Dog People

I am an unapologetic dog person. In fact, I am proud to say that I love all animals. I don’t kill spiders and I am still working on a way to deter my persistent ants from their seasonal home invasion (so far no luck). I believe that the world is big enough for all living things to peacefully coexist, and I try to live my life with that sentiment in mind.

As much as I love dogs, I openly admit that having a dog in your life can be extremely demanding. Adopting a dog as a single person is even more intense, and it is important to understand the amount of personal sacrifices that you will have to make. These sacrifices are yours alone, and the people that you meet post dog will either get it or get out (in my case). Your time is no longer yours, and one must be prepared to take on the vet bills, walks, accidents and overall chaos that can often become all consuming. I say this not to scare anyone away from adopting, but to make the firm statement that the decision to adopt is profoundly permanent. Your little companion will have accidents, and you will be the one to clean up the mess (figuratively and quite literally). There are the nights that you will long to stay out just a bit longer but can’t because your dog is waiting, patiently, for that last walk. Having a dog changes everything, but more importantly, having a somewhat difficult dog tells you quite a bit about the people in your life. It's easy to love Lassie, but Toby, well Toby is a wonderfully acquired taste.

Toby is not easy. I say that because I live in realty, and understand that my little Toby comes with a some baggage. All dogs (and people for that matter) have issues, but rescues in particular are often faced with extreme trauma and neglect that can take years to recover from. Toby, for example, becomes highly stressed in new environments and doesn’t always respond well to new people. In people terms, Toby has irritable bowel syndrome and releases his stress via, well, you get it. A recent scenario left Toby with a $150 tummy ache and me with the realization that new friends are hard to come by when you have a socially wary pup.

Stomach issues aside, Toby is a quick character judge. You learn a lot about someone when they interact with an animal, and while I have often challenged Toby’s initial prognosis, I must admit that so far he has been spot on. Toby will never jump in your lap and greet you “lab style”, but I think he has an innate sense about people, their intentions and even their character. My close friends understand that Toby is an unmovable fixture in my life, and they have all been patient and persistent in their efforts to pursue their friendship with Toby. I love my friends and family for loving me enough to accept my little Toby and all the quirks that come with him. I get that Toby isn’t easy, and it makes the people who accept him that much greater. To you, friends, Toby thanks you for trying to love him despite the fact that he may not be quite ready to reciprocate. In time we will unpack Toby's heavy and overflowing baggage, but until that day comes I will make it a point to give extra love from the both of us.

The Great Relocation Project of 1987

As much as these endless storms are putting a major damper on my living situation (flooded apartment), I have to admit that I secretly love the rain. Rain makes the snail community magically appear, and snails make me think of my mom. To understand the connection you have to understand a little something about my mom, but to appropriately and accurately paint a picture of my incredible mom would be impossible. Do me a favor and trust that she is like no one you have met…I swear I am not biased and I am quite certain that nothing I write could truly do her justice.

When I was seven we moved into our home in Danville. My parents were both meticulous about every detail of the house but my dad was particularly passionate about the backyard. The plants were lined up in perfect rows like pristine little soldiers, and I swear I saw a few people pull a flower petal just to see if they were real (they were!). At long last things were finally just so and my dad could once again sleep at night. Weeks passed as we settled into our new home, but something wasn't right in our serene and perfect yard…snails, and a massive infestation of them at that. There was no way my dad would allow these tiny slimy shelled slugs to ruin his paradise, and we knew that something drastic would be done. A calculated plan was formulated and the next weekend poison would be spread throughout the yard. My mom and I were horrified, but there was no reasoning with the unreasonable, it was too late. Our snails had better pack their bags or pay the price. I was frantic, but my mother has a way of picking her battles and even winning the ones she forfeits. D-Day was quickly approaching and yet I was assured over and over that a counter plan was in place. A short time later giant empty fish tanks appeared and so began the “relocation project of 1987”. The objective was to collect the snails from the backyard and release them into a nearby field. Most people laugh when I tell this story, the immediate response being that there is no way we successfully relocated every snail. Unfortunately we didn’t take role, but in my heart I believe that we got every last one. In fact, I think those snails live today and tell their grandsnails about the “Great Cari Rodman”. For my mom, no life is too insignificant or too small, and I think those snails realize that they truly met a hero…I am sure it is not surprisingly that I couldn’t agree more.

So this evening when you walk your Toby, keep an eye out for those little snails. Watch your step and tread lightly, Cari Rodman would expect nothing less.

Love is Blind

Call it mother’s instinct, call it crazy, but I knew early on that Toby wasn’t well. I sensed his illness in every move he made, and I grew fearful as I watched him deteriorate. While home for Thanksgiving I made an emergency appointment with our family vet, Bud. Bud was beyond sensitive, and expedited a blood panel to help shed some light on a dim situation. I suppose love really is blind because what I saw as petite, clumsy and shy was diagnosed as underdeveloped, unstable and despondent. In hindsight I guess I should look at it as a positive, I saw the good in a situation that was not…it was irrational, yes, but who said rational was such a regarded trait? So maybe I was temporarily blinded by love, but now I can admit to my 8 readers (since there are only 8) that there is a cautionary warning and “take away” for those that know me. Yes, it is hard to talk about, but amongst friends I can say that “My name is Lisa and I am slightly delusional and completely out of touch with realty when it comes to passing judgment on animals…my name is Lisa and I literally love all animals.” You may have a snarling out of control terror and yet I am quite sure that I would confidently call your Cujo “high energy”, “nervous” or even “agitated with a smidge of pent up anxiety that must stem back to a bad owner somewhere down the line”. Trainer and Behaviorist I am not.

The twenty fours of waiting were unbearable, and when the results finally came in the news was grim. My poor little 5.7 lb dog had abnormally high bile acid levels which Bud suspected was indicative of a liver shunt. A liver shunt is a blood vessel that carries blood around the liver instead of through it. In some animals a liver shunt is a birth defect, but in others multiple shunts form because of severe liver disease such as cirrhosis. A liver shunt is a common, yet highly serious condition often requiring invasive and very expensive surgery that is not always successful. I was instructed to seek a surgical consultation and additional blood work. Did I mention that this was only day 5? I must admit that I cried for an hour before my brother and his girlfriend were able to calm me down. Once the tears dried I did what any highly motivated ‘type A’ business woman in my desperate situation would do- I formulated a comprehensive action plan to get Toby healthy in a hurry! Now while I certainly don’t want to ruin the ending, I will say that Toby is now 7.1 pounds and we have graduated from health issues to those of a more behavioral nature. Not perfect, but I’ll take it!

Flight to Forever

Because life is nothing without a slew of complications, I took Toby home on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. With little thought to transportation or logistics, I suppose you could say that I was somewhat irresponsible with my timing. Traveling with a dog is not as easy as one might think, and traveling with a paperless rescue is even more complicated. From Virgin America’s corporate standpoint, Toby was an illegal alien that I was harboring. Millions of phone calls later, I switched our flight to Southwest and called my parents with the exciting news that they should prepare to meet their new granddog! My mom was thrilled, and my dad, well, not so much.

We had a few days before takeoff, and in those days it became apparent that something was very wrong with Toby. His energy level was nonexistent, and depression and angst seeped out from every fiber in his little body. I would have moved mountains to see just a little wag in his tail, but all my efforts were unsuccessful. As time progressed, Toby’s condition deteriorated.

Out of desperation I called the woman who so willingly handed Toby off to me. She was less than unhelpful, responding to my desperate call with an email writing my cries for help off as Toby’s “new home adjustment period”. While the original plan was to foster Toby, I soon realized that Toby was mine, adoption papers or not. I wasn’t looking to bring a dog into my already complicated life, but the situation was grim, and helping was not an option. Toby found me for a reason, and from this point forward I had to be his advocate, campaigning and petitioning on his behalf. So I deleted her email, looked at my new “son” and realized that we had a long road ahead of us.

In hindsight, I suppose I never really planned to find Toby a home. I brought Toby to work one day and a coworker made a rather intelligent observation. She asked me when I was planning to find Toby a home, before or after I had his tags engraved with all of my information? The comment was a “realty check” and a realization that engraving those tags was symbolic in ways that I didn’t understand at the time. That night I sent out a mass email with a subject title that read, “Toby Patton Has a New Home!”

Crash Rodman

As a teenager I was known for being a terrible driver. My dad dubbed me “Crash Rodman” and the name followed me through my early twenties. I crashed my fifth and final car during a summer holiday, and I remember thinking to myself that I had two options; buck up and call my dad or drive the partially totaled car to Mexico and never look back. I went with the call, but it was a decision that I seriously contemplated! After what seemed like an eternity, my dad lifted his silence and reminded me that “it’s just a car”. This is just one example of why I have the best dad. My dad is always endlessly understanding and supportive, no matter how many times you make the same mistake (which in my case can be a lot). I was reminded of my fifth crash when I brought Toby home from the farmer’s market.

Last winter I fostered a male Chihuahua, Sherman, from a local rescue group. Sherman was a handful- a true Chihuahua through and through. Sherman ran circles around me and my apartment; marking his territory anywhere and everywhere, literally pissing all over my life. Sherman was unbelievably overwhelming, and completely nocturnal. I hardly slept, and I was convinced that my new roommate was not exactly “adoptable”. Despite being mismatched, Sherman deserved a break and I made a commitment to help him find his forever home. Sherman and I went to doggy school, had all night slumber parties, and just had a grand old time. The weeks turned into months, and I grew accustomed to upgrading to super sized coffees and sleepwalking my way through life. My mom, an animal whisperor and true saint, sympathetically tried to help me better manage the situation. My dad, a realist and animal tolerateor, thought that Sherman was sucking me dry and wanted to find a way to expedite his adoption.

It did take some time, but eventually Sherman was adopted by a wonderful family. I was sad to see my little friend go, but I knew he would be happier in home with kids and other doggie siblings to keep him busy. So I brushed the experience off as a job well done, took a long nap and promised my dad that I would never commit myself to another high maintenance Chihuahua again.

Back to the present, and Toby and I are heading back to Irvine. As I stared at the now sleeping bundle of Chihuahua on my lap I couldn’t help but think “Shit, maybe I should consider taking that drive to Mexico.”

Meet Toby

I am far from a writer, and even further from a computer savvy "blogger", but there are people, moments, places, and in my case, dogs, that simply beg to be memorialized. My dog, Tobias Patton, has inspired me to share his story and attempt to articulate my deep fondness and affection for my new companion. I will apologize now, and I am sure many more times, for the endless typos, grammatical errors, run-on sentences and overall incoherent thoughts that are likely, no highly likely, to ensue. I hope that the writing will be acceptable, but more importantly, I hope that Toby’s story will touch you.

Before I go on, I must preface this entry (and all my entries) with a serious warning. I have made the mistake of speaking about Toby with such pride and affection that the people on the receiving end begin to envision Toby as somewhat of an untouchable super-dog. This seemed like the correct sentiment to me, but to be fair, I should tell you that if Toby decided to grace you with his presence you ought to be prepared for a chilly reception. Toby is a Chihuahua through and through, and true to his breed he is a one person dog. Try not to be offended and I will try not to gloat that the greatest dog on earth loves me best. One of many Toby adventures is about our futile attempts at socialization, so don’t feel bad because it isn’t you...I promise, this isn’t me blowing smoke, maybe it’s normally you but this time it really is “me” (or him). This is a hard one for my friends and family, but I keep reminding them that there is a special dog who wants to be their one and only who is just waiting to meet them!

My little Toby was handed to me like a bag of fruit at a Farmer’s Market in Los Angeles. The market often hosts different rescue groups, but this particular group was especially chaotic and disorganized. I was scared for the dogs who seemed visibly stressed amidst the shoppers and pedestrians who were practically tripping over the pens. The dogs were tense and heartbreakingly pitiful, so my attempts to keep moving were futile. I tried to be strong, but the pull on my heart was simply too strong to resist.

Toby was huddled in the back, shaking like a leaf in a tornado. I wasn’t sure he would approach me, but our eyes met and I put my hand near his noise so he could give it a little sniff. With less apprehension then I expected, Toby placed his entire head on my hand and let out a big sigh. So to put it simply, Toby “had me at hello”. If Toby were a man, I might say that it was love at first sight. Since Toby is a dog, I affectionately say that it was absolutely positively love at first sight. Love comes in all different shapes and sizes, and no matter how prepared you think you are, love has a sneaky little way of creeping up on you when you least expect it. I went to the market for olives and came back with a dog...shocking and unexpected, sure, but wonderfully worth all that followed? Absolutely.