I haven’t forgotten my promise. There are 5,731,094 bricks in the west wall of the Bricktown Ballpark (give or take a few million.) Long live the dogs. And may my blogs forever speak for those who can’t.

I think all of us in this challenge have gone bonkers to one degree or another.  I have to laugh at myself because I’ve developed a couple of behavior quirks of my own:

—If I’m in my doghouse and I hear a noise around the corner that I need to investigate, I’ll do the dog look-around-the-corner-with-one-eye thing.

— All of us competitors know when lunch and dinner will be served.  So when it gets to be around that time and I see two walking toward the restaurants.  I immediately go in my doghouse, turn around and stick my head out the door waiting to be fed.

— And I guess this inmate uniform I’m wearing rubbed off on me a little too because I found myself stashing stuff in my doghouse like a seasoned convict.  If I had a knife at lunch that I didn’t use, I saved it in case I needed it for dinner.  I hoarded napkins and the toothpicks out of my club sandwiches.  And I figured out pretty quick that a leftover fork made a pretty decent hair comb.  I even tried to rathole eight croutons off my salad from a midnight snack.  Unfortunately, I promptly sat on them and saw no real purpose in stashing crouton dust.

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THANK YOU to everybody who supported me before and during this challenge.  The list is long and I won’t name names because I would sincerely regret forgetting somebody.  R.G. – you know you’re at the top of that list and every other list in my life.  I also know that several people I’ve never met bought me “luxury items” during the challenge.  I hope that the organizers of this event will release your names to me so I can properly thank you.  And “thank you” Sheriff Whetsel for rallying the troops and allowing me to participate in this incredible event.

As for me, I’m a puddle of indecision.  I can’t decide if my first drink out of here will be a Starbucks white chocolate mocha or a Rolling Rock beer.  Either way, you can bet it won’t be water.

At some point in time, all of us competitors have been asked about why we decided to participate in this challenge. Up until now, my answers have been fairly vague and all-encompassing. So this is the story of the day that inspired me most. Home mortgages have been big in the news lately and in Oklahoma County it is the job of the Sheriff’s Office to both auction the foreclosed home and evict any remaining tenants if they fail to leave on their own.

About six months ago, I was performing such an eviction and had just remarked to the new property owner about how glad I was that nobody left behind any pets as I so often see. Having already locked up the main part of the house, we moved on to secure the rickety detached two-car garage.

As soon as I stepped inside the open side door of the garage, I immediately saw a beautiful black laborador retriver curled up on her blanket. She was tethered on two thick log chains that were permanently affixed to the garage wall by a bracket. I figured she had been dead between two and four days. As I dropped to my knees and the whole scene became surreal, I noticed hundreds and hundreds of slashing claw marks in the wood walls where she frantically tried to escape her misery. And I immediately felt bad for all her efforts, because little did she know that those four walls were the least of her problems.

Some of the gaoges in the walls were almost an inch deep and she still had shards of splintered wood between her toes when I found her. It was as if that poor dog clawed and clawed and clawed and then finally put herself to bed to accept her fate.

Ultimately, I was never able to prosecute anybody for that senseless act of cruelty. The previous owner of the property subleased the house to a foreign family that has since fled the country.

That detached garage-claw marks and all-still stands today as it was then. I made a brief trip back there just two days before this challenge began.

As a Deputy Sheriff, I often come in contact with elderly people on fixed incomes who sincerely love and care for their dogs but have them chained in the backyard because they truly can’t afford a fence.  And there can be a host of reasons why the dog can’t be in the house – one of the more common ones I hear from elderly people is that they’re afraid a dog under-foot will cause them to fall and break their hip.  And I’m not talking about people driving new cars and watching cable TV who claim they can’t afford a fence.  I’m talking about people who on a daily basis, opt to feed their dog instead of themselves.

So it is fair for me to suggest that they find another home for their last companion in this life time?  Is it right for me to pressure them into building a fence they can’t afford so neither the owner nor the dog eat?  And is it fair for the innocent dog to suffer for any reason?  Remember that I function in a different environment where often there are no clear-cut solutions; however, I can assure you that a similar scenario is playing out in your neighborhood right now.

Sometimes I offer to help the owner design a “trolley” or “zip line” which gives the dog substantially more area to roam (obviously the area within reach of the dog must be clear of obstructions, there must be clear access to food, water and shelter, etc.)

So is a zip line a perfect solution?  Definitely not.  Is a zip line a feasible option to add quality to the dog’s life?  Absolutely.

When I first started rescuing animals, I wanted to find a “perfect” home for all of them – then I realized finding an “excellent” home made all the difference in the world.

Ok, so go with me here…..because somehow we’ve got to get from Port-o-potty antics and back to business….

When the weather is nice, most of us will eat lunch and dinner on the “veranda” of our dog houses. When doing so, I have heard more than several people say something similiar to , Gee is all you’ve got to do in this challenge is sleep and eat enchiladas (or french fries or whatever I happen to be eating.)? And while I know most of the people are trying to engage us in polite chit chat there is a dangerous misconception wrapped up in such innocent questions. and If I had the option, I would politely remind those onlookers that the long silver thing dangling from around my neck is what the challenge is all about. 

So I’d like to take a minute to try and dislodge the popular opinion that most chained dogs are emaciated and living exposed to the elements. Quite to the contrary, many chained dogs I come in contact with are robust in physical appearance, eating quality dog food and living in expensive Igloo dog houses. But you can put a dog knee-deep in Eukanuba – and put any of us competitors  in the Taj Mahal eating Godiva chocolate and drinking out of the proverbial Fountain of Youth – and none of those things ill negate the physical and psychological harm done by being chained to a stationary object.

Since I just about hung myself trying to get into my doghouse for this blog entry, I think now’s a good time to talk about how cumbersome it is to be tethered on a chain. I spend most of my time looping the excess chain behind me like it’s amateur night at the rodeo. The abrasive nylon collar shifts constantly and rubs my neck no matter what I do. The first time (0f many) that I tripped over the chain stake, I tried to cover my indignation by looking around for the two other stooges. But perhaps my worst fiasco involved my Grand debut to the port-o-potty. There are 4 port-o-potties strategically placed so that every competitor can get to at least one of them while still on their chain. So obviously the door closes on our chain once we’re inside. Well, I grossly underestimated the length of the chain I took inside with me because when parts of me tried to sit, my head didn’t go with them. This resulted in a bungee cord affect that made me glad I wasn’t in a hurry. 

So imagine the chained dog wrapped around his dog house and he only knows two things to do: PULL and PULL HARDER. 

Add a collar that is too tight and that spells M-I-S-E-R-Y

CHAINED DOGS ARE SUSCEPTIBLE TO PHYSICAL INJURY

     First of all, the story I am about to tell did

not end as I hoped it would and I spent

several sleepless nights doing the 

woulda/coulda/shoulda thing.  But this story

is a snapshot glimpse of reality and it forces

us to examine one of the ugliest of human

tendencies.

     Last year, I came across the most depressed dog

I have ever seen chained to a sheetmetal dog house.

I could never get him to walk with his head up and

all he’d do is look at me from the tops of his sad eyes.

Now, for the sake of brevity, let me say

2 things.

1) Even after repeated attempts, the owner would

not voluntarily surrender his dog to me or any rescue group.

2) I had some concerns about food and water and such,

but nothing was wrong enough to give me probably cause to

immediately seize the dog and/or arrest the owner.  There were a few

“boarderline” issues I was prepared to act on if things 

didn’t progressively improve.

     I visited that dog for a week and encouraged

his owner to step up and make things right.  He threw

a little food to the dog when I was around and 

covered the sharp edges of his metal doghouse with carpet,

but eventually, I had to go to the owner with 

a “Do this … or else” ultimatum.

     When I went back the next day, both the

chain and the dog were gone.  Now the “glass

was half full” side of me wishes to think he found

the dog a better home, but  in reality, I

suspect whatever he did involved a shotgun.

      Desperate people do desperate things.  Law

enforcement intervention is a tool, but core value

education is the goal.

     And now – on a lighter note – I named my

three-legged kittens “Tump” and “Teeter” . . .

because they do

I have determined – much to my dismay – that several of my fellow dogs are actually enjoying this challenge. Not tolerating…..ENJOYING. I see a similar mindset with inmates who actually enjoy being in jail – to them, it’s all about sitting around eating ho-hos and wham – whams and playing soap cake dominos. If I went to jail, I’d be under my bunk in the fetal position – and when I bailed out I’d change my name and move to Idaho.
I would be thrilled just to dog-paddle through this challenge with my head above water. I notice there is plenty of of time during the challenge to magnify your problems – real or imagined. And I have the nagging sense that I should be somewhere else right now doing something – but I can’t remember what it is. Its kind of like craving fudge just because you’re on a diet when you don’t even like chocolate.
I am also a proud manager of a feral cat colony and most of my cats are already spayed and neutered (thank you OHS TNR program). My last unfixed female just had 2 kittens born with three legs. They don’t seem to know any different, but I know they’re no match for a coyote or a red fox. So, if I worry about them incessantly in the “free world”, you know I’m one brooding mother in here. And here’s an example of how stress can manifest itself physically. Usually my blood pressure is a textbook picture – perfect 120/80. Several times during this challenge, my blood pressure approached 160/110 and set off all kinds of alarms with the medical staff that monitors our vital signs. CHAINED DOGS (OR AT LEAST THIS CHAINED DOG) ARE ANXIOUS.

For those of you who are not native to Oklahoma City, this challenge is set in the middle of a historic, culturally diverse part of the city that was recently restored beyond its original splendor.  When this challenge started, adrenaline made my senses razor sharp.  I could smell the oncoming storms.  The neons lights were bright and vivid.  I could pick out snippets of people’s conversations as they chatted along the riverwalk.  Now it seems like the noises of the city have melted into on monotonous drone.  Really, its kind of a strange phenomenon that I spent much of my blog writing time trying to figure out how to explain.  Before – especially after working in a jail environment – I could listen to 3 conversations at one time and identify everybody’s demeanor just by their voice inflections.  Now, I have a tendency to want to “look” at a voice or noise – like I don’t completely trust my hearing.  Last night, I was awakened by two young boys playing tag on a nearby sidewalk – a noise I would have easily identified before and found to be reassuring instead of startling.  Imagine being an incomprehending chained dog in a world full of loud voices and aggressive gestures.

CHAINED DOGS CAN BE CONFUSED BY THEIR SURROUNDINGS.