Jake's Beginnings: First Installment

After starting to read everyone's blogs around here, we're chomping at the bit to tell about our daily adventures. But we agreed with Mom that we'd put our "history" out here first. (Really, Mom says she wants it for memories.)

So. A blog. I guess that could sort of mean "a diary." A dog diary. A diary about me. About us. I guess I’ll comply. It will help Mom remember. (Don't tell her I said so, but she does have trouble with that some days. Couldn't at all be related to ahmmm .... age .... or ahmmm ... us crazy wires that decorate her life and distract her just a wee bit.) Anyhow, maybe this blog will give some other families insight into the life of me. Jake. (Okay, and Fergi too. I keep remembering I have to share the spotlight here.) And maybe, maybe it will inspire someone to rescue a dog and make him or her part of their family. (Actually, a similar blog DID inspire a family already! I'll tell you about that once I finally get my "history" in print. Sneak preview: His name is Teddy!)

So, enough of this introduction. I'll tell you about me. I was born in May of 2005 to a "breeder" (yeah, right) in Arkansas. Mom even has my papers. (I like my name better now.) I was rescued two years later. The truth was, I lived in one (or more) of those horrible puppy mills. I remember I was sold in a dog auction and ended up in Missouri. That was depressing. And sad. I probably got sold for $5 or something. I was supposed to be a breeder, but I weaseled my way out of that horrid place by not being "good." I think you know what I mean. Maybe I was smart. After all, I did get a ticket to freedom! (The highest bidder "got me" at the direction of Cheryl, my guardian angel in Iowa! Way to go! I'm worth every penny!)

My first physical exam after I sprung the puppy mill (Thank you, Cheryl) reported that I was filthy and my skin was oily and bad. Since I’d been in a crate my whole life, I stood with my back legs spread apart, sort of bow-legged. (Just like Fergi) I had lots of tarter on my teeth, and I’d managed to break one front tooth off a little (probably trying to chew my way out of the crate.) My legs were too weak to climb stairs. I was afraid of people. I was said to be "high strung." I had evidently been abused. I didn’t know how to play with toys. I didn’t know how to eat treats that someone offered. But I was cute, and I CRAVED attention. Once I trusted someone, I could sit on their lap FOREVER!

That's me. One of my first pictures after I got rescued. I got cleaned up. I got my teeth cleaned and I got all my shots. I got neutered. And I got a good good good foster home. Actually two of them. After a few months, Cheryl decided that I needed "therapeutic" foster care (my words... actually what I was begging for was a home with fewer dogs and more lap time. Holding therapy, if you know what I mean.) So after I got to a point where they all decided I was closer to being ready to find a forever home, I got to make a long car trip from Iowa to Colorado. PJ and Rika drove out to get me and one other foxie. They had room at their rescue home, and Cheryl was spilling over. I’m not sure how I got picked. But I did. And I’m glad.

PJ, my new angel, worked with me for a long time. She is a very gentle lady, and she helped me to get strong and to trust. Before long I became a pro-lapdog. PJ’s home was great. She had remodeled it just so she could have her dogs and other rescues like me and know it was safe and doggie-proof and nice. She had windows that went clear down to the floor so we could all see out. The view of the front range of the Rocky Mountains was incredible. We could see all the way from Pikes Peak to the south to Long's Peak to the north. (That's a long ways. I'm guessing at least 150 miles. I never had any idea the world was so big and beautiful.) Inside, all of PJ's floors were covered in really nice vinyl. We didn’t get in trouble if we had accidents. There weren’t any more wire cages and no more yelling or abuse. I even got to sleep in her bed. Her home was our home. She taught me how to go up and down stairs and she took me in the car sometimes, too. (I love car rides. I sit up so nice in the backseat, with my seat belt on. And it’s easy and nice to nap in the car, too.) PJ began to fatten me up and she introduced me to toys. I had some other dog friends there. Jack and Jack Jr. were two of the wires. (Jack was PJ's baby. Someone had dumped him when he was about 13 years old, because he was "so old". PJ rescued and adopted him. He turned 17 last April 2008, and I got to go to his birthday party - it was a beach-theme party and we all had a great time! Sadly, Jack left us for the Rainbow Bridge soon after the party. Jack Jr, on the other hand, has since been adopted and is one happy - and crazy guy. I get to see him sometimes.)

Back to my story, I lived at PJ’s for about three months. It was nice. Really nice. PJ loved me. A lot. But it still wasn’t my forever home. Somehow I knew that, and so did she. Then, without me even knowing it, my soon-to-be-mom found me on Petfinder.com and on the American Fox Terrier Rescue website. These pictures you see are the ones she saw when she first found me. Yay! Things were starting to move along! There was a new kind of excitement in the air.