Kudzu: more than an invasive vine – an invasive canine

Before

Life changed a couple months ago when I adopted/abducted a street dog. She’s Kudzu, so named because I like K names and I’m Southern. And it fits. This little critter has completely taken over my life.

Backing up, I like to walk, and on the main(ish) street outside my former neighborhood (about a mile from mu current neighborhood), there’s a shop of little food stall-like places, plus a restaurant or so. Behind those, there are little neighborhoods. Neighborhoods not like mine; more local. Which is to say, very poor, but with friendly people.

And there are street dogs. They are everywhere, with the exception of my gated neighborhood and the connecting two, which is where all my colleagues live. Daily, I walk at least some, even nif it’s only to catch the shuttle to work.

When I saw this skinny beagle-y dog with a sweet face and kind eyes, I brought her food. First I did it once, then once in a while and then every day. It got to where she knew me, and when she’d see me, I’d signal her and we’d try to find a secluded spot on the crowded street so she could eat alone. It worked for awhile, but a couple other dogs caught on (I called them Fake Shelby and Feather Tail), so when they joined, we’d share. Those two were about the same age, and there was a younger one, like a teen, whom I called Grits. I adored Grits, too, and wondered if I took just one, which one it would be. And that Grits and Kudzu would both be great dogs for a Tallahassee Lassie.

Before

The feedings continued regularly, but Kudzu – and she’s always been Kudzu – didn’t gain weight. There’s a vet sort of nearby (like a 20-minute walk) and I stopped by one Saturday and got some wormer. I told him of my plan to take her and he thanked me.

The wormer was two doses, two weeks apart and I noticed she still hadn’t gained any weight a week after one dose. The morning of the second dose, I was walking up the slight hill to get to the neighborhood gate. I could see her as I walked up the incline, but when I surfaced outside the gate, I didn’t see her. Since by that time, the feedings had been going on for two months, people knew me and what I was doing. Seeing my baffled expression, a guy in one of the little storefronts motioned me to a red double gate. I gave him a look like, “Is it OK?” and he signaled yes. (After all, it was kind of trespassing.)

Opening the gate, I found a run-down kind of Narnia – an apartment building, several free-standing residence that had been thrown together, lots of mud, a depressing air and my dog.

 She came running to me, as did her shadow – a furry little pup, maybe six weeks old. No wonder she hadn’t gained any weight! Little thing was sucking her dry. I gave her the food I had, and she shared it with the pup. Fake Shelby, Feather Tail and Grits were nowhere to be found, but I promised Kudzu I’d come back with more food.

Yesterday

When I did, I didn’t see her, but a young woman came down from the second floor and asked what I was looking for. In broken French, I tried to frame it: “Je suis regarde pour le chien … avec la bebe.” She said, in broken English, “Oh, you’re looking for the dog with the puppies?” It hadn’t occurred to me she might speak any English.

From her, I learned that Fake Shelby and Feather Tail “belonged” to someone, but Grits and Kudzu did not. Fake Shelby, Feather Tail and Grits were more than Kudzu’s bitches, they were truly Kudzu’s bitches – two litters of her pups.

And I learned that the current litter had seven pups. They were weaned at that point, because when I brought some leftover chicken from a Korean restaurant in the neighborhood (a great restaurant and the only restaurant in the neighborhood), one of them ate the chicken.

I didn’t want seven puppies, or any puppies beyond the teenage Grits, so I just kept feeding Zuzu for a couple more weeks. I never saw more than two puppies and don’t know how many of the seven actually lived.

This kept up, with me feeding them at least once a day, usually before the morning shuttle. Some days, I’d catch a ride in with someone who’d pass me on the street. On one of those mornings, a Monday, I feed Kudzu – and only Kudzu, as there were no other pups that morning – I climbed into my friend’s car, buckled up, and looked down the road ahead.

There, in the middle of the street, lay a dead dog. I knew immediately that it was Grits, who’d weaseled her way into my heart so much that I’d come close to taking her home a few days before. Poor little thing.

Happy girl

The next morning, I saw Kudzu, and she had a puncture wound on her back and was putting no weight at all on one leg. It was clear she was starting to get beat up. I hadn’t seen the puppies for awhile at that point and when I asked, I discovered they’d been given away. I think she was getting beat up because the other dogs realized she didn’t have any value and she was too weak to defend herself.

That week, I stood guard as I fed her, warding off other dogs. Feather Tail, who definitely outweighed Kudzu and was much bigger, tried to attack her and I figured it was time to take Zuzu home. I’d been in contact with a vet with a car, so on a Friday we set a time to take her, have her spayed and vaccinated and then brought home.

Oh, it was so traumatic! Friday morning, she saw me and crossed the street in traffic to come jump on me and try to get in my backpack, the source of food. Feather Tail came running, too, and both were completely baffled that not only did I not have any, I slipped a foreign object around Kudzu’s neck. Obviously, she’d never seen a collar before, or a leash and she flipped out. I’d sized the collar wrong and hugged Zu close, telling it that it would be OK as the vet sized the collar to her skinny neck. It occurred to me that my face was close to her teeth and maybe that was a dumb idea since I hadn’t known her that long, but it was fine.

Yesterday

The experience absolutely terrified her. We scrambled her into the car, and when I went for the paperwork to return, I saw she’d crawled onto the dashboard like some kind of oversize bobblehead. Her eyes were filled with sheer terror.

The next time I saw her, those eyes were glazed over in a post-op daze. Poor baby had no idea what happened but was shuffled out of the truck into this strange place. Even entering the building scared her; it’s not likely she’s ever had a door close behind her, only in her face.

But she loved the back patio, and, once she went gingerly down the stairs, thoroughly enjoyed lying in the weeds in the yard, sunning herself.

It’s been about two months now and she’s gained weight and confidence. During our initial walks, she would freeze in fear when another dog would walk by, but she’s made a few friends now and enjoys hanging out at her friend Jax’s house during the day. Mostly, though, she loves not scrounging for food and sleeping in her bed, which is also my bed.

She’s learning how to be an American dog and not just a Malagasy mutt. She chews too much and nibbles too rough, but we’re working on that. She may go to boot camp in July, but the jury is still out on that.

She loves her life now, but one thing she hates is the other dogs in the house – the ones that live in the mirror. It’s so funny to watch because she will growl from across the room, then stalks up to the mirror to try to get them. This extends to reflections; every time we approach the entry doors, she leers and snarls at the approaching reflection. Even today, we were on the patio and I heard her growling. Initially I wasn’t even sure what the noise was and then I realized she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the sliding patio door. I thought she was going to charge it, but she held back.

The little invasive monster has taken over my life.