July 2026
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Susannah Charleson |
ometimes you get a text message in the early morning hours. Sometimes you get a phone call during supper. Sometimes you get both, plus an email for good measure, in the middle of the night. This is the nature of fostering mama dogs—pregnant dogs about to deliver, new mamas who have had their puppies wherever they could find, mamas in labor who are in distress at the vet but, should all go well, need a soft place to land that isn’t the hard floor of a shelter with their babies spread across a plastic swimming pool.
I’ve fostered spring mamas, winter mamas, mamas nursing some other dog’s puppies as well as their own, mamas with babies whose owners packed up and moved and left them behind. Every mama comes in with her own story and related baggage. The puppies—how much of that trauma do they inherit through the sense of her around them? Through the milk? Through birthright? I always try to be as gentle and supportive as I can with both adult dog and the little ones, hoping that gentleness leavens their hard beginnings, aware that these impressions may shape the rest of their lives.
Here again is Lucille, or Lucy Lou, as I call her. You met her, very round and very pregnant, last month. She came into rescue so newly pregnant that the first vet that saw her thought she was not pregnant, scheduled her spay for a week later, and found … oops … she was pregnant. He closed her up again, and she sat out those early weeks with a brilliant foster couple who kept her until her time came very near. They had never delivered puppies before and were understandably nervous about what might happen. So, she came here. The thought was that she had only a few days to go, but a different vet confirmed … probably two weeks, maybe three.
Exactly two weeks later, so huge she could barely rise to a stand or toddle across the grass, Lucille had four babies in almost textbook fashion. (Of note: she had her puppies the day after last month’s newsletter dropped.) She was a little startled by the first contractions, so startled that she tried to run down the hall to get away from them, but then she returned to her prepared whelping bed and delivered a puppy every 30 minutes until the last one, which came after a rest period of an hour. Her tiny, beautiful, healthy puppies began to nurse immediately. That moment of first contact never gets old. She, a youngster herself, was in turn an excellent mama right away. Every instinct came to fore, and she had them cleaned and fed before the next hour was up.
Lucy’s babies are named after Kenny Rogers songs. They are funny little beaners, charmingly spotted. One of them, Gambler, has spots in shapes I’ve never seen before. Hearts, flowers, commas. (I’ve never seen a puppy punctuated.) It’s been a good month watching them develop. They have been a little slow in this—late to open their eyes, late to walk, late to vocalize, yet despite that gentle progress, they seem to be happy, confident puppies. I had to laugh that the tickle reflex, where you scratch a dog’s belly and the back leg kicks, showed up in all of them in less than 24 hours. They were fast to to the tickle, if a little slower with everything else.
We have only four days left with them. This weekend, mama will go home with her pre-adopter, and the puppies, now weaned and eating puppy mush, will go to another foster, a brilliant woman with puppies, where they will prepare for adoption. I will miss them. It’s been a loving, wild ride these past six weeks, but in the silence there’s a regroup and a preparation. I always make notes. What do I need that I ran out? What would be helpful that I didn’t have this time? I like to think I have all the bases covered, but every mama, every litter teaches me something about comfort, nutrition, enrichment, and care.
And so, in the quiet, I remember all the little families who have been here with tenderness, rub the ears of my own good dogs, and prepare for the next little mama and puppies to come.
Foster. Transport. Volunteer. Adopt. It all helps. And you can’t beat the wags and kisses reward.
© Susannah Charleson, 2026
Author Peggy Frezon, whom I’ve had the pleasure to read and interact with on a handful of occasions, sent me a copy of her newest book, Goodbye to a Good Dog. The arrival was timely. As many of you know, I lost wonderful Gambit, my golden retriever search partner, in March.
Frezon’s book is thoughtful, compassionate, and considered. It gives grounded information on how to process grief, talk to children, plan memorial services and tributes to a loved dog’s memory and, importantly, how to cope with those who may not understand the depth of that love and loss.
Highly recommend this book, to have on the bookshelf when you need it, to give in a timely way to someone else who needs it now.
Update on The Night Gardener (St. Martin’s Press, 2027-2028). I am now about 75K words in on a 90K word manuscript, due for delivery on Dec. 1. So enjoying the sweet energy and healing of this book. Nature has the power to lift us in surprising ways.
Jake and Gambit have starring roles and some truly interesting animal characters take a bow, as well. From a dog that busts out of his house to steal berries, to a philandering duck that shacks up on my porch, to a pushy, pink, Peeping Tom squirrel, to a hen who beats up a hawk, to an opossum who eerily reminds me of my grandmother. And more. They all walk, run, waddle, or toddle through the garden. They are fun to remember and great fun to write.
I look forward to sharing this joyful book with you.
As always, thanks for connecting!
