[Dailydrool] Storm homes for hounds

[Elizabeth]

Angelika wrote a Drool post a couple of weeks ago about having a plan for our hounds in case something happens that keeps us from being able to care for them. Like an accident or old age. She the folder of information she’s put together to help someone know how to care for each dog. So I thought I’d share what I did for young Charlie and my mother’s little dog, Molly, who now lives with us because my eighty-four-year-old mother can’t care for her anymore. 

My mother is fortunate to have a family member (i.e., me) who agreed to give her little dog a home. I know my husband and I will be asked to do the same for his eighty-seven-year-old father's dog after he dies. I don’t know what we’ll do about that. She’s a cheerful, friendly dog whose intelligence hasn’t been encouraged to develop, but she’s also large (a Chesapeake Bay Retriever-Aussie mix), full of energy despite being eight, and has been an under-the-porch dog in rural Arkansas her entire life. She wants to be much more than that, but the dog ownership culture my father-in-law is steeped in views dogs as outdoor utilitarian objects, not family members. His plan for her? “I’m not worried. I know Elizabeth will take care of her.” Thanks, Pop. 

Looking at these two aging parents’ situations made me worry about my bassets. After our move to a new state five years ago where I still don’t have a social network, dog oriented or otherwise, in place and my husband and I began a commuting marriage, I began to think about what would happen to my dogs if I were in a bad car accident. We had one of those in our family five years ago, and she died a week later of internal injuries. (Fortunately, her husband could continue to care for their elderly beagle.) Our dogs would be in their crates, locked inside the house for how many hours, days, without food or water until someone remembered them. Then the pandemic hit, and my imagination turned to worrying about the dogs if both my husband and I died of covid19. Life is real, and bad stuff happens sometimes. 

I asked four family members and friends who live within a reasonable distance if they’d be willing to give the dogs a home until a more permanent solution could be found. Then I sent them all house keys and contact information for each other.

I gave my husband all of the contact information to post on his refrigerator. If he has to rush to the hospital for me, he can call and let one of them know the dogs will need to be collected and cared for. If the person he calls can’t do it, that person or Ken can call the next on the list. Surely between the four, at least one of them won’t be on vacation or otherwise indisposed.

I already carry a plastic baggy with prescription and medical information for myself in my purse. To it I’ve added a notice about my dogs being home alone and who to contact to go get them. In my wallet I now have a card that says “My Pet Is Home Alone” (Google it, many purchasing options) with my husband and sister’s names and phone numbers on it. My sister can contact the four on our care list.

In the glovebox of both cars I’ve put an envelope with the dogs’ latest vaccination records, photos for identifying them, and contact information for the four who can care for them. 

Soon after moving to this house, I put together a binder for each dog that contains all the information that any longterm petsitter should have for them. Feeding and medicating instructions; where to find the extra food, treats, crates, leashes, Thundershirt, doggy first-aid kit, etc.; name of vet; current shot records; copy of most recent bloodwork; photos for identification, and so on. 

I also noted in the binder the contact information for the rescue groups the dogs came from because the dogs are supposed to be returned to those groups should we no longer be able to care for them. But with that, I identified who has said they’d be able to keep one or both dogs and who I think might agree keep one or both if the rescue group asked them to. The four family members and friends know to look on top of Charlie’s crate for these binders. 

The pandemic was the foot in the back I needed to finally find an attorney and get our wills, living wills, durable medical power of attorney, etc. updated. In them we’ve provided for whatever dogs we might have at the time of our death. It probably won’t be enough to cover both a ruptured disk surgery and the monthly living expenses, but surely it’ll be enough to make the dog’s new family not regret having assumed the responsibility. I’ve also stressed in our wills how very important it is that the dogs be kept on monthly heartworm preventive all year long.

My hope is that by investing so much time and thought into this that there’ll never be any cause for someone to have to use the dog care binders or give a home to whatever dogs are in the house at the time. Sort of like leaving the house with an umbrella and then it never rains.

I told the four family members and friends who’ve promised they’ll watch out for my dogs if I cannot that I think of them as my dogs’ storm home, a concept I got from a Garrison Keillor monologue decades ago. He spoke of being a child in blizzard-prone Minnesota, where the students who lived furthest away might not be able to get all the way home should a bad storm hit during the school day. So the school arranged with people who lived near the school to care for one student per home until the storm passed. Those were called storm homes, and Keillor talked about how walking past his gave him a sense of comfort and security. He never had to go to his storm home, but he liked knowing it was there if he needed it. My dogs have four storm homes, and the thought of them gives me comfort.

Elizabeth