Sam I Am - I Am Sam

Sam I am, I am Sam. If you've been spending any time here on my blog, and I hope you have, you're probably wondering a little bit about the person behind the keyboard.

In addition to being a writer and animal lover, I am also an English Professor. The stories you've been reading on this blog go back a long way -- ultimately beginning with my first dog, Sally, who my family had BEFORE they had me.

Since my mother has been taking forever to dig up a picture of Sally, I have waited on adding her story because to me - I want everyone to have the texts and the photo to go along with each of these dogs tails, oops, I mean tales.

For now, the picture above is me.

My dogs, dogs who have actually been MINE are listed below -- in the order in which they have appeared in my life. These do not include foster dogs. That's another post.

1) Sally (Beagle)
2) MacGregor (Westie)
3) Snoopy (mutt)
4) Elly (Maltese)
5) Albert Einstein (Maltese)
6) Sigmund Freud (Maltese)
7) Roxy (Jack Russell Terrier)
8) Ducati (Jack Russell Terrier)
9) Gloria (Maltese)
10) Chloe (Maltese)
11) Maggie (Maltese)
12) Max (Maltese)
13) Francis (Maltese)
14) Stella (Chihuahua)
15) Wawa (Chihuahua/Terrier mix
16) Gracie (Wawa's daughter: Pit bull/Chihuahua mix)
17) Queenie (Chihuahua)
18) Iggy (Chihuahua)
19) Bebe (Maltese)
20) Tee Sea "Shivers" (Maltese)
21) Eore "Stinky" (Hairless Chinese Crested)

Bathing Beauties

Gloria and Chloe
Summer 2004

One year, Gloria and Chloe were selected to have their photo taken to be featured in the MMR calendar. It was the same summer we had new siding put on our house and there were little pieces of metal outside in the yard. Gloria ate a piece of the metal -- we don't know how -- but she nearly died from it. She had many close calls with death! None of the other dogs had an problems with the debris -- just Gloria.

This picture was taken around the time I used to roll them around the neighborhood in a red wagon. Unfortunately, I never took their picture in it. One day, on our way to the beach -- their FAVORITE place in the world -- I saw an older man walking with a limp and a cain. He said to me, "Those are some fine looking dogs you have there." Then he asked, "How old?" When I told him they were 16, he said "WOW!" He asked me if they were healthy and I said, "Mostly, they are. But they have some health issues." He replied, "Don't we all. We all gotta go some time."

M. Samantha Kinsley
All Rights Reserved, 2006

The Canine Holocaust

Gracie at five weeks

The Canine Holocaust is a chapter in Dogs Are Better Than People


There’s only one left. She has to be called Grace. As I hold her in my hands, I can smell the lavender lotion I used to massage her tiny body after I fed her through a tube. I watch her suck on my pinky finger as she drifts off to sleep – her belly full with formula and her mind clear of any worries. She’s the size of my fist.

I watch for a long time as her body rises up and down – quick short breaths that could indicate her impending death. Her heated bed insures her comfort. She’s cuddled next to a stuffed toy – but thinks it’s one of her siblings. Before she was the only one left, the others would all cuddle together for warmth and love.

Warmth and love are not easily found these days with death looming over her fragile life. My previous experiences with life and death were limited. But lately I have dealt with death on levels I was not prepared to witness.

Her name is Grace. Through the Grace of God – this tiny creature has survived her first month of life. At five weeks, she opens her creepy brown eyes – and looks with a startled amazement at the world around her. She’s eager to learn about her surroundings and walks with stiff legs across the tile floor to a mat that lies in the corner of the room. Her breath is strong and admittedly, it’s not cute. It’s overwhelming and it turns my stomach when I smell it. The smells of the puppies resonates the most in my mind. Even in death, they all smelled the same. And it is that smell that reminds me that Grace is the sole survivor of a pack of puppies birthed to a malnourished mother of 10.

I accepted rescuing a pregnant dog as part of a plan I was intended to be included in. And so when we picked her up at the shelter, it did not bother me that she was dirty, tired, and less than friendly. How could she be otherwise? At home, she settled in to her room with welcomed enthusiasm. Because she was too wide to walk comfortably, the Wawa, sat upright for one week with no sign of delivering any puppies. At the one week mark, I drove her to the vet where I was told she would require a caesarian section. Initially, my excited anticipation made me feel like an expectant father.

Ten puppies: five boys, five girls. They had to stay the night in the hospital, but come morning, they would come home with me where I would help to raise them by hand. One boy died that night. So in the morning, I drove home with nine puppies and the Wawa. I set up a large cardboard box in her room and put lots of warm blankets in the bottom. The puppies instinctively gravitated toward her nipples, but her lack of nutrition prevented her from offering her babies any milk. The vet had feared this and sent us home with an arsenal of tubes, syringes, and baby bottles. I was to feed the infant pups every two hours. By the time I finished feeding the last one, I had to start all over again on the first one. I didn’t sleep. Instead, I stayed up all night trying to keep track of who ate, who urinated, who pooped. These tiny creatures could do nothing on their own and even their elimination had to be stimulated. I had to use cotton balls to make them peep and poop. I did everything I could to sustain their lives, but by the end of five weeks, Gracie was the only one left; the only one to survive The Canine Holocaust.

To read the entire chapter on Gracie and her family of fussy puppies, check out Dogs Are Better Than People - a forthcoming book by M. Samantha Kinsley

The writing, photos, and thoughts on this blog are the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley
All Rights Reserved, 2006.

Yo Quero Taco Bell

Queenie

The cast on her foot came from her breaking a nail so low that she had to have her foot/leg bandaged up. Even that didn’t spoil her mood. She remains our queen.

When Queenie was 13.5 years old, she came to live with us. We got a call from a friend of a friend who was asking if there was anything we could do to help out this little Chihuahua. Queenie had lived with her one (and only) owner for most of her life – about 12 years. They lived together in an apartment building in the Bronx. Queenie actually helped her owner, medically, because the woman was suffering from Alzheimer’s, but no one knew. They found out because she and her owner would be spotting walking all over different neighborhoods that were far away from their home.

Finally, someone from her owner’s building got in touch with her daughter and said, “Your mother has been walking all over the Bronx with that Taco Bell dog.” When her daughter brought her to the doctor, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Eventually, she had to be put into a nursing home. The daughter took Queenie into her home. She was a single mom with a daughter and a Maltese. Shortly after Queenie moved in, the daughter had to move into a new place. The landlord of the new apartment would only allow her to have one dog. She chose the Maltese and started looking for a new home for the Queen.

Queenie came to live with us in December 2003. What was challenging about taking her in was that at the time, we already had NINE dogs (that’s another part of this story – buy the book!) – and Queenie only knew Spanish. We had to brush up on our Spanish in order to talk to Queenie.

It wasn’t difficult finding a place in our hearts for her. Although her picture looks quite angry, Queenie is actually a very lovable dog. She just doesn’t like being bothered by any of the other dogs. Everything must be on her terms.

To read Queenie’s entire story, watch for the release of M. Samantha Kinsley’s forthcoming book: Dogs Are Better Than People
The stories, photos, and thoughts on this blog are the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley All Rights Reserved, 2006.

My Old Ladies: Gloria and Chloe

Gloria and Chloe 2002
They put themselves in this laundry basket! It doesn't getting any cutier than this, does it?

Even though we have several pictures of the old ladies, I guess it never occurred to us that one day we would really be without them. For now, all we have is what we were fortunate enough to snap while they were still with us. Without getting (too) obsessive, I want to take lots and lots of pictures of all of the dogs, EVERY DAY.

Although, I don't really need pictures of my old ladies to keep the memory of them alive. Their beautiful little faces are forever etched in my mind, but it is nice to log on to this blog and see them smiling back at me.

M. Samantha Kinsley, All Rights Reserved, 2006.

Snowy Angel

Snowy

After reading most of this blog, it should come as no surprise to you that Snowy came into rescue after being an abused dog. The people who owned her lived in an apartment and had decided to move. They were moving to a place where they couldn’t or wouldn’t have a dog, and so Snowy got left behind. They would return – every once in a while – to give her some food and water. They would return, but not on a regular basis.

Snowy was finally surrendered to the rescue group. She came in having multiple mammary tumors. When we found an appropriate foster with Marianne, we knew Snowy would be getting the best care in the world. The original vet that Marianne brought Snowy to had recommended doing two separate surgeries to remove the cancer. She wanted to do the right side, let her recover for six weeks, and then do the left side. Our vet, Dr. V., had a different approach. She wanted to do the entire mammary tumor removal in one surgery because she believed that doing it separately could cause the cancer to return to one of the sides while the other side was recovering. We decided to go with Dr. V., so she could eradicate all the cancer at once.

The surgery was a success, but it took a very long time for Snowy to recover. Marianne lived about 45 minutes from the hospital, but each day she would make Snowy a home cooked meal of boiled chicken and beef and drive it to Dr. V’s office.

When Snowy was finally able to go home, she happily went with Marianne who already had two other dogs: Babe and Simba.

Snowy’s story didn’t end there. She went on to live for almost three more years.

To read Snowy’s entire story of survival, check out M. Samantha Kinsley’s forthcoming book: Dogs Are Better Than People.

The stories, photos, and ideas on this blog are the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley. All rights reserved, 2006.

The Magic Wanda

Gloria and Chloe March 2002

I read somewhere, more than once, that when dogs are near the end of their lives, they know. Sometimes, they'll bark for what seems to humans, no reason. What some believe is that these dogs are barking at dogs (cats, other animals) who have crossed that very special rainbow bridge to “the other side.” It is believed that the rainbow bridge is the crossing animals make on their way to Heaven. I started to believe this was the case for Chloe because her barking was getting really bizarre. She would bark at things (inanimate, invisible, etc.) and she would wake up in the middle of the night and act as though she didn't know where she was. This was totally unlike her and we started to see a dramatic change in her behavior.

On a warm Tuesday evening in June 2005, while we were driving Chloe to the vet, I whispered in her ear, "Chloe, your Mommies loves you so much. You're going to go to sleep tonight and when you do, you're going to see Maggie and Snowy, and all the dogs and animals that God created. You'll be able to SEE again, Chloe." I couldn't stop crying, even though I was trying so hard to stay calm for Chloe and Gloria's sake. Finally, as we got closer to the vet, I said to Chloe, "Please give Mommy a sign. Please let me know you're all right. Come to me in my dreams, Chloe."

As we watched our little girl take her last breath -- we were devastated. Gloria watched and was crying. Her sister of 17 years, three months, and five days would be without her lifelong companion. Gloria was literally crying for her sister. This tugged so hard on our hearts.

Of all the dogs we've taken in (and kept) and there have been many, Chloe and Gloria were always so very extra special. All of our dogs (and cats) are special, but these two were extraordinary. They came to us right after 9/11/2001 and gave us something to focus on rather than watching the news and worrying about terrorists. They showed such dignity and courage coming to us at almost 14 years old and having lived together with their one owner their entire lives. They were OLD when we got them! People couldn't believe their ages. Whenever we had them out (at the beach) or pulling them in a wagon (they got a little lazy in the older days) people would say, "What beautiful dogs. How old are they?? We’d say, "17" and they'd say, "17 months?" When people would hear they were 17 years old, they just couldn't believe their eyes. All of the great memories of these two girls flooded back to me the seconds before the vet gave Chloe the final injection. I didn't even feel as though I was present in the room. I felt as though I was somewhere else. I wanted to pull the vet's hand away from Chloe and tell her, "STOP!" But instead, I started to cry. Deep down, I knew it was the right thing to do because we could see her (finally) at rest.

When we went to sleep that night, the light on the side of our house went on. It's on a sensor, and goes on, usually, when our cats walk by. It's no where near the sidewalk and so it wasn't possible that it was a person. I asked Des if she had left the cats out and she said they were both inside. I went to the window to check -- no cats.

The light went on a second time and again I said, "Are you sure the cats are inside?"
Des said, "YES!"
I got up and found both cats sleeping soundly in the back bedroom. The light went on a third time.
I said to Des, "It's Chloe. She's giving me the sign I asked her for!"
Des said, "Chloe, if that's you -- stop turning the lights on."
When I got into bed, the tv and air conditioner went off.
I said, "Oh no, a blackout! We're going to have to open all the windows.” (It was very hot.)

I got up and out of habit, hit the light switch in the living room. The lights came on. I went to the front door and saw that all the neighbors' lights were on. The only lights that went off were the lights in the bedroom. Des reset the circuit breaker and we both went to sleep knowing our little girl was indeed safe and sound.

The stories, photos, and ideas on this blog are the intellectual property of
M. Samantha Kinsley. This material will appear in her forthcoming book,Dogs Are Better Than People.

Taxidermist(s)

This is a picture of Gloria and me. It was taken at our old house during a holiday party we had for the rescue group in December 2001. There were 45 Maltese at our house that day! I love this picture of her and me. Look at her little old lady sweater!

You'd have to understand how much I loved Gloria and how much Gloria loved me to understand my calling six (random) taxidermists that I found on the Internet in the days after Gloria crossed over the rainbow bridge where she was reunited with her litter mate, Chloe, and the other dogs and animals they knew throughout their lives. I had made a deal with the vet that she would keep Gloria's body at the animal hospital until a decision was made as to what we were going to do with her remains.

When I arrived at work, I had some extra time before I had to teach a class so I looked up taxidermists on the Internet, and just out of curiosity, I called a few. NONE of the taxidermists I called would stuff personal pets. "Sorry, but we don't do pets." Click. I got about four of those responses. The fifth place was an answering machine or voice mail -- I didn't leave a message. The sixth place was by far the most interesting.

When I asked what it would cost to stuff my eight pound Maltese, the lady on the other end of the phone said, "Oh, honey, we don't stuff pets." When I asked her why she told me, "We don't do that because people don't understand that their dogs are dead and they have to let go. Honey, you're not going to get your barking, tail wagging dog back. It's time you let go." It was probably the best advice I had gotten from anyone -- and the advice came from a stranger. If someone close to me -- a family member or friend had said that -- I would have been really angry. But she was right. Gloria was gone. Forever. And as soon as the gravity of the situation settled, I got really upset. Why did MY favorite dog have to leave me? Why now? It was absolutely too painful to think about. I felt angry because we had only been best friends for a little under four years. Instead of cherishing the little time we had spent together, I obsessed over the time we hadn't spent together. I loved Gloria more than I had ever loved any other dog I had ever encountered in my life -- and I have encountered hundreds of dogs. What was it about her that made her different than the rest? After all, when she and Chloe came into our home, it was Chloe who I wanted to bond with. I DID NOT want to bond with Gloria, at all. Gloria is the name of my ex-mother-in-law. And I was not about to bond with anything that remotely reminded me of HER. But it was Gloria and I who did bond. Chloe took to Des. And from October 2001, it was always like that. Gloria slept on my pillow at night, and Chloe on Des's. I would rub Gloria's head until one of us fell asleep. And she would be there, on my head, when I woke up. As she got older, I had to wake her up some mornings. Most mornings, actually, I would have to wake up my little sleepy head old lady to go outside. And no matter the weather -- that little old battalic went out: rain, snow, sleet, freezing cold, sweltering heat. No matter the weather conditons, that dog went outside and did what she had to do. She'd hobble up our two front steps and start to follow me around the house with her little tail pointed awkwardly up toward the sky. Des coined it her "antenna."

God, I miss that dog!

Gloria crossed over the rainbow bridge 19 days before her 18th birthday. And although she is no longer here in body, she will always be here in spirit. Gloria's story will be told in its entirety in M. Samantha Kinsley's forthcoming book Dogs Are Better Than People.

The stories, photos, and thoughts on this blog are the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley.

All rights reserved, 2006.

Smile

Did you know that in addition to barking, whining, crying, and yes, sometimes biting, dogs also smile and laugh?

Take a look at this guy!

Sometimes, I Admit, I'm Wrong

Okay, so previously I've written that I always give out our phone number to owners who are surrendering their dogs -- and that I rarely get calls.

That's not the case with Tee Sea's family. His mom has now called me twice. Each time she calls she sounds hopeful, but broken-hearted.

She called today to see how he was doing. I told her that he's doing well. He has been recovering from a canine tooth cleaning -- unlike humans (well, most humans) dogs have to be anesthetized when they have their teethies cleaned. (I actually know a few humans who have to be anesthetized for this too -- another reason why dogs are better than humans, wouldn't you say?)

Tee Sea had to have six extractions. In addition, he had to have a mole removed from his eyelid (ouch) and several old man -- cauliflower looking spots zapped off. Two places required stitches. I told his former owner that he was settling in well. And I asked her if he followed them everywhere in the house and she said, "Yes! Everywhere."

When I say that this guy follows us everywhere - I am not kidding. We can't even use the bathroom alone because he's right there on the floor next to us!

The one thing about Tee Sea is that HE DOES NOT LIKE HAVING HIS PICTURE TAKEN! Look at the mug on this guy today.

She and I didn't speak long -- but long enough for me to tell her he's doing well. And he is. Really.

This blog, its words, and photographs are the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley, 2006.

Random Photos, Random Dogs

I did a lot of thinking about dogs today, but nothing articulate enough for another story. For today, just some random photos, random dogs.

Dogs Are Better Than People...

Prayers for Maggie

Prayers for Maggie...

Please, God, help us make
the right decision tonight
about little darling Maggie
who won't give up her fight.

Our hearts are breaking with the thought
that her time is not much more
and we're fearful of the day she goes
and what she has in store.

This little angel came to us
all dirty and a mess
but even life's abuses
she accepted without protest

Her owners didn't want her
their family started to grow
there were little tiny children
Maggie annoyed their flow.

They left her on the outside
to find some food to eat
she drank from dirty puddles
but now she's at my feet.

We thought we'd have her longer
because she isn't very old
we’d give her a happier life
after being left out in the cold.

But now she's getting sicker
and we don't know what to do.
Please, God, what does she want
just put us in her shoes.

She's banging into fences
and stumbling into walls
and lately she doesn't come
in answer to our calls.

Her frustration constantly mounts
because she cannot see or smell
this brave little dog exists
in her own private hell.

Before we rest our minds tonight
there's one thing we must know
should we hang on to our Maggie
or simply let her go?

We're waiting for your answer
because you know more than we
so send along a message
help the sighted to see.

We love this little dog
more than words can ever say
but if it's her time to go
please help her on her way.

-M. Samantha Kinsley

Second Grade, Snoopy, Summer School

Snoopy, Summer School, Becoming a Writer…

When I was in second grade, a girl in an older grade had a dog that had puppies. Her dog had 10 puppies, in fact. Her family wasn’t about to keep that many dogs and so the school had a raffle so that students could win the puppies. The raffles were ten cents a piece. When I found out about the raffle, I went home and asked my mother for some money. I guess she didn’t think I would win – because she handed over a dollar! A dollar, in those days, was a lot of money for a seven year old kid!

When the tickets were drawn, I was one of the winners. My name was announced over the loud speaker the morning of the raffle. I was so excited.

Shortly after the winners were called, the students were invited to the girl’s parents’ Greek restaurant in town. My sister drove me there on her moped to pick out my puppy! When we got there, I chose a puppy from the litter – for obvious reasons: to me – she was the absolute greatest looking puppy in the world. She looked a lot like the dog on the Breakstone Cottage Cheese commercial. The commercial had this little dog that chased down the cottage cheese man and would bite at the ankles of his pant leg. My puppy was white with black eyes – just like the dog on the commercial. In a way, she also reminded me of the dog on The Little Rascals. Once at home, I put the puppy down on the floor in the living room. She started to sniff all over the place – probably picking up the smell of our Westie – MacGregor. I took her sniffing as snooping and I announced, “Her name is Snoopy.”

At the end of second grade, my teacher sent me to summer school. My school, a small Catholic school in Long Beach, didn’t have summer school that year. And since I was the only kid who had to go – I was sent to a nearby public school.

I had difficulty comprehending what I was reading and that was enough for me to need to attend school in the summer! My teacher thought I would benefit from some extra help. I went, however reluctantly, to West School – a public school – four blocks from my home.

I learned a lot that summer, but what I learned the most was that I loved writing. I decided that summer, the summer of 1976, that I would become a writer.

I wrote my first book that summer – a book about dogs.

The writing and photographs on this blog are property of M. Samantha Kinsley

Stanley

I got a call one day from our dog walker and friend, Kerri. She was in tears. “Sam,” she said, “There’s a Jack Russell Terrier at the pet store at Roosevelt Field. He’s 10 months old.” There was a silence. “I think if you call the manager and tell him you’re with a rescue group, he’ll let you have him for free.” There was more silence.

I agreed to make a phone call the next day to speak with the manager, but I insisted that I could make no promises. The next morning, I called the manager, and he confirmed that the Jack Russell was still there. When I asked if he would be willing to let me take him – free of charge, he said he couldn’t do that.

Later that day, I drove up to the mall, to see the dog. I hate pet stores that sell dogs. There’s no reason to put a price tag on a life. Not only that -- most, if not all, pet store dogs come from puppy mills. If you want to read about puppy mills, prepare yourself with a box of Kleenex. You won’t believe your eyes when you read about the atrocities (and see the photos) of puppy mills.

The pet store at Roosevelt Field smells so badly. It’s worse than smells – it stinks! It stinks so bad. All of the dogs are extremely expensive. They live in their own excrement. The mall has no yard – obviously – so the dogs never go out for walks, never see the light of day, never feel the sunshine on their coats, or the wind blow through their hair. Instead, they’re confined to tiny cages where hoards of people come in and out tapping on the Plexiglas window that is there only connection to the outside world.

The pet store, like most others, also has expensive leashes, collars, clothing, toys, and treats.

When I arrived, I saw him – the Jack Russell --immediately. To my surprise, he wasn’t in a cage, but in a tiny gated area with a woman playing with him. “Thank God,” I must have said outloud. He’s finally getting out of this hell hole. I stuck my head over the edge and smiled at the lady who was petting the JR.

She looked up at me and smiled back.
“Are you buying him?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“But I know he’s been here for so long, I just had to see if he was still here today.”
“Are you interested in buying him?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “I volunteer with a rescue group, and it would go against their principles for me to BUY a dog. I came here today with the hopes of the manager giving him to me so I could find him a good home.”

The woman, whose name I do not know, stood up and said, “What if I bought him and gave him to you? Would that be acceptable?”

I thought for a moment. I thought that this woman, a woman with whom I had never met, was willing to shell out money for this dog that had been trapped in this pet store for months -- must be a true animal lover.

“I guess that would be all right. Technically, I wouldn’t be buying him,” I told her.

The Jack Russell had been marked down to $99.00. I hate to say, “marked down,” as though he was a materialistic item, a pair of shoes or jeans. But the truth is, that’s exactly what he was: an item of merchandise that had been MARKED DOWN to $99.00.

The lady bought the dog, handed me the paperwork, and the man who was working there looked back and forth between us as though he didn’t understand the transaction that had just taken place.

I bought a leash and a harness for the little man I had decided to name Stanley. I began to put the harness on Stanley when the man behind the counter started to laugh at me.

“That dog won’t be needing a harness,” he said laughing. “He’s been in that cage so long, you’ll never get him to walk.”

It took all the strength in the world that I had not to lash out and smash this guy in the face with one of my fists.

I took in a deep breath, finished putting the harness on Stanley, attached the leash to the hook, put him on the ground, and turned to the salesperson and said, “You may not have the heart to understand the care and love animals need. And you may think it’s funny that he’s been trapped in that cage all these months, but I do. This place is nothing more than a shit hole, and you’re a piece of shit for working here.”

With that said, I said, “Come on, Stanley.” And to the entire amazement of the store, he walked out of United Pet Supply with his head held high and never looked back.

This blog is the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley, 2006.

Tee Sea

As I mentioned yesterday, this blog isn't going to go in any kind of specific order. I'm putting the stories on here out of my notebook and eventually on to the written page for publication. Today I'm thinking about my senior citizen foster dog - Tee Sea. Yes, foster dog. Just like children go into foster care - so do dogs. Tee Sea has a really interesting history. Apparently, he was purchased in Florida (bad, bad, bad idea to purchase a dog, but that's for another time). He was named Tee Sea because he lived in the Hudson River town of Croton-on-the-Hudson. He became Tee-Sea-on-the-Hudson. But after three years, his owner became allergic to him and he wound up with an older couple who lived on Long Island. Tee Sea or "TC" as they came to call him, lived with his second owners for 10 years. They surrendered Tee Sea to the Maltese Rescue when they had decided to move into a senior citizen housing complex, that, like many of its kind, doesn't allow pets. If this were the case with me and Des, we'd find a place that allowed dogs, but like purchasing a puppy, that's for another time, another blog. I picked Tee Sea up on Thursday, October 5th in the parking lot of St. Francis Hospital in Port Washington. It was a mutual meeting place for Tee Sea's owners and me. They were going to an appointment at the hospital that morning. The original Email from the rescue group said that Tee Sea was !4. I read this as being FOUR, not 14. In any case, when I first saw the little guy, I said to myself, "There's no way he's four." His owners filled out the required paperwork in their car -- to surrender the old man -- while he and I played with the early fall leaves that were falling to the ground in the hospital's parking lot. I saw in him, what I see in most of the dogs I take in: unconditional love. It doens't matter what the circumstances were, these dogs know how to love, unconditionally. It is this trait that has drawn me to these creatures. His owners said their final farewells to the pet they called "TC" for the past ten years, and he, my daughter (strapped in her car seat, fast asleep), and I drove off and out of their lives. I told them to feel free to call me to check on him -- if they so desired. It's an offer I make each time I foster a dog -- and for the most part, I do not get any phone calls. I could barely contain the tears as I pulled out of the parking space. Tee Sea settled on a blanket on the front seat. And all I could think about was "why is it that I am the one crying when other people give their dogs up for adoption?" Tee Sea, baby Alex, and I headed straight to the vet where I had him checked out. A closer examination of his paperwork showed me he wasn't four, but 13. His age was confirmed by the group member who had assigned him to me. At the vet, Tee Sea was a complete gentleman. He was examined, administered his shots, and given a genle pat on the head by the vet. "He's a very sweet dog," he told me. Indeed he is. After the vet, I immediately drove Tee Sea to the groomer. I was hesitant at first, but he smelled so bad. Plus, his nails were so long, they seemed never to have been cut. The vet cut them back as much as he could, but when dog's nails grow too long, it's not like you can hack them away all at once. The groomer agreed to squeeze the old man in for a bath and haircut that afternoon. I dropped him off with the promise of returning later that afternoon. The groomer commented on what a sweet dog Tee Sea was as well. He looked better, but the staining on his face and paws will take time to go away. When we FINALLY arrived home, I was afraid -- as I always am -- that the other dogs would not accept him, the outsider, the foster. But, as usual, they do. They accept these homeless dogs with open paws. That night, Tee Sea feasted on his wet dog food that his owners had given me and a handful of Cheerios -- the only treats my guys are having right now. He slept soundly next to me in bed the entire night -- as though he had always been my dog. The content on this page is copywritten by M. Samantha Kinsley, 2006.

Gloria and Chloe turn 14

At times, it may seem that this blog does not flow in a sequential time line but that's because it (the story/stories) are still in the drafting phase. The photo you're looking at right now is of Gloria and Chloe on their 14th birthday.

Even though the camera stamp says, "1999," the actual date was March 9, 2002. The girls were groomed that day and then had a Happy Birthday party with the other dogs.

The first picture is of Gloria and Chloe. The second picture is of Roxy, Ducati, Albert Einstein, Gloria, Chloe, and Sigmund Freud.

I don't know how many birthday parties the old ladies had before the one in '02, but I do know they had a great time that day!

Gloria Irene Schnozowitz Strustkowsky Sleepyhead PigTailed Girl

You may be asking yourself: what kind of person names her blog: Dogs-Are-Better-Than-People?Well, to answer simply: me! As you'll learn by reading my rants to come - dogs ARE better than people.

Dogs Are Better Than People is the title of a forthcoming book by M. Samantha Kinsley.

Right now, you're looking at the greatest dog who ever lived. Her name was Gloria and her story is about as long as her life: she lived a wonderful 17 years, 346 days. Gloria, a Maltese, lived with her sister (and litter mate) Chloe for the first 13.5 years of their life. They lived with the same owner until she became ill and could no longer care for them.

Gloria and Chloe's story is long and at times sad.

When the "Old Ladies" -- as we lovingly came to call them -- began their journey into our hearts right after 9/11/01. They were surrendered to the Maltese rescue group we belong to by their owner's daughter who found it too difficult to care for two small dogs. She claimed that caring for them was similar to caring for two babies. Apparently, she was not very much of a dog person.

The Old Ladies first went to stay with a neurotic couple in the group. They had two Maltese already. Their Maltese had an entire dresser filled with clothing and accessories. Their Maltese had long, beautifully groomed hair. They were treated better than most children. Gloria and Chloe, however, would dressed in their raggedy old, worn-out sweaters. They were only allowed to stay in the kitchen where they had limited access to food and water. Their only saving grace was there 13 year old travel carrier.

When dogs get surrended to a rescue group, they're usually placed into foster homes -- just like children who need care are placed with loving families. But just like children, sometimes the foster home is not the right match. This was the case with Gloria and Chloe. Their first fosters admitted they couldn't care for them citing reasons such as having a bad back and picking them up (they weighed six and eight pounds - and apparently less than their own two dogs).

We (my partner and I) happily picked up these two old ladies. We wanted to help. We needed to get our minds off of the tragedies of 9/11 and what better way than to create a distraction?

When I find their first picture, I'll post it on here. But trust me on this one: they looked like two train wrecks.
Dogs Are Better Than People is the title of a forthcoming book
by M. Samantha Kinsley.
All Rights Reserved, 2006.