Rocket - the Blended Family Dog

When we think of blended families, it usually pertains to step-parents and children that accompany a new marriage.  But what about the adjustment faced by animals when their humans divorce and find new love?

Jane and her then-colleague, Ezra, had known each other for a year when they started dating.  A month into their new relationship, Jane met Rocket, Ezra’s 11-pound Chihuahua/Basenji  mix whom Jane describes as a “handsome little man and very protective of his daddy.”  In 2001 Ezra and his former wife had adopted Rocket from Furry Friends in Fremont, California.  Rocket was three at the time but quickly developed a strong bond with his new parents and was suspicious when Ezra brought Jane home following the divorce several years later.

When Ezra introduced Rocket to Jane, it took the frisky canine a while to accept her as part of the pack.  Rocket’s devotion to Ezra runs so deep that everyone else is secondary. If Rocket and Ezra were alone in a room, Rocket would bark at Jane when she entered.  “Rocket is not a waggy-tail, loves-everybody kind of dog,” Jane observes, and he took his time learning to trust her.    

Rather than being annoyed by the dog’s possessiveness, Jane loves the fact that Rocket is discerning.  Three years into their new family, Rocket still barks at Jane when she intrudes on his time with Ezra.  But more recently Rocket has also started barking at Ezra when he enters a room Jane and Rocket are occupying.  Jane chalks up some of Rocket’s grumpiness to old age and health issues but appreciates being part of his inner circle.

When asked why she loves Rocket, Jane responds without hesitation.  “He’s soulful.  He’s a love who just wants to be part of the mix.”  Rocket likes hanging out at home.  One of his favorite routines involves Jane and Ezra playing cards while he lounges in his dog bed.  A committed dog and cat lover, Jane worked hard to win Rocket’s heart.

To what does she credit her success?  “Glucosamine treats and a warm body.”  Rocket loves to come and suckle Jane’s warmth by leaning into her.  He values his independence and doesn’t want to be petted or held, just supported and warmed.  “He’s a heat-seeking rocket,” she laughs.

Rocket and Jane managed to work out their differences and find common ground in their shared love of Ezra.  While they may still fight over him from time to time, little-man Rocket now accepts Jane as someone he can lean on in more ways than one.  He’s glad she came to stay.

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

My Girl Zoe

Our beloved cat Zoe died on Friday, February 15, at approximately 4:30 p.m.  My husband Paul and I realized that morning that she was in pain and her health had deteriorated quickly following her diagnosis of squamous cell carcinoma on January 30.  It was an aggressive cancer that does not respond to chemo and made surgery impossible due to its location in her throat.

Zoe was one of four girls born to my next door neighbor’s cat, Lizzie.  I was single then and living in an apartment.  At barely a year old, Lizzie was on her second litter.  I came home from work one day to find another neighbor’s son had treed the heavily pregnant cat while he and a friend threw stones at her.  I immediately took her in and her kittens were born a few days later.  Lizzie chose, of all places, a newly cleaned, covered litter box in which to deliver her babies.  Two of the kittens were born close to midnight September 25 and two more in the wee hours of September 26.  For a petite feline who weighed under 10 pounds, her brood of four seemed unimaginable.

Zoe was a timid kitten, earning her the title of Shy Kitty.  Finding good homes for Lizzie and her babes proved harder than anticipated so in the end, Paul kept the only black kitten, Mrs. Bean, and I kept Zoe.  Shortly after Zoe’s birth, one of my two cats, Zorro, died unexpectedly.  Zoe’s name was chosen to celebrate Zorro and her presence in the home helped heal our hearts.  She relentlessly pursued a friendship with my remaining cat, Redmond, and he grew to cherish her.

Zoe had a Cheshire cat smile, a high pitched voice, and matured into a little talker, shedding her shy kitty moniker with ease.  After Paul and I married, Zoe quickly adapted to the life of an indoor/outdoor cat, took on the job of vector control, and managed to keep other cats out of the backyard through intimidation rather than fighting.  Agile and adventurous, Paul and I awoke one morning in our second-story bedroom to find Zoe staring back at us from her perch in the Redwood tree next door.  She often followed me to the property line in the morning as I walked to work and was there to greet me in the afternoon when I returned.  

Zoe lived a good life.  She never lacked a full belly, a loving home, or a sense of security.  My girl always came when I called, including last Friday when I interrupted her sunbath on a beautiful, warm afternoon to take her on her final journey to the vet.  Zoe was loyal, loving, and brave to the very end.  Paul’s was the last face she saw.  She died in my arms as we prayed for her easy passage to the next life. 

Sweet, Zoe, I had forgotten how much a broken heart hurts.  Thank you for sharing every day of your life with me.  You are loved and missed.

Zoe Sundstrom
September 25, 1997 - February 15, 2013

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

Kylie - the Twice Rescued Feline

Shortly after Phyllis her her 4-year-old rescue cat, Kylie, moved from Richmond, California, to Cleveland, Ohio, the curious feline escaped his new home and scaled 25-feet up an evergreen tree.  Small, prickly branches protruding from the trunk prevented him from exiting the tree without injury.  Phyllis could hear the “scared and stuck” cat but when she shone her flashlight up the trunk toward the sound of his whimpering, all that was visible of the black, gray, and white tabby were a pair of eyes glowing in the dark.  

The weather was wet and cold.  Low temperatures were expected during the night.  It soon became clear to Phyllis that the frightened feline would not be coaxed down so she called the fire department.  Upon arrival they told Phyllis they could do nothing that night because their ladder would not reach the tree top.  They advised Phyllis to place food and catnip at the base of the tree thinking Kylie would be lured down by hunger.  Doubtful but desperate, Phyllis followed their suggestions.

When morning came, Kylie was in the same spot.  A second call to the fire department was routed to animal control.  After observing the situation, the officer believed that Kylie’s leg was stuck but that he would free himself and come down if he got hungry or cold enough.  Phyllis knew better.  The officer agreed to speak to the fire department and was informed that cat rescues were not part of their job description.  

A dozen arborists were called.  Of those that had trucks with cherry pickers that could pluck Kylie from his perch, none were available to make the call.  By now Phyllis was accustomed to hearing that the cat would come down on his own so she contacted the homeowner’s association landscaper to seek ideas.  He agreed with Phyllis that Kylie would not make it down the tree without assistance nor could he survive another night trapped outdoors.  Hawks posed a threat and the cat was perfectly positioned as easy prey.  Temperatures were expected to reach 29 degrees and Kylie had been without food and water for more than a day.  

Phyllis stubbornly placed another call to the fire department.  The receptionist she spoke with was an animal lover, who argued with the fire chief that if they could send trucks to block parties, they could rescue a cat!  Soon enough a ladder truck arrived with a paramedic vehicle and an animal control officer in tow.  Kylie’s big adventure came to an end and he seemed relieved to return to more mundane cat concerns within the warmth and safety of his new home.  At last, everyone was in agreement.

by Elizabeth Sundstrom

Layla - the Post-War Dog

Shortly after returning stateside from Vietnam, 19-year-old Norm received a hardship discharge from the army.  His father had suffered a debilitating heart attack and could not work to support Norm’s disabled mother and younger sister.  Norm moved back home, got a job, and became the family provider.
           
Realizing how difficult the adjustment was for him, Norm’s girlfriend showed up one day with a German Shepherd puppy, hoping the dog would be a positive distraction.  She was right.  Norm named the pup Layla after one of his favorite Eric Clapton songs.  Small enough to cup in his two hands, she grew to be sweet, loyal, and enormously intelligent.
           
Employing many of the dog training skills he had learned in the military, Layla learned quickly.  The two went everywhere together when Norm was not working, including frequent camping trips in his VW bus or jaunts to the ocean where Norm liked to scuba dive.

            

A few years later, Norm married and Layla reluctantly adapted to sharing him with a wife.  One evening the couple’s pilot light blew out after they had gone to bed.  The house began to fill with gas and Layla nudged the couple until they awoke and realized something was terribly wrong.  Thanks to Layla’s persistence, the young newlyweds survived the night.

With the arrival of two children, Layla assumed added responsibilities.   She would lie beneath the children's cribs and immediately alert the parents if one started to cry during the night.  When Norm’s toddler daughter was learning to ride a tricycle, Layla instinctively positioned herself between the child and the street.

Layla had large soulful brown eyes and when she stared into his face, Norm often felt that she literally understood his words, not just his tone and body language.  He had never felt that way about a dog - before or since.  She lived to be 17 and was a part of Norm’s world for half his life.

She comforted the former soldier suffering from PTSD, supported the young man who had taken on burdens beyond his years.  She was witness to his growing maturity in marriage and  fatherhood.  She was friend, family and devoted companion through anything that came Norm’s way.

She was Layla.

Norm and Layla, circa 1973

by Elizabeth Sundstrom