Santa Tommy

Santa Tommy is so popular, he even makes an appearance over on Altadena Patch. It's amazing what he'll do for a little bit of Christmas kibble cheer.

Last Week’s Ups and Downs

Last Monday, before the deluge, I was considering backing out of escrow because the house has a sunken backyard that floods during heavy rains, like right now.

The clock was ticking; I had just a few days left to call off the deal without losing my $10,000 deposit. A contractor had cancelled last minute and I was ready to walk away, but a couple of friends offered to check it out first.

Veronica drove with me, and Sandra would meet us at the house.

I turned onto Lake Avenue and headed up the steep hill, but as the grade increased, my car slowed to a crawl. The hipster behind me cursed behind big sunglasses. I was afraid if I pulled over, I’d lose what little momentum I had so I kept chugging.

“If we don’t make it to the house it’s a sign, and I’m pulling out of escrow.”

Veronica turned on the hazards. The hipster passed me, and we stuttered up Lake, finally turning left off the ascent. In a few blocks I pulled up behind Sandra, already parked in front of the house.

Whew!

Veronica and Sandra are both artists who tackle home-improvement projects with gusto. They loved the sunken yard. They loved the (formerly) dry creek bed, the neighborhood, the house. They helped me see possibilities.

I decided to move forward with escrow.

(I wonder if they’d feel differently now after three days of torrential downpours. I don’t want to know. Too late anyway.)

We coasted home, driving down Christmas Tree Lane to enjoy the lights.

Tuesday morning as I headed out to greet the tow truck, the front door knob came off in my hand, the axle falling to the outside. I exited through the side pantry door, Tommy jumping over the pile of junk as if on an agility course.

The car got towed and a coworker picked us up. Tommy leaped into the back seat and slobbered all over her red sweater. Good thing she’s a dog person.

My mechanic called: I needed a new clutch, $900 to $1200. Ouch.

Later I considered the numbers on the Good Faith Estimate. I was about $20,000 short of funds for the down payment and closing costs. I panicked. Why had I thought I could afford this house?!

Veronica’s car was also out of commission. She was using her friend’s car, a white Marquis with a plush red interior they called “The Couch” because of its cushy ride.

My mind reeled over finances as I drove The Couch to the house for the sewer inspection, only to learn that the pipes were already clogged, a plumber's visit scheduled for the next day. Fortunately the inspector was an honest man: no point inspecting the sewer when he couldn't detect anything through clogged pipes.

I stopped off at Veronica's to return the keys to The Couch. Inside the house, the dogs got all excited. We heard a crash. Veronica opened the door and Babe snuck out. She jumped on me and Tommy got territorial and started humping her. I pulled him off and dropped my raincoat. Veronica came out holding a broken piece of pottery, one of her favorite vases.

With no time left to schedule the sewer inspection, I signed off on the physical contingency without it. Yikes. (I did get a general inspection.)

I spoke to my mortgage broker. They had made a mistake on the estimate; I owed $20,000 less than what they'd calculated. What a relief!

Later I couldn't find my raincoat. I called Veronica. Yep, the dogs had gotten it. Fortunately the damage was minimal, just a tear on one sleeve.

Thursday afternoon I picked up my car at European Motors, the only L.A. area mechanic I trust. I screeched out of the parking lot, unaccustomed to such a responsive clutch. Boy, was my car zippy!

That night, I went to the Arroyo Food Co-op's holiday party. They had a raffle. My adorable French neighbor picked out the names, and wouldn't you know I was the last one called out. I won a free massage.

Yippee!

Tomorrow I will obsess over fluctuating interest rates as I attempt to lock down my rate at the lowest possible number.

This house buying thing is nerve-wracking. It feels like a giant gamble. I might as well go to Vegas and shoot craps.

I dare not visit the house until long after the sun shines. I dare not subject myself to the flooded backyard. I must schedule that free massage.

Veronica's Pack

Veronica's pack is a kaleidoscope of constantly shifting dogs. I can't keep up, so I like to check in now and then to remember our old pals and see who's new in the pack.

Soon after I watched her pack while she drove 40 dogs to Tucson to save their lives, 3 of her fosters got transported up to SafeHaven Humane Society in Oregon.
 

Shiloh, Blondie, Lily. Credit: Veronica Ferrantelli


Remember Blondie? That was my name for her. Her rescuers called her Malibu, as she had been tossed from a Toyota Malibu truck. She was snatched up in no time from SafeHaven, a person undoubtedly falling instantly in love with her beauty and spunk just like I did.

Lily, on the right, was adopted a couple of weeks later by a very nice family with five acres of land and a couple of older kids, who Lily absolutely loved.

When I first met Shiloh, I was intimidated by him, but soon I learned his true nature—calm, smart, loving and loyal. On my last visit with him, he jumped up on the couch with me and nuzzled his face into my thigh, his fur so thick I felt like I was snuggling with a bear. We'd been worried he wouldn't get adopted but eventually he did, by a great guy who loves Shepherds and whom the SafeHaven staff really liked.

Veronica missed them dearly when they left, but knew they needed "a chance at a real family and the love they deserve. I know it is a good thing - it still breaks my heart."

I'd spent a lot of time with her summer pack; my heart ached after they left, too.

Several dogs have come and gone since then. Newest additions are Momma pit bull and her pups. Veronica had been concerned about introducing Momma to the rest of the pack (let's face it, you have to be extra cautious with pitties), but Momma was golden.

Credit: Veronica Ferrantelli

I think they look like a bad-ass gang, but I know how sweet they really are. Veronica says this photo will save Momma's life: it shows she gets along with other dogs, so the pit bull rescue in Oregon will take her in.

Even Tommy got to meet her. We were worried he'd get territorial and start a fight or be a relentless bully. But instead Momma was the pushy one. Tommy acted like an aloof older teenager with better things to do, like sit on the couch with his human. Tommy was the mature one. Imagine that.

A Million Times Over

Tommy came barreling into my life with the force of a freight train. My mom, who suffers from memory loss but remains an animal lover down to the deepest core of her being, tells the story this way, “He followed her home!” I don’t correct her anymore; I like her version. But the truth is I followed him, right into the parking lot of the Original Tommy’s Hamburgers.

When I coaxed him into my car with the help of a hamburger and one of the girls who grilled them, I didn’t consider what was next. I lived in a Los Feliz studio apartment with my two cats, so I didn't intend to keep him. As I drove and waited for someone to respond to my crazy voicemail—you know, the one about the pit bull in the back seat of my car—the weight of what I'd just done began to dawn on me. I checked him out in the rear view mirror. He looked concerned, as if wondering where we were headed. I wondered the same thing.

Things moved quickly. That week I brought him to the shelter (long story saved for another time), posted signs in the neighborhood to find an owner, and placed an ad on petfinder, all to no avail.

Tommy the first day I found him

I learned about the Echo Park Animal Alliance, an incredible community of people committed to animal rescue, and I posted a plea for a foster while I searched for a new place to live. Within 30 minutes Jen Byrne responded saying she could do it.

Jen became one of my heroes. She’s saved hundreds of dogs, just like my neighbor, Veronica, transforming sick or fearful animals into loving, happy, adoptable pets.

She also became one of Tommy's earliest and biggest fans (Tommy adored her) and one of my stalwart supporters. When I expressed my gratitude, she said it takes a village, and it certainly has with Tommy.

I love my cats but the impact that Tommy has had on my life has been far more dramatic. He spun my world off its axis and repositioned it in a new direction. It’s been a rough ride, wrought with many challenges. At one point I tried to rehome him, posting an ad on a pet adoption site that said in part:

“I need a strong, assertive leader to give me structure and lots of exercise. In return, I will lick your feet in gratitude while you brush your teeth, and as you sit on the couch I will put my chin on your lap and groan with satisfaction.”

When I brought him home to my Pasadena duplex, I realized I was in over my head. I wasn’t an experienced dog owner and Tommy had some major issues. In a crisis of faith, I sent a message to Jen, who encouraged me to hang in there, saying she thought it was amazing I'd changed my life to keep him. Then she said, "He'll repay you a million times over."

And truly he has. I'm glad I stuck it out.

Karin Bugge recently spread the word about Pepe, and he got adopted. Hooray for Pepe! Her next article on Altadena Patch will feature pet adoption stories from local and not-so-local bloggers.

Tommy around Town

I took this photo in South Pasadena from my friend’s second-floor apartment, where she was stretched out on the couch with a broken ankle. I don’t visit that part of town too often, yet I get the impression the neighbors don’t see many front lawns with pit bulls shading themselves under olive trees.

But Tommy made himself right at home.

Back in my neighborhood, I gladly interrupted a long afternoon walk to support local Altadena businesses, El Patron and Bulgarini Gelato.

Later while running errands, I stopped for gas. Tommy took the opportunity to contemplate life in the driver's seat.

Tommy's Endorsements

We here in the household of Tommy Lee Jones the pit bull mix value living in harmony with all peoples of different persuasions and opinions. And we know that peaceful coexistence sometimes requires keeping our ideas to ourselves, especially in these polarizing times when sensitivities are heightened. But when something as critical as the fate of our planet is at stake, we feel compelled to, well, put a stake in the ground and voice our beliefs.

We stand behind clean air, clean energy, and jobs that come from commitments to those values. It's pretty simple: we believe in protecting the environment for future generations. And we believe these candidates give us the best shot at doing so.

We believe in a lot of other things too, but we don't want to forcefeed you our opinions. We don't want to turn this blog into a bully pulpit. But if you like what you see here, you may want to check out the endorsements of the Sierra Club and NRDC, two environmental organizations we support.

Tommy got so excited for this shot, his snoot loop came off.

We respect other people’s opinions, too, even when they differ from ours, and we welcome civil discourse. That’s what democracy is all about, right?

A Good Yard is Hard to Find

Last week I met my realtor, Luis, at an Altadena house. As I tied Tommy to the fence, I caught a glimpse of an orange tabby sliding into the crawl space under the house. I registered a hint of trouble that I chose to ignore.

Inside I quickly walked through the house, snapped a picture of Luis and Lucas in the kitchen (if there’d been more light I would have captured Tommy bucking up in protest through that window)...

and summed up my assessment: It was a fixer and out of my price range but oh that yard!

The house was on a quarter-acre lot, and I intended to take full advantage of it.

Luis was happy to oblige. He unlocked the gate, and, when he and Lucas were safe inside again, I unhooked Tommy's snoot loop.

I love when he tears off but instead he got sidetracked by a scent, sniffing the ground like a hound. I did my version of giddyap. I clapped my hands in quick succession, shouting in staccato fashion, "Go Tommy! Go! Go! Go!" and slapped my hands on my thigh.

I'm not proud of this image but it works. Tommy shot off like a greyhound.

When he got to the other end of the yard, I clapped my hands and yelled, “Come, Tommy!” And he thundered back toward me.

Janine from J9's K9s taught that you always use the recall command in a happy, upbeat tone, and everytime your dog responds, you shower him with praise and treats. It doesn't matter how upset or pissed off you may be, whenever he responds to the recall command it's a party. Tommy learned this command well.

What a good boy, Tommy.

While I gloated over his athletic prowess and exemplary behavior, Tommy ran directly into the crawl space after that orange tabby’s scent.

I shouted, "come!" Tommy ignored me.

I ran to the crawl space entrance and tried to keep the strained panic from my voice, "Come, Tommy! Come boy."

And how was the recall command working now? As if it were swallowed by a dark hole, as if it fell on Tommy's deaf ears.

Ugh!

I feared Tommy would tear that cat to shreds; I feared I'd have to crawl in that dark, dirty space with god knows what down there; I feared rats and snakes and giant bugs.

I ran to the house and called again.

Tommy shot out of the crawl space, saw me standing by the door, and ran right back under the house.

I imagined the neighbors peeking out from behind a curtain shaking their heads and saying, "There goes the neighborhood."

Eventually I lured Tommy out, wrapped that snoot loop around his snout, said goodbye to Luis and Lucas and left.

Tommy was blissfully exhausted that evening.

The next day I put an offer on the house. The neighbors needn't have worried. By the end of the week I got the news that I'd been outbid. The search for a good yard continues.