This is the one. Eight pounds, eight years old, almost toothless, and currently recovering from her former life in a Missouri puppy mill in a loving foster home down in Panama City. While she waits to move to her ‘forever’ home.
Her name, now, is Miss Kay, though I’ve got another one in mind. We have a lot in common. We’re both 56, we’ve both gotten through some tough times, and we’re both missing teeth–she’s lost all but two, and I’ve got all but two.
Losing teeth is apparently common in dogs who survive puppy mills. Miss Kay was bred so continually (she’s small and pretty and pure dachshund) that her body never had time to recover, and as all mothers know, those babies leech calcium.
You have to wonder how humans could look at eyes like hers and see her only as a thing to make them money, then cast aside.
Which makes me wonder what else we ignore, in our stampede for our own pleasure and profit.
Hats off to the All American Dachshund Rescue for giving Miss Kay a chance at life, along with the others they find and foster, at great expense and with a lot of effort. Knowing how hard they work–Miss Kay’s foster parents volunteered to drive her (and their own 3 dachshunds) five hours north so she could settle in to life at our house before Christmas–I’ve gotten over how arduous the adoption process was. Pretty much like becoming a foster parent for a child minus the mandatory classes: a lot of paperwork, a house visit to inspect both premises AND parents, a contract, and some money. Well, I guess you don’t pay to foster children. Though in some cases, maybe you should have to: it might weed out those occasional less-desirable homes. But that’s another blog.
Here she is with her current foster family. Standing a little apart: do you know the feeling?
Meanwhile, wish me luck as I welcome her home this weekend.