From: paul.moor@ggcs.org (Paul Moor) 
Newsgroups: rec.pets.dogs
Subject: Misha & Skeezix  (2/4)
Date: 22 Dec 92 16:22:00 GMT
Distribution: world
Organization: Golden Gate Computer Society BBS - Marin, CA - 415-927-1216
Reply-To: paul.moor@ggcs.org (Paul Moor) 

[Part 2:]

   My new French bulldog has quite a month just behind him.
   About a month ago, a man brought him into the Humane Society's
pound at Huntington Beach, down between Long Beach and San Diego
-- filthy, visibly undernourished, seething with fleas.  The man
claimed he'd found him on the street.  The pound officials suspect
him as the actual owner.
   They bathed the wretched dog and treated him for fleas, then
started the three-week death watch they maintain before gassing
their animals.  Nobody claimed him -- extraordinary in the case of
a truly lost French bulldog.  His recent almost total aversion to
eating must have started during his impoundment.  Shortly before
his three weeks of borrowed time ran out, the Humane Society
phoned a lady in the vicinity who breeds English bulldogs, and
asked about her rescuing him.  She checked in with the nation-wide
French bulldog rescue program at almost exactly the same time I
did.  (When I checked in, the lady responsible for northern
California said, "I must tell you, in all candor, we haven't had a
rescue dog for over a year.")  When I offered him a home, they
then put the poor little mutt through quite a meat-grinder:
   11/9 (three days after Misha's death): obligatory castration,
pickup for transport to first strange new quarters in English-
bulldog kennel.
   11/10: Pickup and transport to second strange new quarters, in
Burbank with my friends who raise French bulldogs.
   11/11: Soft-palate surgery, which my Burbank friends said he
had to have -- i.e., two general anesthetics and operations
separated by only 48 hours!
   11/12: First hesitant encounter with future owner.
   11/13: Eight-hour drive to third strange new quarters in five
days.
   Little wonder that his behavior -- although it's already become
less wary and more trusting -- reminds me of Robert Burns' phrase
"wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie".  Naturally I've paid
careful attention to every facet of his behavior, and although he
still seems seriously affected by genuine shock, his recovery even
within the first 24 hours here seems quite encouraging.
   He's not hand-shy, so evidently no one had beaten him, but he
does manifest -- almost constantly -- an enormous, almost infinite
deficit of attention and affection, which of course I try to
provide him in full measure.  When he receives it, he blooms and
unfolds, although still in a most touchingly inhibited way.  In
short: a most lovable dog indeed.
   We drove from Burbank on Friday directly to my favorite veteri-
narian, who weighed him (24 pounds) and said he needs first of all
to gain about two pounds.  Thursday morning in Burbank, my
hostess prevailed upon him to eat just a bit of ground chuck,
which she hand-fed to him, but otherwise he'd eat nothing all
yesterday.  Friday morning he'd again eat nothing, but around noon
he hesitantly accepted four ounces of chuck from my own hand.
More encouragingly, later in the afternoon he showed his first
interest in the dogfood available in his dish.
   My paragon Misha, I knew only too well, had set a tough stan-
dard to follow; aside from his exceptionally endearing and winning
nature, he was simply a rarely magnificent animal.  Dog-breeders
differentiate between pups of "show quality" and "pet quality".
Misha radiated show quality, even as a tiny pup; his successor
belongs, emphatically, in the pet category.  I expect him to
undergo a transformation physically as well as psychologically as
soon as he recovers from the shocks of the past month (and proba-
bly what preceded), but his present state finds him on the deli-
cate side.  He's mostly white, but with black markings, including
a black right eye and a big black spot behind his left eye.
   I find myself in a delicate, intricate emotional situation,
speaking to him the same absent-minded sweet nothings I became
accustomed to saying to Misha; as a result I find myself inadver-
tently calling him Misha, too, and almost any mention or thought
of Misha still tends to make me choke up.  I considered various
dogs' names from saga, song, and story -- Fido, Tray, Spot, Rover
-- and found it high time an honest-to-God dog .had. such a name.
I also, for obvious reasons, thought of Sasha, but that sounds too
much like Yasha, and my customary Santa M.nica hostess has a
collie named Yasha.  Grisha?  Just doesn't fit.  With Aly.sha I
came closer . . . but I finally have settled on -- Skeezix!  If he
could, I imagine he'd join me in thanking everyone who rallied
round during these exceptionally difficult past two weeks.
   Misha, to my still immense sorrow, is dead.
   Long live Skeezix!

---
 . OLX 2.2 . Dog is Love.
                                                                     
Newsgroups: rec.pets.dogs