G is for Gertie

Nashville, TN: I promised myself that I wouldn't do it again. After last year's furry relationship ended, I was hell-bent to keep my home pet-free in hopes to alleviate any attachment issues I would have when I would have to say goodbye.

But after looking at my fairly open schedule... and my fairly large condo.... and my fairly increased amount of free time, I sent a note to Mary at East C.A.N., just mentioning that I might be available for SHORT TERM babysitting-for-fosters, if one happened to present itself in the new year. Just four days later, I got the call.

"We found this girl on a porch near Shelby Golf Course this morning. She is older, very sweet and gentle and wants to go home! No collar, no tags."

I mean, who am I to say no to a little old lady that just wants to go home?

I told them I'd be available to take her for a few days, until they found her owners or they found a permanent foster family. They said her name was Holly Rose, after the street she was found on, but once I saw her, I knew this was no Holly. This was a Gertie.

Why Gertie you may ask? Here are just a few reasons, brought to you by the letter G:

Girl. Frank was a boy. And while I LOVE having a boy around (sigh...), girls are sometimes just easier to get along with. Plus, the squatting-while-going action is so much more lady-like than the stick-the-leg-up-and-pee-on-anything-in-sight deal the boys do.

Granny. Gertie is old. Like 13 or 14 years old. At the vet, where they tested her for heartworm (negative - yay!) and gave her basic vaccines, the doctor said she was old but her teeth were clean, so it seems as though someone had taken care of her throughout her life. She has arthritis, so steps are hard (especially my second story condo and additional stairs to my loft) and even getting out of her crate in the morning is tough if she's faced the opposite direction and she just can't get out. She also has cataracts, so runs into things and doesn't actually see me coming to her unless I clap really loud. Good news is she sleeps most of the day and doesn't bark when I leave. I'm guessing if Gertie were a human, she would take lots of naps and may consider getting a walker at some point.

Gas. Gertie's got gas. A lot of it. I'm talking about the kind when you're sitting in a quiet room and you hear that certain noise and you look around to see who it was. I'll look down at her and Gertie hasn't even moved from her red blanket to acknowledge it. Usually you can blame it on the dog, but in this case, it really is! (I promise I would claim it if it were me.)

Great hair. Not knowing exactly what breed Gertie is, I can only assume she is full breed Mutt. Her fur is very coarse and she doesn't really shed (thank goodness). She's got these great white eyebrows that surround her eyes and smaller patches of other white on her chest and paws. But her BEST feature is her brown mohawk in the middle of her head. I'm guessing she was a hard-core punk rocker back in her heyday.

Good love is on the way. I haven't bonded with Gertie like I have with Frank. She's too big to cuddle and doesn't seem to need the attention that he did. But there's a need I'm fulfilling and even if she doesn't show me by snoozing on my lap, I can tell she appreciates it. I realize I'm learning something from each of these foster dogs. With Gertie, I understand more clearly that everyone deserve to be loved. Including the elderly and the poor and the homeless. And when I have given her the love she needs at this point, someone else will take over and continue to love her.

The other reason she's a Gertie? I didn't think of Bea Arthur first. (damnit)