10.10.08
Posted in Day-to-day at 5:37 am by Jenn
This week in ACR&S has not gone well in terms of intakes.
Charlotte Coordinator Andrea has been searching for the perfect friend for one of her own guinea pigs, Maddie, who is a lethal. Because of her special needs (she’s blind and deaf) she needs a piggie who is a little more laid back than your average pig.
She saw a woman giving away a long haired pig, and fell in love with the picture. She wanted to try this piggie with Maddie to see if they could be friends, since we didn’t have any single girls in. She dutifully met this piggie owner, and picked up her beautiful new friend.
One problem: her friend had testicles.
Luckily, Andrea is both a.) savvy enough to know to quadruple check the sex of any new animals, and b.) practicing a strict quarantine. Apparently, the woman had been trying to breed this pig (now known as Wesley) with predictably little success. And yet she never though to simply look at the pig to try and sex it!
Wesley will be neutered, and then he can be Maddie’s friend.
I also got bitten by Craiglist this week. Part of my sanctuary is a rat named Phedre who was meant to be snake food. I took in a friend for her, named Cecilie, who is hearty and hale because rats are extremely social animals, much like guinea pigs and rabbits.
However, lately Phedre has been slowing down and has become more and more sedentary. She likes to spend her days dozing and hoarding food, and I wanted Cecilie to have a younger, more energetic friend to wrestle and romp with.
I succeeded in finding one young female via Craigslist, that was living in a predictably tiny cage, on pine, and eating some typical junk food from the pet store, but was in otherwise good health. And after I had taken her in and made up my mind that I had found my rat, another of my inquiries — ignored for nearly 2 weeks, responded.
They emailed my response that their rat was still available, and that she was very sweet, and that her cage was pink but if I wanted, they would throw in a can of white spray paint. Imagining this rat dying from the paint fumes with an untutored owner, I haplessly agreed to take her also.
I was expecting a lack of basic knowledge for this poor rat, but I was horrified when I picked her up. The cage she was in was made for hamsters, and not rated big enough for a single rat to live in. It had been spray painted fluorescent pink already. It was dingy and dank, and this poor rat had only a single, dirty washcloth to snuggle with, and one tiny box as a toy.
Upon physical examination, two health serious problems were revealed. First, she had lung scarring problems like Phedre. When she was active, she wheezed and huffed like she’d run a marathon. And her poor feet were ulcerated from bumblefoot, most likely from the filthy wire floors on the cage. When I removed her nasty washcloth, it was covered in patches of dried blood — most presumably from her poor swollen feet bleeding onto it. Sadly, she even had to be taught to take treats from human hands.
She has been christened Ysandre, and started on the same medications that Phedre is on to help with her breathing, and we’re starting treatment on her poor hurt feet. 
She will stay with us forever so that she can continue her lung treatments.
“The worst sin toward our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them; that’s the essence of inhumanity”
- George Bernard Shaw
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10.07.08
Posted in Day-to-day at 2:26 am by Jenn
Welcome back to some old friends, Bob and Bess.
Bess is a sweet natured brown “helicopter” lop (meaning one ear stands up and one ear falls over). She loves treats, and can be quiet a snugglebunny if she decides you’re worth of her time. Bob is her husband, and is a little more aloof than she, but it’s evident from meeting them at the get go that they are truly a bonded pair. They are estimated to be between 7-8 years of age.
Bob and Bess ended up with us at ACR&S due to our return policy. We have a lifetime guarantee that any adopted animal can - and must - come back to us, no matter what, if the adopter cannot keep him. We will always make room for returns. We had adopted Bob out to be Bess’ husband several years ago, but Bess’ mom was moving cross-country and didn’t feel like she could relocate with both bunnies. Because our policy is not to split bonded pairs, Bess came along with Bob back to us.
My previous fosters, Wendy and BB, went to foster with Andrea in Charlotte once it became clear that Bob and Bess had some senior issues which may be difficult for a first time foster parent to deal with.
First and foremost, because both were overweight, jumping onto the second story of the cage proved to be a little much for both buns
. After a failed attempt by Bess (which resulted in much thumping and probably cursing under her breath), the several story cage was reconstructed into a 1 story cage with more floorspace. Both rabbits, however, had an enjoyment of jumping onto things, so a series of short stools were added for their pleasure.
In addition, due to their weight and age, they were having severe issues grooming. Because of this, they are going to require frequent shaving around their tails, and until that can be accomplished, frequent bathing. Currently, both buns are having a lot of issue, so there are a minimum of 4 “butt-baths” per week, often more depending on how messy the rabbits have been in the interim. In addition, both of their rear ends look like a dandelion about to explode, and dedicated brushing and plucking of hair has been required so far. Neither of the rabbits particularly likes being bathed or brushed, though they tolerate it with moderately good graces.
The final obstacle in dealing with these mature rabbits is that their former owner allowed them to eat alfalfa-based pellets. Alfalfa is suitable for young rabbits and pregnant or nursing does, but is not desirable for adults, and especially not for seniors. Unfortunately, alfalfa is also a lot more tasty than timothy based alternatives, and they are not very gung-ho on switching out their candy pellets for healthy pellets. Each handful of alfalfa pellets is mixed in with a copious amount of the timothy pellets, but this leads
only to the buns picking out each alfalfa pellet individually.
Overall, though, these rabbits are probably suitable for an intermediate owner. Their health needs are basic and easily taken care of at home (and they tolerate them well) and have an excellent chance of improving once they slim down on a more appropriate diet. They are also a well bonded pair who can keep each other entertained and socialized, and are outgoing, curious, litterbox trained, and used to living in a house with cats.
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10.03.08
Posted in Day-to-day at 3:24 am by Jenn
A hearty welcome to ACR&S newest resident, Pantalaimon the chinchilla!
Pan was found by a kind police officer wandering around outside by himself. The fact that he’s still alive is a miracle in and of itself. Chinchillas, with their especially thick, dense fur, are super-prone to heatstroke and dehydration, and our average daily temperature here in North Carolina is easily in the high nineties.
The police officer turned him into the local animal control where his extremely amusing and grumpy intake picture quickly won our hearts. We made arrangements for him and then brought him into ACR&S to deal with some of his more specialized dietary needs (which most shelters are ill prepared for) and to work on socializing him.
So far, he’s proven to be a friendly, if hyper, little fellow, who has quickly learned that people bring treats and is happy to ride around on your shoulder.
Sadly, this year has been a boom year for animals being abandoned outside. Never abandon a domestic species outside under any circumstances! For the most part, that leads only to their early demise, and often in a painful way. Turn them into the local shelter. Even if they euthanize them, they are not going to be starving, overheated, and attacked by predators.
Pan has been a learning experience for everyone with ACR&S, as he is our first chinchilla. With a lot of research, we prepared carefully to bring him to our home, and so far he seems to be having a blast. His spacious cage is a source of enjoyment for him, and he often spends hours simply hopping from shelf to shelf, checking out the lay of the land.
He has also quickly learned how to use his flying saucer wheel, although he admittedly is embarrassed for us to watch him and will scamper off to hide in his favorite wooden house. He seemed grateful when we provided him with a dustbath to clean off his greasy fur (although we did quickly learn that a dusty chinchilla will add dust to all of your personal belongings in a very short amount of time.)
Pan is looking for a home that will love and cherish him for the rest of his days. He’s guesstimated to be middle aged (between 5-7 years old), but chinchillas can live to be 20 or older! He has plenty of time remaining to spend with his preferred person.
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09.30.08
Posted in Day-to-day, Medical at 1:23 am by Jenn
Douglas is our newest guinea pig intake. As has seemingly been par for this summer, 
Douglas was abandoned at a children’s preschool camp in a filthy aquarium. On his aquarium was a sign, “CHEWY - FREE TO GOOD HOME”. I am always appalled when someone keeping an animal in filth and squalor has the nerve to advertise an animal as “free to good home”. After all, they certainly weren’t providing a good home!
In addition to this substandard care and lack of concern for whoever would pick up this poor animal, they were ignoring a serious health concern for Douglas — he had a huge lump on his right side that had obviously been ignored for months, if not more than a year.
A good Samaritan took pity on Douglas (then Chewy) and took him home. She bought him some basic supplies to get him through the night and then started contacting vets to help him out. Unfortunately for her, the lump removal was going to be rather pricey. She opted to contact ACR&S and seek our help in rehabilitating Douglas.
So our ever-intrepid Charlotte coordinator, Andrea, made the trip to pick up this poor piggie, and then transported him out to me to be de-lumped, neutered, and paired up with a buddy. I guesstimate him to be 1-2 years of age, and he seems to have spent his entire life in that tiny hell. When encountering a C&C cage for the first time, Andrea reports that he popcorned, ran, and frolicked as though he had known no greater joy. (He probably hadn’t.)
Despite all this, he is an unusually friendly and nosy pig. He likes to come over and see what we’re doing, complain to us about his lack of vegetables (he seems to feel like he should have all he wants instead of carefully measured portions), and tell us about what he’s doing. He likes to popcorn and seems to be grateful for what he’s finally been given — the very basics.
Douglas went in for his surgery on September 12, 2008. It was initially planned for him to have this enormous lump removed and to be neutered at the same time, but the lump was too massive, and removal took too long. Dr. Munn was nervous of keeping him under any longer, especially given the enormous size of the surgical site, as seen to the right.
Doug has taken his surgery in good stride. He begs for treats frequently, hams for visitors to our house, and tries to appear pitiful when medication time rolls around. His staples will be coming out this Friday, and he will be on the lookout for his new home.
UPDATE: Due to the odd nature of the growth, our vet isn’t convinced that this is a one-time problem. Therefore, we think Douglas will have to stay in the Sanctuary. He may be able to be considered for adoption to experienced pig owners only, with the understanding that he will be special needs and may have life-long medical expenses.
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09.26.08
Posted in Day-to-day, Humor at 4:58 am by ACR&S
Early in the month, we took a long-overdue vacation. My partner and I have literally not had a vacation away from the animals, of more one or two nights, since at least 2002. With the dwindling number of sanctuary residents, the day-to-day support of our three NC coordinators, and the fortuitous presence of our vet student friend to petsit, we set off for a seven day vacation in California, to revisit some of my favorite grad-school haunts.
We weren’t in Cali for 24 hours when we found ourselves back having to do some animal rescue.
We were meandering along a path lined with olive trees in Davis, when I felt compelled to take a picture of the olives. So we turned off of the path, and right in front of us was a common pigeon, curled at the base of a tree. I picked him up and felt that he was bone-thin; further examination showed that his lower beak was broken off. It was not a recent wound; the beak had mostly healed. He’d probably been having trouble eating for a while and was finally weakened nearly to death. So we paused our trip down memory lane and started calling around to find a wildlife rehabber.
We found one, about a half an hour away at the old McClellan Air Force Base. The rescue was actually housed in the base’s old radar station! They felt hopeful he could recuperate, given enough good, easy-to-eat food, although he may never be able to be released.
What are the odds of us going down into that part of town, right at that moment, and turning aside precicely at that place?
Pretty good, as far as the pigeon was concerned.
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09.09.08
Posted in Day-to-day, Humor at 1:41 am by Jenn
Wendy and BB came back to foster at my house this previous weekend.
I have to admit, I had been spoiled by fostering Sinatra. He was the best, most docile bunny in the world. He liked being snuggled, and tolerated being picked up when it was needful. He rarely chewed things, stayed in his bunny room, and seemed content to explore quietly and amuse himself.
Wendy and BB are much rambunctious than the sweetly reserved Sinatra.
The first thing they did during their very first floor time was work the perimeter of their enclosure until they found an opening and escape. They are avid extreme sportswomen. They like trying to climb onto things (especially things which they shouldn’t be on) and have a knack for teamwork which is a little frightening. (I saw both of them work together just last night to topple over a carefully stacked selection of periodicals)
But so far, their best trick has been with the water dish.
Their previous foster mom made it very clear that Wendy and BB were serious water drinkers. I did not pay close attention to this their first day, and I returned home to an upset, empty water dish that had been thrown up onto the second story of their cage, and two very disgruntled rabbits.
The spirit of ingenuity filled me, and that was when I made my fatal mistake. I tried to outsmart the rabbits.
It started well enough. I decided that I would give them an automatic waterer. That way, I reasoned, they would have at least a half gallon of water available to them throughout the day while I was at work, and I could then refill it when I got home, and there would be much rabbit rejoicing.
Luckily, as our cat has chronic renal failure, we have a plethora of water dishes, bowls, fountains, and dispensers. I selected the tried and true Petmate waterer.
I dutifully filled it, added it to the cage, and then watched the rabbits drink from it. I was successful, the rabbits were happy. I went to bed secure in the knowledge that I had been a good provider.
The next morning, I woke up slightly late, and so had to hurry to do my morning feed. (This usually takes around 30 minutes depending on the number of animals. Currently in residence are 11 guinea pigs, 2 rats, 2 rabbits, and 3 hamsters) I typically do the rabbits last as they are the most involved, and it gives them a bit of time to stomp around while I clean everything up.
I opened their door and immediately noticed two things:
- they were both on the second floor, which is unusual as they prefer the ground floor
- they both looked pretty smug
I reached in to pet them, and put my hand into the bottom of the cage for support myself, and my hand went into half an inch of standing water. At some time during the night, they had managed to drain the entire waterer. On top of that, they had also managed not to move it an inch. AND it still had the very small amount of water in the dispensing bowl.
I said several inappropriate words, grabbed a handful of towels, and was watched with amusement by a pair of rabbits as I tried to clean up half a gallon of water wearing my nice office clothes without getting hay and poop on myself.
I replaced the waterer with a bigger bowl, and we’ve been ok since.
Finally, this morning they were let out to roam around a bit and get some morning exercise. About 20 minutes in, I hear a series of especially angry sounding thumps and grunts. BB had managed to jump into the bathtub, but was having difficulty getting out. So, of course, she thumped for room service.
This was followed by Wendy wedging herself between a large full bucket of pellets and the wall while trying to eat the wallpaper. “Hey! What are you doing?” I asked. She shot backwards out of the hole, ran across the room, skidded 180 degrees, spun out, and then dove into the cage. We are calling this move “GTA: Bunny”.
Prior to fostering rabbits, I definitely knew they were intelligent, but living with them has only proved to me that they are insanely smart, and people are very lucky that they don’t have opposable thumbs.
This is excerpted from Susan describing to someone how to bunny proof a bathroom:
The bathroom *could* be a good option, but you’d still want to rabbit proof the following:
a. add a toilet seat latch so bunny doesn’t nose up the seat, get in, and drown.
b. add cabinet latches so bunny doesn’t nose open the cupboard and eat the Drano.
c. put grids all along the baseboard/cabinets/doors so bunny doesn’t eat them/start peeling off the wallpaper
d. move the shower curtains and towels out of reach so bunny can’t pull them down and eat ‘em.
e. move the toilet paper out of reach because MY GOD WHAT A FUN TOY until you come home to bunny’s paper nest all over the floor
f. move all the toiletries off the counter, because sure as sunshine, the bunny will figure out how to get from the floor to the toilet to the counter and then he’ll decide to share your toothbrush
Initially, you sort of laugh, but then you have a rabbit in your house that’s motivated and you realize in about a day that all of those things are possible.
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08.29.08
Posted in Day-to-day, Medical at 3:36 am by Jenn
I haven’t been updating the blog recently because of a medical crisis in one of my sanctuary piggies, 
Mnemosyne. Mnemie is around 3 years old, and was pulled from a local shelter. When I got back from Fozzie and Kismet’s excellent adoption 2 weeks ago, I went and cleaned all my cages, only to discover that Mnemie had lost weight and was sitting in a puddle of blood.
I got her into our vet the next day, we got x-rays, and it was confirmed that she had bladder stones. Bladder stones can form in the case of a very inappropriate diet which does not have a balanced calcium to phosphorus ratio, has way too much oxalic acid in it, or for no real discernible reason, but seemingly genetically related.
Initially, because of her rather older age, I opted to try and have her pass the stones on her own. The x-rays revealed that she had 2-3 rather smallish stones, and they seemed positioned well to pass. So we went home, with a lot of pain medication, antibiotics, a setup for subcutaneous fluids, and a lot of Pedialyte, and spent a week trying to help her pass them.
At the end of the week, the followup x-rays showed that they hadn’t moved at all, so we opted to try the surgery anyway.
Bladder stone surgery is not easy on pigs, and I was terribly worried. The morning of surgery dawned, and I dropped her off in the early AM with plenty of veggies and lots of good wishes. I received a call at my job at 9am. Dr. Munn had her open, but he couldn’t find her bladder. My initial response, I must admit, was outrage. How could a vet not find an entire organ!? But, he went on to explain, when Mnemie was spayed (at the local shelter) she had formed a intricate knotwork of adhesions. These fibrous bands of scar tissue had basically solidified all of her organs into a giant lump in the middle of her body.
I asked him to try and break them and find her bladder, but gave my blessing to euthanize her on the table if for some reason organs were damaged. It’s extremely common to do so, because adhesions are tough to get around. I fully expected to be burying Mnemie next to poor Ferdinand.
An hour later, I received the call I never expected. He had managed to find her poor bladder by breaking the adhesions as gently as possible. Nothing had been damaged, Mnemie was stitched up and sleeping and they were watching her to see if she woke up.
When I arrived to pick her up, the stones they showed me were frightening. Her whole poor bladder had been full of stones. It was very thick walled and irritated (obviously from all the stones), but the inside of the bladder was also deeply crenelated, and all of those crevices had been filled with tiny stones and stalactites of stone. The largest of the stones are pictured here.
Unfortunately, that gives her a less than promising prognosis, since it seems like her bladder is custom-made to sieve off any stone forming materials and collect them in pockets to develop bigger stones.
2 weeks of recovery followed. She was incontinent, and she leaked pee constantly and stayed filthy. She was preferential to veggies, and tended to have loose stools. We did nightly subcue fluids, which she hated and screamed at me for, and I hated because she hated. She stayed mostly on a very low heating pad because she had problems maintaining her body temperature.
And then 2 weeks later, I tried reintroducing her to Hobo and Lethe, her cagemates, because she seemed to be doing much better (although she was still very underweight). Her reintroduction caused massive weight loss within a day, and I can only imagine that she is still not feeling 100% despite her weeks of healing.
But now I am left wondering if I made the right decision. Mnemie is now living by herself, and seems overall to be happy. She begs for vegetables each morning, and seems delighted for new hay every day. But she is still underweight, and can’t live with her friends. She also is still incontinent (which Dr. Munn says may eventually go away — in dogs and cats he’s found it can take 4-6 months for those muscles to redevelop themselves). Because of her incontinence, her poor vulva is almost always irritated from urine. I powder her twice a day to help keep her dry, and change her bedding every other day, but this still remains a problem.
We have made changes to her diet, to try and make it even more balanced (though all of the pigs here in Raleigh have a relatively balanced veggie diet). Lots of water, which is all filtered or bottled, and cranberry juice as treats to help stave off UTIs are now par for the course. She gets her bottom powdered twice a day now, which stings her, and makes her cry.
It is hard for me, as a caregiver of a small animal like this to discern if I have truly made the right choice for this pig. All I know is that 3 weeks after surgery, covered in pee, and with bed sores on her tiny feet, she crawled up to my chest and lay her head next to mine. And then she licked my cheek over and over again for about half an hour. She has never done it before, and she has never done it since. I hope that it is her way of saying that she’s still “in the game” and appreciates the chance.
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07.24.08
Posted in Adoptions, Day-to-day, Medical at 12:33 am by Jenn
This past Saturday (July 19), Fozzie and Kismet, the longest fosters we have had at ACR&S since I became the local coordinator, went to their forever home.
Fozzie was from a litter of shelter pigs whose adopters contacted us for help in placement. Kismet was purchased pregnant from a big box pet store (you know, the ones that sell only one sex to prevent missexing?), but ended up being pregnant. Her owner dumped both her and her young son off at a dog rescue in South Carolina. Her son was adopted as a partner for an older male, and his new owner called us, distressed, asking us if we had room for Kismet.
So she caught several rides north and came to ACR&S, where she and a neutered Fozzie quickly became close friends.
But while other pigs were adopted, nobody seemed interested in this pair. Even older pigs who were considered “less” adoptable, like our 4 year old boys from a hoarder bust, found homes as Fozzie and Kismet were left behind.
This weekend, it quickly became clear that they were waiting for a special family of adopters to move cross country in order to find their perfect home! Jamie and her family opened up their hearts (and fridges) to the duo, and in a very short time it was clear that it was love as first sight.
They quickly settled in, and now their new mom says:
Right now Fozzie is on the couch and Kismet is mad that she is not out. I walked past her home and she ran up to me, she has learned fast that lap time = treat time.
Guinea pigs are lovable, but they are not above being mercenary with their affections. With the correct bribing, they do quickly learn that the loud bipeds who wander around generally come with food and are to be tolerated.
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07.23.08
Posted in Day-to-day at 10:33 am by Jenn
This is the story of Ferdinand the guinea pig, and how he came to an end at the hands of humans without compassion.
I was called on Tuesday, July 22rd, around 12pm on the rescue line at work. I listened to the voicemail when it came in. Two guys, working at a small office in a neighboring city, had come into possession of two guinea pigs. They had been found outside that morning, and could we come and pick them up? They admitted they were nice animals, but they had no experience or personal desire to keep said nice animals, and really felt like we knew more of what we were doing.
I asked some questions about their health to ascertain how emergent the situation was. He said their eyes were clear, they were moving around the cage, and that he couldn’t see any mucous caked around their noses, and that both were nibbling at food and that he heard the water bottle being used (and saw water disappearing, consequently). All of these things sounded completely normal for two very freaked out pigs who had just survived a night in the parking lot. I made plans to pick them up after work.
When I arrived, the very nice people at the office had actually made an emergency supply run to the local Walmart to procure some bedding, a water bottle, a cage, just for temporary use. But even with completely new supplies, the pigs smelled absolutely fetid.
I pulled each pig out in turn, checking sex to see if we were soon going to have a lot of stray pigs. Luckily, both were male.
The larger of the two seemed to be in fine shape. An almost completely black abbyssinian, he was big and frisky and chowing down heartily on the food they’d purchased for him. Unfortunately, nearly his entire underside was bald and covered with scabs. He appeared to have “urine scald”, which happens when animals stay in their own urine and feces for extended periods of time. The acidic nature of urine will actually burn the skin.
The second pig was not in good shape. He was much smaller, and for whatever reason, the entire ordeal had been much harder on him. When I picked him up, he flopped like a rag doll, and some clear liquid (perhaps water?) streamed out of his mouth onto my hand. I thanked the office profusely and told them we were going go the vet.
I arrived at our vet’s office 20 minutes later. Both pigs were examined, and the smaller one actually sat and retched repeatedly during his gentle palpations. I was told, basically, that he was not doing well, but that anything we could do may make him worse from stress. Take him home, give him pedialyte at room temperature, wait, and say a prayer to the deity of my choice. He was breathing in gasping, heaving breaths.
I arrived home at 5:30pm. Knowing that the smaller of the two pigs was not likely to survive, I enlisted Anthony to help me ready their living area. We quickly sat up my largest quarantine cage (much smaller than a C&C, but 3 times as large as the cage they had been in), and inserted the pigs. The bigger pig immediately started wolfing down pellets and nibbling at hay, but the smaller one was not interested.
He felt very cool to the touch. I got some Pedialyte that hadn’t made it into the fridge, got a 1CC syringe, and started slowly working some liquid into his system. While I did that, Anthony grabbed the laptop and we started looking for names. He deserved to have a name and a home if the worst happened. The horrible people who had abandoned him in a parking lot had taken everything from him — identity, home, health, and now even his hope. He deserved to have something of his own.
While browsing, we saw the name Ferdinand, and both of us were reminded of the book, “The Story of Ferdinand” about a bull who didn’t want to fight, but wanted to smell the flowers instead. This little guy certainly needed a bull’s strength, but had such a kind, patient eye, that the name seemed perfect. The actual meaning of Ferdinand was “to be courageous”. It was appropriate.
It took about an hour of careful syringing to get an entire CC into his poor little body. As I finished, he wheeked at me weakly, and gave me a small headbutt as I petted his head. I put him back into his cage so I could grab a quick bite of supper and then come back to continue nursing him.
30 minutes later, I heard him scream and saw him convulse. I knew it wasn’t good. I called Susan on my cell phone, and we decided to run for the emergency vet. He was probably going to have to be euthanized, but at least he wouldn’t be in agony for hours. I threw on my shoes and tucked him into a cat carrier, wrapped in a fleece. I called the vet on the phone to let them know I was coming.
I opened the carrier for the trip, and stuck my hand into the fleece so that he could feel me. His breathing had finally calmed down. About a mile out of my driveway, I felt him draw a deep, ragged breath. He seemed to sigh and laid his head down against my hand. I told him with a choked voice that it was ok to go, because I knew he was hurting. And then he died.
I pulled over into the parking lot of some warehouse and pulled him out of the carrier. I didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t right that he should die. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was so young, only a baby. He couldn’t have been more than 7-8 months old. But he was gone. And I sat there with him for several minutes and cried.
I returned home with him. It was 7:24pm. I had known him for 3 hours, and now he was dead. He awaits burial in my freezer. It was pouring and lightning last night, so it wasn’t in the cards.
So this is the story of Ferdinand. Of a guinea pig that had everything taken from him, even his hope. And who was left in a way that made death the only option left for him.
Ferdinand left behind his buddy, Sullivan, the black abby pig. Sullivan is getting along very well, and eating with hearty appetite. He will be looking for his forever home very soon.
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07.22.08
Posted in Day-to-day, Philosophy at 2:11 am by ACR&S
Well, I recently posted about some of my early kitten-rescue days and I’ve been asked to elaborate on that story. It was my first experience working with an organized rescue, and really helped set the stage for later opening my own rescue, so here you go:
Back in 1998, I accidentally got involved in cat rescue. I was living in a smallish apartment complex in High Point, NC; small enough that my landlord lived in the apartment across from me. She was an animal lover, and knew I was too, although at this point I didn’t have any pets apart from my birds.
One morning my landlord called and said, “Um, can you come over? I need your help!” I trooped over and found that she had rescued a litter of five tiny baby kittens. There was some construction being done in the back of the complex, and they’d been huddled in the shade under a bulldozer. She had to move them or they would have been crushed. After several hours of not seeing any sign of the momma cat, the landlady gave up and brought them home.
She wanted to know if I knew anything about cats, and could I help her raise them. I told her what little I knew (that she needed to buy KMR [kitten milk replacement] and wipe their butts to get them to defecate). She asked me to take them - I balked, having never raised kittens, and not being particularly fond of them in the first place. Well, if I couldn’t take the kittens, could I help her find a home for this older cat that she had rescued a few months earlier?
So I started calling around, looking for rescues who would take or help us place this cat and the kittens. I found a group called Feral Cat Management (now the Feral Cat Assistance Program). The weren’t a shelter, they explained, but if my landlord and I could keep the cats as their foster parents, they could provide vet care, spay/neuter, even litter and food, and of course help with placement.
With my costs covered, I had no problem being talked into fostering my landlord’s older kitten. The landlord definitely had her hands full with five infants needing to be bottle-fed and butt-wiped, so even though it wasn’t my problem, I couldn’t refuse. Enter Belle, AKA Jezebel, dually named for her beauty and for the tawdry way she would stick her bottom in your face to be petted. She was about 4 months old, another kitten from the feral colony who lived behind the apartment complex.
After about a month, Belle was old enough to be spayed and start going to adoption events. At this point, my landlord begged me to take the five younger kittens. They were eating solid food and using a litterbox, so it wasn’t as bad as it would have been a month ago. I think she used the excuse that she had her own human baby, who was learning to walk and starting to require more active supervision. For whatever reason, I agreed, and now I had six crazy furballs in my house.
FCAP was as good as their word, and covered all my costs except toys and a few supplies. They helped me get one kitten after another placed, and I found that I really enjoyed helping them. I enjoyed going to adoption events, I enjoyed meeting adopters, I enjoyed watching the kittens explore their new homes. One by one, the herd dwindled.
Now, to reiterate: I had never before, as an adult, owned a cat. I didn’t even particularly like cats. But I was a sucker. And that was clear to the good folks at FCAP. I didn’t have cats of my own, therefore, I had no personal kitties who would be at risk if I could be persuaded to foster the, um, difficult cats. As the original Gang of Six started to be adopted, FCAP asked, or rather begged, me to take one cat after another who, for various reasons, couldn’t be placed into a foster home where the foster parent had cats of their own:
There was Abbie, who had explosive diarrhea of unknown origin. It got worse due to the very known origin of eating an entire pound cake while I was away for Christmas vacation (a pound cake given to me by the FCAP petsitter, left sitting on the counter by said petsitter, while I was out of town).
There was Yoda, who taught me that tapeworm eggs look just like sesame seeds.
There was Ghost, who at eight weeks old was the most hateful, feral little monster ever. He bit and scratched whenever he was handled; I still bear the scars. After three months he was among the friendliest cat I’d ever seen.
There was Maggie, who had ringworm. For sixteen weeks I had to bathe the cat, the laundry room, all her supplies, and myself, in bleach and sulfur dip, twice a day. I STILL caught a spot of it on my arm.
There was Tang, who had a urinary tract infection that had to be treated with antibiotic tablets. I learned that cats can have a pill shoved 8″ down their esophagus and still hork it back up without swallowing it. I also learned that a 170 lb adult male human is not stronger than a 3 lb kitten when the kitten is holding onto the underside of the couch and does not want to be pulled out to take his pill.
In just 10 months, I had fostered a total of 11 cats for FCAP. I had not had less than three foster cats in that entire time. If only I had known what I was getting into when I agreed to take that ONE, first kitten.
We started to think about moving to Chapel Hill, so I had to tell them that I needed to wind down my foster role. My last foster was in the early fall of 1999, a young adult cat with FIV. When she got adopted, it was so weird to come home and think I didn’t have a single litter box to clean, a single food bowl to fill.
Less than six months later, I met my first guinea pig…
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They emailed my response that their rat was still available, and that she was very sweet, and that her cage was pink but if I wanted, they would throw in a can of white spray paint. Imagining this rat dying from the paint fumes with an untutored owner, I haplessly agreed to take her also.
She will stay with us forever so that she can continue her lung treatments.
