no big deal for me. remember, always put things into perspective! The behavioral issues are under control, you cannot throw me off much now, I am an expert! I still have to be super cautious with the insecure ones in the streets, but it’s become a ritual. With seniors, now most between 10 and 13, there’s not much surprise, what you see is what you get. Of course the dynamic is different than the time of the organization, not just because we are living in a city or because they are less numerous, but also because there are not so many disruptions anymore. Some rescues did ruin the balance at times, I have to admit, like Bob who was a complete lunatic, causing havoc when he couldn’t control himself, Tania who was a little brat and slyly enjoyed bullying the sensitive ones, Arnold who was an old crotchety fart who growled a lot and was not super friendly with the crew, Raymond who was just a dinosaur, insensitive to anything or anyone (but could still show his fangs just to make a stand), or any other senile who sometimes made the others uneasy by their lack of awareness. I always made sure some extreme quirks did not affect the others, but let’s be honest, it could be unsettling at times for some, in particular the sensitive ones like Gurky or Cookie. Today, apart from Bernie, who is quite the schizo, they’re all pretty balanced or at least, have their peculiarities under control.

Our sweet crew today, so loving and balanced.

Each dealing with their quirks. Cookie the tramuatized rescue and Elfie the shy disabled on the right, only smiling at their mommy!

Still showing the most needy the ropes. Yep, that’s Bernie on the left.

I am still involved in rescue, but on a moderate level. I mainly offer my photography skills to rescue organizations in the city to give their adoptable dogs a better chance to be noticed. I did foster as well, but it very often again backfired. With my big heart, I always fell into the trap and ended up foster failing. And since also often times I did not find the organization’s ways of functioning very trustworthy, I preferred to take my distance and at least make sure the dog or cat under my care would be safe of any unnecessary hassle or wrong handling. I guess you can call that occupational hazard!

Living with 20ish dogs

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