As we continue to share our furry family members, these two characters complete the “Tribe” as we are called….That nickname goes back a ways. I’m still a little fuzzy on how it got started, but someone compared us to the tribes on the television show “Survivor”. Anyway, meet Sugar and Blue…..
Sugar (rescued Pit Bull/Boxer mix, 2009- )
Our newest and youngest tribe member has her own chapter, so I won’t share a lot here except to say she has been a mostly hilarious addition to our family. Sugar has her own distinct personality to be sure. From those crazy ears, goofy teeth and gorilla eyes, to her involvement in everything in this big wonderful world, and the funny sound she makes when she’s excited—kind of a “ffffitt”— Sugar keeps us human members of the tribe well entertained. The other canines? . . . They’ve done a great job of putting up with her youthful exuberance. Us humans? You just can’t stay mad at that face!
Oh, there have been times when she’s earned our displeasure, mostly when she has attempted to rise to Alpha position. Not only Ruby, but the other dogs take a dim view of this. And Sugar quickly discovered Ruby has other, higher ranking allies. Lynn and Me!
While, she has been slower to mature and find her wisdom than Ruby did, Sugar possesses deep intelligence and is doing exceptionally well in obedience classes. In some things, she does far better than the Rubster. Then there are her eyes that so often have the expression of working an angle, figuring things out. You dog owners know what I mean. Her skills with people and other dogs are exquisite.
Someday Sugar will carry the torch for Ruby, but in the meantime there is much to learn from the master. . . We’ll soon share Sugar’s unique rescue and most interesting attempt to adopt her out.
Never can stay mad at Sugar more than a few moments… Luckily, she’s a good dog.
Blue is a first rate snuggling couch potato. He doesn’t like to put out too much effort for fear of losing weight.
Blue (rescued Pit Bull, 2007- )
Brrringgg! I answered the phone.
“Pat? It’s Dana From Rescued Tales.” Her speech picked up speed so I would not have a chance to say no before she finished. . . . “I have a Boy that really needs a good foster home. He sounds like a perfect fit for you guys—loves kids, other dogs and is super calm and laid back and is a real snuggler. He comes from a city that has breed specific legislation (BSL) and is a surrender. Blue is his real name, he’s between 5 and 7 years old, and he needs to get out of there now! When I heard about what a good boy he is, I thought of you and Lynn right away.”
Hmmm, this would not be the first dog Dana has talked us into fostering or adopting. Ruby comes to mind, for instance. I told her I would check with Lynn and get back to her. Within five minutes I had an answer. Lynn had readily said yes, but this time positively only as a foster.
Blue came in from another state, so we met the transporter about an hour’s drive from our house. The driver helped him down out of his crate – what a sight to behold! Sure, he was happy, cheerful, gentlemanly, and certainly laid back; but it was his physical appearance that took us by surprise. We had seen pictures, but they did nothing to prepare us for meeting him in the flesh . . . errr . . . fur. He was STOUT! Massive muscles through the shoulders, back, chest and neck. Blue’s head was approaching the size of a bowling ball. He was wide. . . You could land an f-14 on that back for crying out loud! Yet his legs were ridiculously short. They sort of looked like little thick pegs. Blue was both imposing and a cartoon character. We were in awe and giggled at the same time as Sadie piped up “He’s put together like the Tasmanian Devil on TV!” That pretty much summed it up. Except, that he was also one of the kindest, sweetest dogs I had ever met. We understood that losing their family and being thrown into a facility is traumatic for a dog; and many times their full personality doesn’t come out for weeks or even months. But there was something about this boy that told us what we were seeing was what we were getting. I mean fostering.
As with Tiger many years before, Lynn’s eyes washed over Blue again and again, surveying every movement, every nuance. She spoke first. “I think we should keep him.” Yikes! I nearly snapped my neck to look over at Lynn. She wanted a rescued Rottie as our next dog, and besides we weren’t quite ready. Unbelievably, uncharacteristically of me, I was the one who back-pedaled on keeping him! . . . At least for a little while. He seemed to be relatively well cared for; most certainly, Blue was well fed. Although he was brought in with fleas and some fractured teeth, it appeared that he wasn’t physically abused.
Each day brought a delight and a surprise. The lovable lug was beautifully crate-trained, house-broken, trained to go potty while on a leash and comes immediately when called . . . a great help when traveling! He loved riding in the car and cut quite a figure peering out the window of the back seat, looking every bit the school boy. His kind, sweet personality shines through and that calm, steady demeanor makes him a joy to be around. An odd thing, Blue is camera shy, or simply doesn’t like them. If he is outdoors and something has his attention, no problem, I can snap away. Indoors is another matter. He will turn his back to me every time he spots a camera in my hand. The other evening as Lynn was sitting on the floor with Mr. ‘Stubby’, she called out to me in another room—“Bring the camera quick!” The second I entered the area, Blue got up with a heavy sigh and left the room. When I left, he returned immediately but kept a watchful eye out for this Paparazzi. I don’t know what his living conditions were, but Blue seems amazed at the world around him as he studies everything so carefully with a soft curiosity. Not one of the other Tribe members felt threatened by the big gentle soul, but still, Blue would live in the ‘Penthouse’, a finished-off room above the garage until his slow transition into our house with the “Tribe” was complete. That transition only took about two weeks, and it was a done deal. Blue had become part of us. He wasn’t going anywhere. Welcome home Mr. Blue. But there is more . . . the backstory of his being saved twice. It’s a story worth re-telling.
We’ve already established Blue was spirited out of a city that had laws against owning his breed. The Humane Society that temporarily took in Blue had to find him a good, safe, loving home. If it weren’t for the employees of that organization, poor Blue might well have met a fate far worse than death by a needle.
Just a few days before we agreed to foster the big boy, a small group of some ‘very unsavory’ types came in to adopt him. Judging by their blatant conversation about Blue’s future, a nervous, but brave employee refused to adopt him out. They left, but as the employees watched through the window, they observed the group of young men that just tried to get Blue talking to their buddies in the parking lot. The second bunch came in and they were just as unsavory; and her answer was the same . . . No dice! Now everyone left. But they weren’t finished. They returned later that day, and this time they numbered fifteen by her count. They tried to intimidate, bully and cajole her into giving up Blue. It speaks volumes about her integrity and courage that she stood her ground and refused to budge. When they left, the employee immediately had our future family member locked in a special room where just a select few had the key. Blue was on his way home . . . to our home.
So there you have it—our tribe, our pack, our furry family. We have no illusions. Most of our tribe is rapidly aging and we are bracing ourselves for the dramatic changes that will and must come with the passage of time. It won’t make it any easier. We have lost entire families over the years before and know well the terrible, empty pain . . . the hollow feeling in the heart. If you’ve ever loved a pet, you know exactly what I mean.
In the end, it will have been a pleasure to know each one of them and an honor that we were able to share their lives. . . .
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