Working From Both Ends of the Leash: Our Tale As A Renegade Paws Foster Family

I may have written this before, but just so there are no unnecessary tears, this story does not end with a dead dog. 

A couple of Mondays ago after a delightful dinner at Dottie’s on Broughton Street, Mark and I turned onto our street to catch a bunch of skinny little legs in the headlights. We slowed down and looked at each other in that way that spouses do when something is about to happen that’s going to completely upend any plans of quietly going home to Netflix and chill.

Usually, it’s running into a fun weirdo who drags us into Pinkie’s for one drink and we end up Ubering home at 2am. But on this night it was a pair of tiny, scruffy animals darting between parked cars in the rain.

“We have to stop,” he said.

“We do,” I sighed, thinking of all the times I drove past an unaccompanied dog and didn’t. 

We pulled over and began cooing. One dog was bolder than the other, running up then skittering off into the azaleas. Its partner stayed back, both of them keeping up a steady bark. They looked like terrier types, a matched set with tufts on their heads and the same hopping gestures.  

Several neighbors heard the racket in their driveways and came out to help, offering blankets and leashes. I managed to grab the closer one and wrap him up as Mark and another guy tried to corral the other, but it ran. In the next minute, there was a screech and a yelp from the main road. “No no no,” I sobbed, bundling the orange throw a little tighter. 

The seat of my jeans soaked through as the humans spent another hour looking for the injured pup as the wet, wiry furball in my arms shook and whined softly. After a while, I felt its heart calm, and when everyone came back empty-handed and dripping, the only thing to do was get home. 

“Sorry, little one,” Mark told the pair of eyes peeking out from the blanket. “At least we got you.”  

During a quick bath, we discovered our new charge was as skinny as a desiccated rotisserie chicken and quite obviously a boy. He slurped down a bit of food and water then stood stock-still in our living room, one paw lifted in vigilance of his new surroundings. 

Our own two dogs, who were both once pathetic foundlings themselves, regarded the newcomer warily but did not try to eat him, and after a round of extra treats everyone settled in amongst various soft surfaces and tried to get some sleep. Come morning, I found Mark on the futon curled up with all three of them. 

“I’m calling him Banjo,” he informed me, brushing the tiniest head with his fingers. 

“Three dogs is too many,” I said, picturing myself tangled up in leashes around a magnolia tree. 

I know that there are those caninephilic souls who can handle a big pack, but for me, two is more than enough. Our Geech and Donut provide more than their share of dog drama, and it’s hard to work at home when one barks maniacally at every squirrel titter and rattling muffler while the other one digs so many holes in our vegetable garden it looks like a Crimean minefield. 

Between heart worm meds, fecal tests, and the time Donut the Dodo got into a fire ant bed and ended up with swelling like bad Botox, we’ve spent more at the vet this year than on our own healthcare. Three dogs is too many dogs! But here we were, the sounds of twelve little feet clicking across the tile floor. What was I supposed to do? 

Like three dogs were gonna pose for a photo

This is what has kept me from stopping for strays in the past: It’s not that I don’t want to help or don’t care, I just don’t know what to do with them once they’re here. What if they end up staying forever, like the first two? I posted and searched on the Lost & Found Pets Savannah Facebook community that helped us find our own runaway mutt many years ago, but no one recognized this duo.  

So I called Cody Shelley to figure out the next steps. Cody is an active, avid volunteer with Renegade Paws Rescue, one of more than a dozen hardworking local nonprofits dedicated to helping Savannah’s massive unwanted dog and cat population, including the 20 years-strong Coastal Pet Rescue, One Love Animal Rescue where our own doggos came from, GRRR who specializes in senior dogs, and the hardworking Humane Society of Greater Savannah. (I promise, there are more than enough animals to go around.)    

Her first question was whether we were willing to foster our frowzy guest until he could be offered up for adoption. She explained that fostering is temporary but vital in preparing dogs for their forever homes, and Renegade could help provide vaccines, neutering, and other resources. 

“He’s a little guy, so there won't be any problem with someone wanting him quickly,” she assured, adding this isn’t always the case with rescues, especially with the legions of pit bull mixes that come in almost daily.    

I looked down into my lap, where I could feel Banjo’s little butt bones poking in the spot near my knee where he’d snuggled up. Yes, I said, I suppose we could do that. 

Geech checking out our guest

The next week was a blur of fur and a cacophony of woofs plus some indiscriminate humping, but having a protocol to follow made it much more manageable. Cody had me immediately file a report with Chatham County Animal Control, which requires a five-day stray hold for an owner to come forward and claim their pet. She then instructed me to fill out foster paperwork on the Renegade website, after which Banjo was briskly scanned for a microchip (there wasn’t one), given a heartworm chewie along with other preventative meds, and scheduled for a snip-snip procedure at the National Spay Alliance Savannah, where Renegade has a working partnership. 

“Spaying and neutering is the number one solution to the animal population problem,” says Jennifer Taylor, Renegade’s intrepid and devoted executive director. “It’s like a tree—you may not see the rewards for a long time, but you have to plant the seeds.”

JT, as she’s known, oversees a small staff and a legion of loyal volunteers that rescue, track, board, and care for hundreds of neglected and abused dogs a month, operating out of a sprawling facility on Ogeechee Road. Renegade also focuses on community outreach, offering discounted food and medical services so that roofless and low-income folks can keep and responsibly care for their pets.

In 2023, Renegade paid for over 200 spay/neuter surgeries, and while the intersection of poverty and animal overpopulation isn’t always obvious, reminds JT, “it’s where rescue work can make a big difference.”

When we were there, one room was blocked off for a pregnant beagle about to go into labor, and someone had just brought in a litter of puppies thought to belong to a new mama picked up the day before. There were cheers as the mewling pups found their way to the milk, and vet Dr. Bari “Bear” Yates, who trucks in twice a month from Charleston to volunteer her services, turned her attention to other patients. 

“I can’t save them all,” shrugs Dr. Bear after performing a blood transfusion on a puppy riddled with hookworms. “But if I can do one simple procedure that can give one of them a fighting chance, I will.”

I know I promised this tale wouldn't end badly, but there’s no getting around the fact that in spite of such passionate and practical efforts, there are still too many dogs and cats than there are resources. While a county-wide alliance of rescue organizations called Chatham 90 is working to increase the save rate, dozens of healthy, adoptable dogs a month are euthanized because of space.    

“People believe rescue is some magical place where there is all the room and all the money in the world, but we can’t take every dog,” laments JT, who says the most effective Facebook post she ever made was a photo of a black garbage bag.  

“We’re just a bunch of people working our asses off every day to save as many as we can and be good stewards of the animals we have, but we need the community's help to fill the gap.  

“We’re working from both ends of the leash.” 

Sometimes, however, there is happily ever after—happily-ish, anyway. The day after we found Banjo, I left all three dogs in their crates and met up with my neighbor Nicky, who had brought out a leash and harness during our rainy chase. We combed the lanes and peered into crannies where we thought his partner might have crawled into after that terrible tire screech but found nothing.

Four days later, a post popped up in the Lost & Found group of a small terrier picked up a few blocks from us, with the same markings as the one I’d videoed with Banjo before it ran off. I spoke with the poster, excited to get the band back together—though I’d learned that siblings were not usually adopted out together to avoid littermate syndrome, a condition that can make for extra bad behavior.

Turns out, it wouldn’t be a problem. The woman on the other end of the phone confirmed that like Banjo, this female was not fixed and did not have a microchip, but she was cagey about admitting this was the pup we had been looking for. She also made it clear they had no interest in reuniting them: She said she’d already registered for Animal Control’s five-day hold and taken the little doll to the vet and would be keeping her in her apartment with her other two dogs.

I found this incomprehensible. Who wouldn’t want to reconvene the pack? I tried to explain that they were clearly a matched set, and that there was a community and resources available if she fostered then adopted through Renegade. I might’ve squealed, thinking about puppy playdates and coordinating outfits.

She wasn’t interested. I got a little upset and almost yelled, “Three dogs is too many for an apartment, anyway!” but instead I just wished her luck. At least now we knew the other lost pup was alive and safe with a home. But you’d better believe I’ll be sniffing around to see if she got that baby spayed.  

In the meantime, Banjo settled into our pack just fine, his bony little butt and chicken ribcage growing plumper by the day. Of course, I got very little work done with three dogs chasing each other’s tails around my desk, but it was definitely entertaining. 

“This is fun,” said Mark one evening from under a coat of slobber and ears.  

“Three dogs are too many,” I reminded him. 

He gave a meaningful look at Donut’s dirty paws and the holes in the yard. “We don’t have to have three.” 

I’m sure he was kidding, and anyway, it was too late. After the five-day hold, I brought Banjo in for his procedure, and afterwards he sprang out like he’d just had a lovely nap. He was now officially ready for adoption. Which was exciting, until I realized the hardest part of fostering was saying good-bye. 

I asked a serial foster parent how she handles the heartbreak, and she replied, “I just think of taking on another lifetime of vet bills.” That helped.

Lucky for us, dogless friends Brad and Christi Hoolahan (below center, with the big smiles) had registered to adopt with Renegade several weeks before and fell in love after hearing we had a special guest in our house. They promised all the pup playdates we want, and after trying on a few other names, even decided to keep calling him Banjo.      

Banjo’s Gotcha Day

Thanks to Cody, JT, and the rest of the Renegade fam (including Sarah Spencer and Dr. Bear on the left, and longtime community angel Jenny McCord on the right), our first foster experience was a success. (Technically, it was our second; Donut was a “foster fail” who waltzed in and never left.) The next time I see another stray—knowing this town, it might be tomorrow—I’ll feel more confident about the resources and network available.

I’ll also continue to donate funds and time; just a little here and there keeps the cause going. (Shouts to the young artists and makers of Savannah’s Creative Kids Market who raised over $650 for Renegade last Sunday.)

And once I get all this extra dog hair vacuumed up and Donut’s latest fire ant fiasco calms down, perhaps we’ll consider fostering again. Maybe you will, too.

‘Cause there’s always room for one more when it comes to hearts and sofas, even if it’s just temporarily.

Every afternoon is a dog day ~ JLL

We’ll always be friends, right, Banjo?

P.S. Savannah Sideways is making some subscription changes in 2024…if you’ve been hanging around the free zone, here’s 20 percent off to keep the Savannah Sideways love flowing!