Dog Rescue? - (Must Love Dogs)

A while back I was tentatively approached by a lady outside Bunnings asking if I'd like to become a foster carer for dogs. I was able to say, with apologies, a firm 'no' - mainly because our own two ex-strays are now nearly 12 and we want their remaining years to be as easy and stress free as possible. No newcomers to the pack. Secondly, despite an enormous backyard, our fences are flimsy and held up mainly by rampant honeysuckle, and finally, I'd end up owning 20 new dogs by the end of the first month. Undaunted, bless her, she then asked if I could perhaps become a transporter of abandoned dogs to their foster carers, prior to adoption to their furever homes - (you dog people will know about this). This proposition sounded easy enough as I imagined me driving the occasional Jack Russel-cross from, say, Box Hill to Mitcham.

Now you know how, when friends return from overseas travels you feel less than enthusiastic about the good stories? It's not exactly riveting hearing about how beautiful was Châtres cathedral, how serene the bike paths along the Rhine, how breathtaking the trip up the Eiffel Tower.

No, the truly entertaining stories are about how they were robbed by a swarm of feral children at Rome train station or chased by bandits from an ATM in Buenos Aires.

After an easy baptism into stray dog transport my nemesis came in the guise of The Fox, a beautiful animal, 8 months old or thereabouts, a cross between a mountain lion and a fox and completely, utterly uncontrollable. Three of us wrestled him into the back of the SUV - kitted out with comforts to please a king - where he proceeded to eat all the leads, chew through the water bottle & container and then bust through the metal barrier (since reinforced) into first the back, then the front seat.

(He's recently eaten through 2 car seat belts I hear.)

But his innocent aim was simply to get to sit on my knee. (Luckily I wasn't driving.) There he proceeded to mash my thighs, leaving me with bruises like a sunset after a storm. They started out red, then turned to blue, purple, brown and ended up that sickly dark yellow colour which took weeks to fade. I looked like I'd been the subject of some unspeakable assault.

After our trip with The Fox & an extra puppy

But this was a one-off. Don't let this account turn you off becoming a foster carer or a dog transporter. Mostly the experience is heartwarming and totally gratifying in all respects -  a small part in arranging a new life for a predictable assortment of dogs whose stories could turn you off humanity forever. They all have a similar look of expecting the worst.

The drop-off point is as far across the other side of the city from my place as you can get. Via the Ring Road, in peak hour traffic. Two men arrive at dusk in a truck towing a massive low caravan type thing full of caged dogs that they have picked up from pounds all across country Victoria - Swan Hill, Mildura, Cohuna, wherever. So the men (bless them) and the dogs  have been on the road all day. (Many come with pups - 6, 8, and once, 12. Having your animal spayed clearly isn't a priority in the country, or maybe it's just too expensive.)

At the appointed time cars start to arrive, gliding silently into the meeting place as if for some secret drug drop. (How would I know? I've never been on a drug drop.) People of all stripes emerge, hang around the truck until their assigned dogs are spotted, offered a wee and a drink then piled into a different vehicle for the drive back across the city to the allocated foster carer.
And what a bunch they are! Unremitting kindness, never a complaint, nothing is too much trouble. Gorgeous young couples rush home from work to be there to greet their new charge. I love them all. I want to give them my house.
And the organisation of this group is astounding. All done through Facebook, it's mind blowing to read. 'Anyone able to take a bull arab bitch and 8 puppies from Mornington to Hurstbridge tomorrow  morning?' Several responses ping up within minutes. 'I can,' says Rose from Mount Eliza/Reg from Frankston/ Emily from Tooradin. Nothing is impossible. At every request from the co-ordinators the network springs into action. This group leaves MI6 for dead. With them onboard, the French Resistance would have won the war within days.

Not every dog has it this good.

In real terms, this organisation rehoused 516 dogs in one year recently, on a shoestring budget raised from small donations and a few kind commercial supporters. In the same year a glossier, more famous rescue organisation with $millions in the bank rehomed 200+.
I know it's not a competition but it does illustrate what a network of ordinary, generous people can do with little else but determination and good will. It also suggests that maybe...

1) more resources should be directed to preventative strategies for animal welfare in the country
2) one of the wealthier rescue organisations might work on a subsidised dog-neutering service for owners who simply can't afford it and
3) any politician who supports the repealing of Oscar's Law ought to be dragged out by the hair to witness the arrival of the poor puppy machines whose lives have been a misery from go to woa.

Meanwhile Starting Over Dog Rescue, we salute you!

~*~