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Chapter 33. "Foxy Lady"
During the approximately five months that Tara took a term off from college and stayed at my mother's apartment in early 1995 for purposes of helping to clear and clean out the old place, she also offered to foster a dog.
We went to CACC one afternoon to pick out a dog for rescue.
As always, an agonizing choice as there were so many friendly, appealing and desperate dogs. Still, my eyes fell upon a depressed, red scruffy Chow mix who was not doing much to "sell" herself to onlookers. The dog quietly sat towards the back of her cage and made no attempt to solicit attention. On the young dog's intake card were the letters, "PTS." (Put to Sleep). The stray Chow mix was marked for destruction that evening.
Always a little partial to fluffy dogs whose time had run out, I pointed out the Chow mix to Tara and asked what she thought. Both of us held out our hands to the dog and she cautiously inched her way forward to sniff and gently lick. "She seems like a nice dog, Mom," Tara said. I snapped a picture of the dog and then let the Rescue Coordinator for CACC know that we would take her.
The dog looked like a red fox so we appropriately named her, "Foxy." She would need a good bath and grooming. She was 37lbs and walked nicely on a leash. Because Foxy was only about a year old and we were not sure how she would be with cats, I provided Tara with one of our larger cages in case the dog would need to be "crated." We had learned well the importance of crating with Frisco, our formerly rescued and placed Pit mix puppy.
As soon as we brought Foxy into the apartment on 88th Street, she immediately sparked to life and made a beeline for my mom's three cats. "No, no!" Tara and I both shrieked. Tara caught the excited dog by the collar and gently led her to the crate. "Oh dear, " I said. "She's a cat chaser! We have to be careful with that. Do you think you can work with her on leaving the cats alone?" I asked Tara. "I know what to do, Mom," Tara said confidently. "Don't worry about it."
Over the next few weeks, both Tara and I worked intensely with Foxy to get her used to the cats, as well as trying to work out an amiable relationship between Foxy and my mom's dog, Fawn. I didn't know it then, but it was actually a mistake to bring in a female "dominant" type dog with another female dog who was used to being the top dog of the household. If we thought Foxy was a problem with my mom's cats, it was nothing compared to the battles for dominance between the two dogs.
Once I made the mistake of holding a treat in my hand and both dogs went for it at the same time. The next thing we knew, both dogs were in a knock down, drag out fight in the middle of the living room! I tried to pull the dogs apart from their tails, but Tara made the error of getting in between the dogs. She sustained a bad bite on her arm.
We eventually got the dogs apart. And while the fight had seemed particularly vicious, neither dog was harmed. However, Tara's arm was bleeding profusely and she had to rush to Lenox Hill Hospital for emergency stitches. Ah, the things we have to go through to save animals!
The first few days following the "fight," were particularly testy. We tried to separate Foxy in the bedroom and closed the door. However, Foxy was so smart, she knew how to open doors by turning the dog knob. A couple of more, but less violent fights between the dogs ensued, but then they seemed to work out some sort of "truce." Fawn, as the older dog, maintained the "Alpha" position. Foxy learned to acquiesce to her.
Over time, Foxy also learned to leave the cats alone. When she behaved well around them, she got treats. When she chased, she wound up in the crate. Foxy, unlike Frisco, hated being in the crate. She rapidly learned that chasing the cats was something not working for her.
But, if Tara and I were able to solve the cat-chasing and dog battling problems with Foxy fairly quickly, housebreaking was another matter.
No matter how long she was walked, Foxy simply refused to pee or poop outside.
Tara faithfully took Foxy to Central Park each night. Foxy loved to chase rats and squirrels. She was a great dog in that she immediately came back when called. An extremely intelligent and obedient dog, Foxy would however, hold her urine until the moment she got back to the apartment. Once inside, she would pee a small river on the floor!
Tara and I were totally baffled (and needless to say, frustrated by this). There was nothing about a dog refusing to attend to bodily functions outside in any of the dog training books we had. Despite following every tip on "housebreaking," Foxy would not pee a drop outside, even when walked for several hours. What were we to do?
I didn't know it then, but I have since worked out my own theory on why many dogs, when first rescued will not urinate or defecate outside. I believe it goes back to certain "rules" of nature.
I once watched a nature program which explained how animals who wander into a "new territory" will not mark urine so as not to call attention to themselves. To do so, might invite attack from other members of the species defending "their" territory. Could the same also be true for dogs, I wondered?
If my theory is correct than time alone is the "cure" for dogs like these.
Time indeed was the cure for Foxy. After about a month of total frustration for us with the dog peeing in the house, Foxy finally, one day, cautiously dribbled a small amount of urine while walked outside. Could it be? Tara and I wondered. Was it too good to be true?
Following that day, Foxy started to pee and poo outside on a regular basis. Within a couple of more weeks, she was totally housebroken.
Foxy was now spayed, cleaned up, totally housebroken, obedient and devoted to her caregivers and even good with cats. She was now ready for adoption!
But, of course that is always the rub in rescue. Having worked with the dog to get her/him through all the bad times and ready for adoption, it is always tough to have to give up a now perfect, loving dog.
Tara and I both loved Foxy. I loved the dog's acute intelligence and devoted, loyal nature. Tara loved taking Foxy to the park and delighting in seeing the beautiful "red fox" run free. Once her named was called, Foxy would return on a dime, so attached to Tara and me was she. In honor of her beautiful, "fox" like looks, Tara took to calling the beautiful Chow mix, "Foxy Lady."
I had adoption fliers and ads on Foxy running for almost two months when one day, I finally got a call on her.
Deborah Mansing was a married mother of a ten-year-old boy who lived on East 86th Street, mere blocks from us. She had good dog experiences and was interested in Foxy. We arranged to meet the next day.
Foxy was generally aloof with strangers and neither greeted Deborah nor wagged her tail when meeting the woman and her son outside our apartment building. But, Deborah could see how devoted the dog was to Tara and me. "She will be devoted to whoever adopts her," I assured Deborah. "We only have Foxy a few months."
Deborah liked Foxy, as did her son and seemed to believe everything we told her about the dog. A few days later, I brought Foxy to Deborah's home to meet her husband. The couple happily adopted Foxy.
Over the years, I have run into Foxy and Deborah many times. Living near Carl Shurtz Park, Deborah takes Foxy every night to the park to let the dog run. The couple later added a cat to the household. But, unfortunately the marriage didn't last.
Foxy is now almost 11-years old and a bit paunchier from when Tara and I had her. But, now so devoted to Deborah, Foxy in her Chow-like aloof manner with "strangers," barely recognizes me.
It's OK though. There were and are plenty of other Chows and Chow mixes to save.