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Polly Pocket here to share with you about my limits. You may not realize this (apparently foster mama didn’t*), but some dogs have limits as to how much they can handle before they go berserker and melt into a puddle of drool and stress toots.


You see, the thing is that I am just getting the hang of being part of a family in a house let alone out in the big bad world! So while I am finally able to be calm and hang out with Foster Mama and Foster Daddy (and Turkey and Rufus), I get really anxious when we leave the comfort of Foster House. I see other doggies and I go bark, bark, bark to let them know that I am not scared but very TOUGH. Sometimes I even bark at doggies who I know are my friends, like Dante.

Yesterday I met up with Dante and his Mama, Amy of Fido Fetch Photography, at the Suds of Fun charity dog wash for the Humane Society of Greater Kansas City. Foster Mama had thought this event would be a good way to both get me a bath and market me to potential furever families at the same time. She knew there would be some challenges though, since many of the factors involved in this outing pushed my limits: (1) Lots of dogs; (2) Lots of people – most of which were not paying attention to me; and (3) bath time (shudder). As soon as we got out of the car I started bark, bark, barking to let everyone know that I had arrived and that I am very TOUGH. I thought Foster Mama would appreciate that I was announcing our arrival, but she looked really embarrassed. She even tried to lure me from my hyper-attentive state with hot dogs, but seriously? I am a terrier, lady…it takes more than a hot dog to break MY focus. So instead of walking around and sniffing other dogs’ butts (which was making me feel growly), we found a quiet corner away from the hustle and bustle where Foster Mama made me “sit,” and she petted me when I was quiet. When it was time for my bath, we had to take this twist-y turn-y way into the bath time building because she didn’t want me to bark or lunge at anyone’s dog. Once inside, I faced death in the face the dreaded bathtub. I made sure to give Foster Mama my surliest glare to show her how I felt about bath time. Then she tickled underneath my chin and made me smile just a little before letting Amy snap this photo – tricked!

After my brush with death bath, Foster Mama got me some brisket for being so brave and took me back to a quiet spot away from the other doggies and let me eat just enough to not get sick, but enough to make my tummy warm and full and happy. I was a little upset when she gave a couple of bites to Dante, but she told me that he was her favorite hot dog, and I needed to chill out.

After my brisket, I calmed down enough to walk around to look at the different booths for a little bit. Some people’s dog’s were on retractable leashes, and a few times those dogs were out reeeeeeaaaallllly far on the leash and would just get up in my face! IN. MY. FACE! But luckily, Foster Mama and Amy were keeping a close eye out for me so Amy ran interference with Dante a few times and Foster Mama knew to redirect my focus if I started to get growly. One time, she even redirected my focus with a teeny tiny pup cone from Sheridan’s(my new favorite thing). I love the ice creams but not the cone, so I gave that part to Dante. See? I can share.

When I finished my cone, Foster Mama felt like I had done enough for the day and chauffeured me back to Foster House.  She told me that I had “made some strides” but we still have a lot to work on. Walking around by the end of the night without barking or snapping at any dogs – good. Trying to hide between a hunky firefighter’s legs for three minutes because I was nervous – not so good. But honestly, can you blame me on that one?

* Foster Mom here – although Polly doesn’t think so, we do recognize that she has some boundary issues when out in public. I do want to help her work through those though, which is why I took her to this event. I was very careful to read her signs and take her away from the group when she was feeling overstimulated. The firefighter though – she beelined for him. Not sure what I could have done.

** Polly Pocket is still available for adoption – see her profile here!

Hey there! My name is Polly Pocket and I am in the HOUSE!

I’ve been with my foster family for about a week now and I am learning so much about being a part of a family. First things first – I got my very own Sirius Republic “Lily” collar with hot pink fleece lining. I look pretty cute, huh?

I am still getting to know my foster siblings. Rufus and I are able to hang outside together but Turk and I have only been able to see each other from afar.

From what I hear, he is not a huge fan of me or any other fosters. Maybe I’ll be able to change his mind eventually?

When I first came to live here, I was so scared of everything that I would cry and cry every time Foster Mama left my sight. I didn’t like to go outside alone and I refused to eat my food if Foster Mama didn’t sit with me the whole time. If anyone tried to touch me, I would flatten to the floor or try to run away because I wasn’t sure if I could trust these people yet. Needless to say, I was a mess.


But Foster Mama did some research on fearful dogs and found out that it was best to let me come out of my shell on my own terms and not try to force it. That was a pretty smart move, because once I was here for a couple of days, I realized how awesome Foster Mama and Foster Dad really are! They give me hot dogs when I “sit” my bottom on the ground, go potty outside, or when I go into the crate on my own. They even let me snooze on my very own Molly Mutt bed!


I’m not gonna lie though – things aren’t all perfect at Foster House. Foster Mama and Dad abandon leave me sometimes and I get worried that they are never going to come back. The worst part though, is that when they do abandon leave me, they put me in a crate. I hate crates so much. I tried to explain to them how much I hated crates the first time the put me in one…


But wouldn’t you know it, the bent wires and shredded bedding didn’t deter them! So the next time, I had to get a little more drastic so they would finally understand…


I overheard Foster Mama telling Foster Dad that she is frustrated, but not deterred. She asked her friend Aleks for advice on how to handle my “sep-ur-ation anxiety” and Aleks told her that my problem isn’t actually “sep-ur-ation anxiety” at all, but more of a hardcore hissy fit. How dare she say that! I wouldn’t never throw a hissy fit…unless, of course, that hissy fit resulted in the return of my dearest foster parents from wherever they disappear off to from time-to-time.

So Aleks gave Foster Mama some tips to make me love tolerate my crate, like feeding me exclusively from Kongs inside my crate, leaving me a piece of their clothing so I can smell them while they are gone, and playing a recording of their voices (or the radio or whatever) on repeat so I can hear voices in the house when they are away. I’ll admit, I’m not sold on the whole “crate” or “foster parents abandoning me every day for something called ‘work'” thing yet.

But I’m willing to work on it… they did spring me from the slammer so I owe them that much, right?

Owning a home has turned me into an old lady. I called the cops last night to report a strange incident. It went a little something like this.

Dispatch: What would you like to report?

Me: There is a strange man on an adult tricycle lurking in my neighborhood. (yes, I said lurking)

Dispatch: Adult tricycle?

Me: Yes, it’s purple.

Dispatch: And he’s lurking?

Me: YES! (Obviously frustrated that this lady does not understand the gravity of the lurking so I elaborate). He’s riding his trike-y from house to house and looking in backyards and leering at people.

Dispatch: And you would like a police officer to come investigate?

Me: I don’t know! I am just nervous because of the leering and lurking. Plus, he’s obstructing traffic. (There’s the clincher!)

Dispatch: Okay, we’ll send someone out to investigate.

Me: Thank you.

After I hung up the phone, I watched through my drawn blinds as the cop came to talk to the guy. I realized that I must have given an awful description to the dispatch because when I went back through what I said, they probably were looking for someone like this:

Anyways, I realized that I have officially become an old lady, using words like “lurking and leering” and being fearful of adult-sized tricycles and the people who ride them. Daniel could probably list a million other reasons why I am becoming an old lady, but I think this one takes the cake.

WE HAVE A MOUSE! A LITTLE, ICKY, DISEASE-INFESTED MOUSE! A MOUSE THAT HAS TAKEN UP RESIDENCE IN THE SPACE BETWEEN OUR KITCHEN SINK AND DISHWASHER!

(Quick side note: I apologize about the lack of posts lately – but my little baby Mac now has ZERO, count ’em, ZERO space left so I can’t upload or edit any pictures. So, until Daniel finishes cleaning out the garage and finds his external hard-drive, I am not able to upload any original pics to el blogo Waldo. And now back to our regular programming…..)

A MOUSE!!!!! Fievel has moved into our kitchen…..

Hawkins #1 Most Wanted

Now, you may ask, how did you find out about said mouse? Well, I’ll tell you. Daniel & I were in the kitchen making Great Grandma Mabel’s potato soup (not my Great Grandma but actually my friend Josh’s GGMA’s recipe – I don’t have a GGMA Mabel – but I digress) and minding our own business when suddenly Daniel gasped like a little girl (sorry babe, but you did) and nearly threw a kitchen knife into the air. “What?!??!??! WHHHHHHAAAAAAT????!???!?” I screamed, because, of course, I can’t let him be MORE dramatic than me. “A mouse,” he replied, with his hand over his heart, trying to steady his breathing. To this I jumped up and down squealing, “EWWWWW! WE. ARE. GETTING. A. KITTY!” Instantly, Daniel was calmed and said, “Nope.” But I still think a trained mouse killer is the answer – a kitty. Especially since the two creatures in the house who have sworn to protect us were no help and generally just sat there as the mouse sauntered across the floor looking like this….

Obviously not the EXACT pic of how they looked in that moment - but the same general dumbstruck look....you get the idea...

So I say we get a cat. Daniel says we get mousetraps. What do YOU say? (please say kitty…..I’ve always wanted one and I feel that a vote of confidence from the great wide blogoverse might sway Daniel my way!)

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