For about three weeks now I've been sort of fostering a litter of three puppies, which I guess would make them about five weeks old. Theirs is a sad story, if it's true. Reportedly their mom hung out with a bunch of undesirables down by Marina Real, and someone complained about the pack to the local Comisario. The police showed up and shot three dogs, one of which may have been Mom. This can't be substantiated, we only know what the Guaymas shelter employees told us when they delivered the pups to the San Carlos Canine Refuge, where I volunteer.
For the first week we fed them with an eyedropper. I took them home at night and fed them every three hours. Now they're used to a bottle and starting to drink out of a bowl, so I take them home only two or three times a week, to give our night employee a break. I've named them Dulce, Cleo and Bruno.
Dulce is arguably the smartest of the trio, while Cleo is the most affectionate and Bruno the quietest, and most docile. None of them resemble the others: Dulce is black and white with freckled paws, Cleo's pink and white coloring with a black and brown mask makes me think of a pit bull, and Bruno looks like a baby Rottweiler. My friend Greg took closeup photos of Bruno and Cleo during the Nuts for Mutts Walk two weeks ago, and they've already changed a lot since then: brighter, more alert, with more personality. We think they'll be fairly large dogs, which doesn't work in their favor among the majority of adopters who are looking for little dogs. What is in their favor is that they're going to be very socialized. After all, they think their mommy is human.
Our routine: I put about two ounces of milk in a double dog bowl and set it in front of their crate. Then I open the door and they pile out, wandering just a bit before gathering around the bowl and beginning their meal. Watching them connect with the bowl was a triumph that made me feel like celebrating.
Meanwhile I'm warming the formula for the first bottle. Last time I was in the States I bought one of those bottles with the collapsing plastic liner to reduce gas which was a serious problem the first week. Then I let two pups explore, wrestle and discover toys while I bottle-feed the third. To clean up after them I carry the one I'm feeding in a football hold so the feeding can continue, and do the cleanup one-handed. After each is fed he is burped at least a couple of times and allowed to walk around, stimulating more burps. Baby wipes come in handy when their paws need cleaning. I get clean bedding into the crate while feeding the last one, and put the crate on the floor with the door open. This morning they all trooped back into the crate and went to sleep with no help from me. Voila! Crate-trained puppies!
Yesterday at the Refuge Dian, a new volunteer showed up to walk dogs, and I asked her if she'd ever bottle-fed puppies before. "Uh, no." So I sat her down with Dulcie and the bottle. The look on Dian's face when the pup settled into her lap and latched onto that bottle was priceless. I'm thinking we could market the experience for people with hypertension, depression or high blood pressure.
The litter is at the perfect age for training volunteers; they take to the bottle with enthusiasm and burp without much difficulty. The feeding process is demanding, but I confess I'll miss it a little, when they no longer need it, which could be in another week or so. But then, there are always more puppies...
I've developed a profound respect for mother dogs who make themselves available 24/7 for the greedy little guys. And mothers of triplets. How do they do it?