Vizsladogs, Ltd.

by Lu Hart

It started with an email from Denmark, of all places; Jonas Neilsen had received a post to his website, asking for help with an elderly vizsla. The vizsla owner lived, not in Denmark, but in Kansas City, U.S.A. So the Show-Me Vizsla Club (Kansas City area) began investigating. Several days later, Meghan Tallman picked Rosey up. Rosey's first owner didn't want her any more after the baby was born, and gave Rosey to her older brother. He had a new house, and Rosey peed in the house. So she wound up in the yard -- in the cold midwestern winter. She had had hip surgery when she was young, and her leg ached in the cold. The man didn't like to look out his window and see her shivering, so he signed her over to rescue. Meghan told me she loved this old girl and would gladly keep her, but was already at her city's legal limit on number of dogs. Lin Kozlowski was driving to Arkansas the following wekend to see our pups, so Lin brought Rosey down for me to foster. "Foster" ??? Ha ! She hadn't been with us one full day before I abandoned all notions of calling possible adoptive homes. Even my " I don't like other
dogs, they steal your attention from me" bitch loved her. Even my "We have way too many dogs already" husband loved her. She was wonderful with the puppies, with visitors, with my grandchildren. Here, finally, was that "female, good with kids, well-behaved" vizsla that callers kept asking me for --- and her family had gotten rid of her. Go figure. Yes, she peed in the house --- until she learned that she could come stand and look at me and I would notice that as a request to go out, and I learned that Rosey's elderly bladder needed three or four stops in the yard first thing in the morning, not just one quick pee. Yes, she got into the garbage (another complaint of the previous owner's) -- until she'd had a few days worth of a good senior diet, and I'd told her when she nosed the can lid to please leave that alone. I think she would still go into the garbage for something especially yummy; if I have things like meat scraps, I wrap them up and take them to the outside can. ( It's always SO much easier to prevent problems by managing the environment. ) She's probably around twelve or thirteen years old. (The owner didn't know her birthday, guessed she was " I don't know, somewhere around twelve or fourteen years.") White face, white paws. white in her body coat. Teeth worn down to almost nothing. Bad leg: hip surgery scar, hock knuckles over, whole leg shakes when she's tired. Gun shy and afraid of storms (very birdy, though). Big dark vizsla eyes, that sparkle with joy when my husband comes home and glow with quiet pleasure when we cuddle in the evenings. Wiggly vizsla butt.
Satiny-soft vizsla coat and ears. ( One baby she met wanted to keep gently rolling Rosey's ears up and down, fondling the texture. Rosey thought that was great.) Comes when called, sits on command, downs on command now that she's decided I am a more alpha bitch than she is but am not nasty about it. (BOTH parts were necessary -- Rosey was not about to obey anything other than a fair, reasonable command.) Watching her blossom out is oddly like watching a pup develop, and the bond between us is growing rapidly. I know that she won't be with me as long as a pup hopefully would -- but the richness of these interactions is so incredible, I wouldn't miss a moment of it. Vizslas are like fine wine, they just get better with age. My beautiful, sweet, funny Rosey -- how did our home ever get along without you?

Vizsladogs, Ltd.
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