I'm going to start with the adoption news because my own day's story is quite long, but with a happy ending. I have many people to thank, but read the whole story if you want to know what happened.
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Speedy was adopted today
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Speedy was another one of the "S" litter adopted after his siblings left on Sunday, and there are just two remaining. Their mother, Stella, is also still available, and she's a very sweet girl.
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Ichika the day she arrived in September
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The other two adoptions took place away from our Homing Centres, the first being ex-breeder shiba inu Ichika. She went to a foster home so she could have surgery on her knees, being yet another smaller dog suffering from patella luxation, and she was picked up from there today.
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Turpin after his return from his first home
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The other adoption made us all especially happy as it was a "foster fail", this time for Turpin, a doglet who had been returned by his previous adopters. His new family had already adopted two of the siblings from the litter, and seeing the news about Turpin being in desperate need they offer to take him in. Now Turpin's forever residency has been confirmed, and all three of the litter will soon be celebrating their first birthday together. I have asked for photos when it happens of course.
My day started very early, as the previous evening I'd received a message (via the Lamma Dogs Owners group) saying that my missing dog Kirsten had been spotted on the other side of the island, close to a beach which was only accessible by a very steep and difficult track, or by small boat. By chance some people had been having a small party on the beach on Sunday and had heard yelping coming from the deep undergrowth. Using torches they'd seen a dog looking like Kirsten, but had been unable to get close to her.
As it happens, I was having a small party with my neighbours on Sunday evening when the messages came about Kirsten, and one of them who knew where the remote beach was located asked if I wanted to go over there immediately. It was already dark and we'd had some drinks, so I declined the offer, knowing how steep and dangerous those rocky hillsides are even in daylight. We agreed to head off at seven the next morning instead.
Despite having had little sleep and nursing a hangover, I was ready to leave at the crack of dawn on Monday, but as I couldn't rouse my neighbour I set off without him, leaving a message for him to catch up later. The problem was, I didn't know where the beach was located but I thought I would be able to figure it out. Then I heard some yelping coming from the hills in what I thought was still some way from the place I was meant to be heading for, and I started calling. Someone who happened to be out for a morning hike heard my calls and came to offer help (Kirsten is a human name so she thought someone was in trouble), and when I showed her (Kate) the messages and asked if she knew where the beach might be, she suggested there might be a path which would access the back of the hill where the dog's yelps were coming from. As it turned out that wasn't the case, and with my neighbour by then on the way, Kate left to go back home.
Annoyingly I had already been at the right spot to start the climb down to the beach without realising, but it was just as well I didn't attempt it on my own as it was no more than a very narrow gully cut by rainwater. Reaching the beach, the man who had been messaging about Kirsten was still there, and he showed us the area where he had spotted her the night before. It was dense undergrowth, with many of the vines being the prickly sort that catch your clothes as you try to push through, so any attempt to go deeper into the area was impossible. I was calling Kirsten's name but there was no noise or movement, so eventually I thought she must have gone back up the hill to the place where I had earlier heard a dog's frantic yelping.
By the time I got home I had already been out for four hours, climbing up and down those endless steps that cover Lamma, and feeling disappointed and frustrated. I managed to have a hot shower and a change of clothes before the messages started again saying that Kirsten was still there in the same place, and yelping off and on just as before. I really, really didn't feel like going out again, but I had no choice. At least this time I knew exactly where I was going, and I took some cutting tools with me, as well as my male helper (who knows Kirsten too).
When we got back to the beach it was as before, there was no sight of Kirsten and no sound coming from the undergrowth. The man, whose name I knew by then to be Parksy, wouldn't give up and insisted we try cutting into the undergrowth, even though it was very slow progress with so many vines blocking the way. Finally I heard the call from the front that Kirsten was there, and I moved forward to take over the actual capture, knowing that Kirsten would be very scared and nervous. I was just about to loop a leash over her head when Kirsten got up and crawled deeper into the undergrowth, just out of arm's reach but with another mass if prickly vines between us. I took the clippers and started cutting through, reaching her just as she got up to move away again. This time I wasn't letting her go, and I grabbed her by the tail and held on tight as she screamed and struggled, while I was calling for my helper to get the leash round her neck.
Getting back out of the dense undergrowth with a reluctant dog, and then dragging her up the steep hill to the main path, was a challenge in itself. Kirsten's week as a lost dog had cleared her memory of having lived with me for the past eleven years and all she had on her mind was escape and survival. By then she had on a loop leash, a collar and another leash crossing her chest and round one leg as a makeshift harness, and she was clearly exhausted. I had no choice but to keep going, even if we had to stop to let Kirsten rest for a bit on the stretches where there were very long and steep steps to climb. I knew once we got home then I could give Kirsten the food and water she needed, as well as proper sleep (she has refused the food and water I had tried to give her at the beach).
It was dark by the time we were close to home and Kirsten could hear and smell the other dogs, and by the time we got to the front gate she was actually pulling ahead. She had a long drink and some food, and although I could see she was still nervous and unsettled, she eventually went to sleep in her own bed, while I looked forward to doing the same in mine.
The story of Kirsten is happily over now but it's full of "what-ifs", starting with what would have happened if there hadn't been a beach party on Sunday, and what if Kirsten's cries had been ignored. What were the chances that someone had recognised Kirsten from the short video I'd shared on Facebook and contacted the admin of the Lamma Dog Owners group who had then started sending the messages to me. What if Parksy hadn't been the sort of man who refused to give up and who had stayed on the beach for another day, determined that he wouldn't leave while there was a dog in distress and needing to be rescued. What if my neighbour hadn't known where this remote beach was located and was able to take me there? And finally, what if I hadn't been able to somehow find the strength and energy to spend the whole day out climbing up and down those unforgiving steps for hours on end?
(4 year-old, girl, small sized, 7kg) .jpg)
