The emotions, memories, and thoughts on this page are from the men and women involved in Animal Rescue. Not everything here is easy to read -- but it wasn't easy to live, either. Danes4me@ptd.net

INDIAN LEGEND

There is an Indian legend which says when a human dies there is a bridge they must cross to enter into heaven. At the head of that bridge waits every animal that human encountered during their lifetime. The animals, based upon what they know of this person, decide which humans may cross the bridge.... and which are turned away.

Author Unknown

~*~*~*~*~

I remember the lady that was with him that day. She was well dressed, and appeared to be a reasonably educated person. I remember him sitting next to her. He was a Shetland Sheepdog, sable and white with a touch of distinguishing gray on his muzzle. The master of maturity had laid it's hand upon him, hazing the brown eyes slightly. He sat with dignity at his assigned post. I wondered how he would react when the leash was given to me and his tailored owner walked out the door without him.

"Reason for Surrender, Ma'am?" I asked. "We just don't have time for him anymore", came the flat, emotionless answer. Our front doormoved slightly. I thought it must be the wind. I asked the lady if she was aware that a 12 year old dog did not stand a very good chance of finding another home. Yes, she understood. The front door moved again, a little further this time. I questioned her as to the dog's veterinarian, and after getting the phone number, I called the vet. Generally on a dog this age, the vet may be able to enlighten us in regards to a medical problem that the owners may not be willing to deal with. Once again, the front door moved and caught my eye. The medical history of the dog was clean, no medical problems were noted.

I walked over to the front door to pull it closed, when I noticed a small pair of blue eyes peering through the crack. I opened the door to find little blond girl, maybe 4 years old. The teary-eyed child had been trying to open the door all this time. As I opened the door to let her in, a look of disgust came across the face of the lady owner.

The child rushed in and embraced the elegant Sheltie. The owner glared at me and curtly asked if we were finished. I replied yes in a very confused voice. The owner, now also apparently the mother of this child proceeded to pry the crying girl away from the dog. I stood there like a dimwit, not quite sure what was going on. "Let GO of him!" she yelled, "we have to go NOW!" The child sobbed and buried her face in the dog's ruff. Through her sniffling I could make out the words "I'll be good, please mommy, nooo".

As the mother literally drug her daughter out of the office, the last words I heard the mom say as the door slowly closed were "I told you if you didn't clean your room, I would…." I have known for a long time how callous people can be with their pets. This day made me wonder if compassion was a thing of the past. To sacrifice the life of an animal to "teach a lesson" to a child was by far the shallowest, most heartless reason I have ever come across in all my years at the humane society (Note: location unknown).

I wish I could console that child. And I wish I could remember that dog's name.

Author Unknown

~*~*~*~*~

DEATH ROW WALKER
Who will it be Lord if not me?
Who will be the last loving person they see?
As I walk DEATH ROW and I have to know,
I can not save them all ~

Who will it be Lord to have to say
" This one and that one. "
As I look away,
From the big scared eyes staring at me, piercing my heart
That it has to be
I can not save them all ~

Who will it be Lord, to face the pain?
Trying to remember we're making gains.

Still to many that's plain to see.
But who will it be Lord if it isn't me?

Lord walk with me and help me choose.
You made them all but some I'll lose ~

Help me to see what I need to see and shelter my eyes for they are a
mirror
of my soul.
Don't cloud them with to much sorrow, lest I fall ~

And Dear Lord when I can no longer walk, teach me then to crawl.
For on my Knees I should be, thanking you Lord that it is me.

For I am guided by Your right hand
And I believe my work is part of Your plan.

Not just a whole lot of talk...
But oh yes LORD
To WALK the WALK.

This poem is in honor of " OUR WALKER " Connie.
May the WALK get shorter and her heart stay strong.

Written by
Lynn Kossen

~*~*~*~*~

A Survivors Tail
by Clifton A. Cross
(posted on The Great Dane Mailing List 6/6/03)

Unthinkable. Impossible. Unbelievable.

It's hard to find words to express how it makes one feel to look at the victims who survived weeks of torture in a house in North Carolina. They were trapped in cages with no food, no water and eventually, almost no breathable air. They are the North Carolina Nineteen, the surviving Golden Retrievers rescued from a situation as bizarre as it was cruel.

We knew some of these dogs, Karen Orr, President of the Foothills Golden Retriever Rescue says. We had seen them in the ring. Beautiful, 80-85 pound dogs. To see them the way they were&I just can't get over it. Nobody who sees them can.

The dogs were seized from a grooming business by local authorities. In all, 26 dogs had been locked in small kennels, apparently for weeks without food or water. All we can figure is that they ate their own feces to survive, Orr says. They had it caked on their teeth. Some of them were lying in six inches of feces and pools of urine. You just can't imagine how horrible it was. The pads of their paws were bleached by the ammonia.

Investigating deputies from the Haywood Sheriff's Department discovered the trapped dogs after receiving a tip. Upon hearing the howling dogs inside the building, the deputies broke out several windows to allow some fresh air into the building. However, ventilation equipment had to be brought in before anyone could go into the building to rescue the dogs. The smell of ammonia was so strong it would incapacitate anyone who went in. Jean Hazzard, [director of the Haywood County Animal Shelter] actually collapsed and had to be dragged out of the building by a deputy.

Eventually, volunteers were able to get into the building, where they found 26 dogs. Six were dead. The remaining 19 were only husks. One would later die after being rescued, it's organs damaged beyond recovery. When I picked up one of the dogs, it was like lifting a piñata, Orr says. When seized, the dogs, which should have weighed anywhere from 65 to 85 pounds, weighed from 18 to 37 pounds. It seems like it should be a typo, but it is accurate: a four-year-old female Golden weighed just 18 pounds.

A few of the dogs were claimed by owners who had boarded their dogs at the business, and the remaining dogs were turned over to Foothills Golden Retriever Rescue by the District Attorney's Office in Waynesville and the Animal Shelter. Once we had the dogs in our custody, we had to start the process of cleaning them up, Orr says. A couple of the dogs had their fur so matted that they couldn't even stand.

The process of cleaning up the dogs was time consuming and nauseating. I grabbed one of the mats on one dog's back, Orr says, and it just pulled away from the dog. Sometimes a mat will do that if it's loose in the dog's fur. But then I looked down and saw that a huge patch of skin came off with the mat. I cried.
Here I am trying to help this dog, and I was making it worse. But her skin was like wet tissue. The volunteers used (and ruined) three sets of clippers working on the first four dogs, cutting away mats and cleaning the dogs as gently as possible. What was so amazing, beyond the fact that the dogs were still alive, was that none of them lashed out at us, you know, that instinctual reaction to pain? It was as if they knew we were there to help them.

After the first day, eight volunteers worked tirelessly to clean up the remaining dogs in a marathon 17-hour cleanup operation. Several volunteers wanted to take home some of the rescued puppies, and then we told them that the dogs were anywhere from four to 11 years old, Orr says. They freaked out.

After the cleanup, there was still much to do. Each dog was placed in a foster home, to be rehabilitated and evaluated for adoption. We had trouble with several of the dogs. They simply weren't able to process food. So we had to reintroduce them to eating. Anything. Any kind of food at all. One foster family fed their charge spoonfuls of yogurt. Another shared grilled cheese sandwiches for a week. Slowly, the dogs began to recover, but it was, and is, an ongoing process. For instance, they had to be trained not to relieve themselves inside the kennel. There's one dog in particular that could go for a 45-minute walk, and then would wet inside the kennel, Orr says.

Donations from around the country have been pouring in. A long list of volunteers grew even longer as the news spread about the dogs. People who have had long-standing disagreements put their differences aside, Orr says. It was amazing. Everybody mobilized to save these dogs. It was a wonderful thing to see.

"We can't help but wonder why such horrors could occur. We knew the owner of the business. We saw her at dog shows. How does it happen that we didn't know things were that bad for her? Why did these dogs have to suffer like this? Was it just so that more people would hear about the rescue program? How is it that these dogs could suffer so much, and yet they still display affection, and tenacity like we humans could never do?

Sam, one of the rescued dogs who is staying with Orr for the time being answers all of Orr's questions while standing on shaking legs. He wags his shaved tail, and gives Orr a Golden Retriever's trademark smile. For the humans, it's not the most satisfying of answers. But for a Golden Retriever, it's all the answer you'll ever need.

Clifton A. Cross is a writer and Golden Retriever Foster in
Simpsonville, SC.

Permission to use this article granted by:
FootHills Golden Retriever Rescue
PO Box 9077
Greenville SC 29604

~*~*~*~*~

WHY ME?

I don't know why I 'm homeless and no one cares for me,
I've tried to be a good little pup, and as any dog can be.
I had a home for a little while but one day I heard them say,
"You can't keep this dog around," so they took me away.

They left me on a lonely road, no shelter and food for a pup,
I waited each day for their return, but now I've given up.
There's only one that knows I'm here, that knows of my awful plight,
A kitten that searches for food through the day,
I hear her cry at night.

She lives beneath a pile of wood, so small so scared, so thin,
To abandon a kitten so small and frail seems a terrible sin.
Help us dear friend, this kitten and me, so hungry and so alone,
Guide some kind soul to find us and give us a home, sweet home.

(Author Unknown)

~*~*~*~*~

"My Name is Sam"

After I was discharged from the Navy, Jim and I moved back to Detroit to use our GI bill benefits to get some schooling. Jim was going for a degree in Electronics and I after much debating decided to get mine in Computer Science. One of the classes that was a requirement was Speech. Like many people I had no fondness for getting up in front of people for any reason let alone to be the center of attention as I stuttered my way through some unfamiliar subject, but I couldn't get out of the requirement and so I found myself in my last semester before graduation with Speech as one of my classes.

On the first day of class our professor explained to us that he was going to leave the subject manner of our talks up to us, but he was going to provide the motivation of the speech. We would be responsible for six speeches, each with a different motivation. For instance our first speech's purpose was to inform. He advised us to pick subjects that we were interested in and knowledgeable about. I decided to center my six speeches around animals especially dogs.

For my first speech to inform, I talked about the equestrian art of dressage. For my speech to demonstrate, I brought my German Shepherd, Bodger to class and demonstrated obedience commands. Finally the semester was almost over and I had but one more speech to give. This speech was to take the place of a written final exam and was to count for fifty per cent of our grade.

The speeches motivation was to persuade.

After agonizing over a subject matter, and keeping with my animal theme, I decided on the topic of spaying and neutering pets. My goal was to try to persuade my classmates to neuter their pets. So I started researching the topic. There was plenty of material, articles that told of the millions of dogs and cats that were euthanasia every year, of supposedly beloved pets that were turned in to various animal control facilities for the lamest of reason, or worse dropped off far from home, bewildered and scared. Death was usually a blessing. The final speech was looming closer, but I felt well prepared. My notes were full of facts and statistics that I felt sure would motivate even the most naive of pet owner to succumb to my plea.

A couple of days before our speeches were due, I had the bright idea of going to the local branch of the Humane Society and borrowing a puppy to use as a sort of a visual aid. I called the Humane Society and explained what I wanted. They were very happy to accommodate me. I made arrangements to pick up a puppy the day before my speech.

The day before my speech, I went to pick up the puppy. I was feeling very confident. I could quote all the statistics and numbers without ever looking at my notes. The puppy, I felt, would add the final emotional touch. When I arrived at the Humane Society I was met by a young guy, named Ron. He explained that he was the public relations person for the Humane Society. He was very excited about my speech and asked if I would like a tour of the facilities before I picked up the puppy. I enthusiastically agreed. We started out in the reception area, which was the general public's initial encounter with the Humane Society. The lobby was full, mostly with people dropping off various animals that they no longer wanted. Ron explained to me that this branch of the Humane society took in about fifty animal a day and adopted out twenty.

As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation, "I can't keep him, he digs holes in my garden" "There such cute puppies, I know you will have no trouble finding homes for them." "She is wild , I can't control her." I heard one of Humane Society's volunteer explain to the lady with the litter of puppies that the Society was filled with puppies and that these puppies, being black, would immediately be put to sleep. Black puppies, she explained, had little chance of being adopted. The woman who brought the puppies in just shrugged, "I can't help it" she whined " They are getting too big, I don't have room for them."

We left the reception area, Ron lead me into the staging area where all the incoming animal were evaluated for adoptability. Over half never even made it to the adoption center. There were just too many. Not only were people bringing in their own animal, but strays were also dropped off. By law the humane society had to hold a stray for three days. If the animal was not claimed by then it was euthanised, since there was no background information on the animal. There were already too many animals that had a known history eagerly provided by their soon to be x owners. As we went through the different areas, I felt more and more depressed. No amount of statistics, could take the place of seeing the reality of what this throw away attitude did to the living breathing animal. It was over overwhelming.

Finally Ron stopped in front of a closed door. "That's it." He said. "Except for this." I read the sign on the door. "Euthanization Area." "Do you want to see one.? He asked.

Before I could decline, he interjected, "You really should, you can't tell the whole story unless you experience the end." I reluctantly agreed. "Good." He said " I already cleared it and Peggy is expecting you." He knocked firmly on the door. It was opened immediately by a middle aged woman, in a white lab coat. "Here's the girl I was telling you about." Ron explained. Peggy looked me over. "Well I'll leave you here with Peggy and meet you in the reception area in about fifteen minutes. I'll have the puppy ready." With that Ron departed, leaving me standing in front of the stern looking Peggy.

Peggy motioned me in. As I walked into the room, I gave a audible gasp. The room was small and sparten. There were a couple of cages on the wall and a cabinet with syringes and vials of a clear liquid. In the middle of the room was a examining table with a rubber mat on top. There were two doors other then the one I had entered. Both were closed, one said to incinerator room, and the other had no sign, but I could hear various animals noises coming for behind the closed door. In the back of the room, near the door that was marked incinerator, were the objects that caused my distress. two wheel barrels, filled with the bodies of dead kittens and puppies. I stared in horror. Nothing had prepared me for this, I felt my legs grow weak and my breathing become rapid and shallow. I wanted to run from that room, screaming.

Peggy seemed not to notice my state of shock. She started talking about the euthanizaton process, but I wasn't hearing her. I could not tear my gaze away from the wheel barrels and those dozens of pathetic little bodies. Finally, Peggy seemed to noticed that I was not paying attention to her. "Are you listening?" She asked irritably. "I'm only going to go through this once. I tore my gaze from the back of the room and looked at her. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing would come out, so I nodded. She told me that behind the unmarked door were the animals that were scheduled for euthanasia that day. She picked up the a chart that was hanging from the wall. "One fifty three is next." She said as she looked at the chart. "I'll go get him." She laid down the chart on the examining table and started for the unmarked door. Before she got to the door she stopped and turned around. "You aren't going to get hysterical are you?" She asked " Because that will only upset the animals." I shook my head. I had not said a word since I walked into that room. I still felt unsure if I would be able to without breaking down into tears.

As Peggy open the unmarked door I peered into the room beyond. It was a small room, but the walls were lined and stacked with cages. It looked like they were all occupied. Peggy opened the door of one of the lower cages and removed the occupant. From what I could see it looked like a medium size dog. She attached a leash and ushered the dog into the room in which I stood. As Peggy brought the dog into the room I could see that the dog was no more than a puppy maybe five or six months old. The pup looked to be a cross between a Lab and a German shepherd. He was mostly black, with a small amount of tan above his eyes and on his feet.

He was very excited and bouncing up and down, trying to sniff everything in this new environment. Peggy lifted the pup onto the table. She had a card in her hand. which she laid on the table next to me. I read the card. It said that number one fifty three was a mixed Shepherd, 6 months old. He was surrendered two days ago by a family. Reason of surrender was given as jumps on children. At the bottom was a note that said Name: Sam.

Peggy was quick and efficient , from lots of practice, I guessed. She laid one fifty three down on his side and tied a rubber tourniquet around his front leg. She turned to fill the syringe from the vial of clear liquid. All this time I was standing at the head of the table. I could see the moment that one fifty three went from a curious puppy to a terrified puppy. He did not like being held down and he started to struggle. It was then that I finally found my voice. I bent over the struggling puppy and whispered "Sam." " Your name is Sam." At the sound of his name Sam quit struggling. He wagged his tail tentatively and his soft pink tongue darted out and licked my hand And that is how he spent his last moment. I watched his eyes fade from hopefulness to nothingness. It was over very quickly. I had never even seen Peggy give the lethal shot. The tears could not be contained any longer. I kept my head down so as not to embarrass myself in front of the stoic Peggy. My tears fell onto the still body on the table.

"Now you know." Peggy said softly. Then she turned away. "Ron will be waiting for you."

I left the room. Although it seem like it had been hours, only fifteen minutes had gone by since Ron had left me at the door. I made my way back to the reception area. True to his word, Ron had the puppy already to go. After giving me some instructions about what to feed the puppy , he handed the carrying cage over to me and wished me good luck on my speech That night I went home and spent many hours playing with the orphan puppy. I went to bed that night but I could not sleep. After awhile I got up and looked at my speech notes with their numbers and statistics. Without second thought I tore them up and threw them away. I went back to bed. Sometime during the night I finally fell asleep.

The next morning I arrived at my Speech class with Puppy Doe. When my turn came to give my speech. I walked up to the front the class with the puppy in my arms. I took a deep breath, and I told the class about the life and death of Sam. When I finished my speech I became aware that I was crying. I apologized to the class and took my seat. After class the teacher handed out a critique with our grades. I had got a "A". His comments said "Very moving and persuasive." Two days latter, on the last day of class, one of my classmates came up to me. She was a older lady that I had never spoken to in class. She stopped me on our way out of the class room. "I want you to know that I adopted the puppy you brought to class." She said. "His name is Sam."

Author unknown

~*~*~*~*~

For Hanna

What morning when you waken
Is the right one to decide
That this dog will be forsaken
And no more with you abide?

A dog like this, she'll find a home
And what will be the harm
In telling all the children
That she'll be living on a farm?

As you bring her in and leave her
In her lonely metal cage
And act as though you have no choice
I feel a silent rage

What heinous thing has this dog done?
What has been her crime?
Or are there other things more pressing
And you don't have the time?

This dog who loved her master
And served him day by day
Has become an inconvenience
And has now been sent away

She keeps a faithful vigil
The tears in my eyes burn
While with trusting expectation
She awaits for your return

A dog like this will have no home,
No master will be found
For who will take an older dog
When younger ones abound?

Now at last her time has come,
And with a gentle nod
I'll cradle your dog in my arms
And send her back to God.

Elizabeth Clark

~~~~~

A lesson from Sapphire

I know that I'm preaching to the choir. I'm mainly venting frustration and hoping to speak to any newbie/lurkers who might not understand the importance of grooming a long haired/double coated dog.

Today we had to euthanize a woolly Siberian female named Sapphire. She was beautiful. From the looks of her coat, no one had ever bothered to brush her. There were tea bag mats hanging from her hips and legs and belly the size of my hand. The brother and sister-in-law had brought her in on their vet's advice to be stripped down.

I forewarned them that she probably had hot spots and then saw a few flies on her and mentioned that there were probably maggots in the coat. They had been to the vet yesterday who had removed "all" the maggots but told them to have her groomed within 24 hours to prevent the maggots from coming back.

She was laying in the lobby and I thought she was playing that old, "I ain't goin and you gonna haveta carry me" game that our dogs so often played. I finally got her up and she walked slowly back through treatment with me. I was heading for a crate to hold her until I finished with the dog on the table. She collapsed in treatment. She was having a hard time breathing.

We immediately began stripping her coat off. The smell was horrible. She was literally rotting alive. When we got the coat off her back, there were several holes in her flesh the size of a quarter, one of which was 1/2" deep and it was filled with maggots. There were holes just one maggot wide and several the width of pencil erasers. There were two other nickel sized, 1/2" to 3/4" deep. The maggots filled every hole and were all over her skin. After we got so far on her, the clippers where doing nothing. The hair literally fell away from her body.

The whole time this sweet girl just laid on the rack with her head cradled in a techs arms, sighing. I wasn't the only one crying.

The brother called his mother to ask if they should treat or euthanize. The treatment was going to be several hundreds of dollars, possibly even into the thousands. We also didn't know if or what else might be wrong with her as she was critical. The family decided to euthanized and end her suffering.

What I discovered was that in the vet's estimation, the maggots had only been on the skin for 48 hours. Sapphire had probably suffered from heat related illnesses directly related to her lack of grooming. The mattes just formed an oven around her skin, heating any trapped moisture, thus creating a perfect feeding ground for the maggots.

Please, please, please, take the time to properly groom your dogs. If, for some reason, you cannot put the time into the grooming and can't/won't find a home that can, take the dog to a groomer regularly to be combed out, dematted, and rimmed/stripped. I hate to see the northern dogs stripped. But I would rather have the dogs stripped than to see them suffer from the pain of being eaten alive.

The perfect answer would be for every owner to be committed to properly grooming their dog. But we live in the real world and rarely get perfect answers.

Thanks for your patience. To you, Sapphire.

Tami in Knoxville
soulsongkennel@juno.com

~*~*~*~*~

MESSENGER

Monday was the day from hell.

Nothing seemed to be going right. Delays, stupidity, forgetfulness, frustration. An all-over feeling of blah. And it was cold.

When my ride to dog training class fell through, I decided to take my cattledog, Dru, for a nice walk. Maybe the day could be redeemed. Maybe we'd meet a canine playmate at the park.

As I was walked down West Boulevard, two people hailed me.

"Hey, do you live around here?"

There was desperation in their voices. "Sure do."

"Can you help us?"

I approached and I could see that the man was holding something in his hands. Being rather near-sighted, I couldn't see what it was. What stuck in my mind were his painted-black fingernails.

As I drew closer, I could now see that he held a big black crow. "He's really hurt," the woman said, "we don't know what to do! I think he got hit by a car."

I whipped out my trusty cell phone, called my friend, Alana, who works for a vet.

"I have an injured crow. Can you come pick me up?" (I don't drive.)Of course, she said she would.

I gingerly took the squawking, twitching bird. His head was thrown back, his eyes flickering madly. I placed him inside my coat and asked the fellow to zip me up. I tied Dru's leash around my waist and back home we went, the crow struggling and caw-cawing, Dru dancing excitedly around me.

After I arrived home, and put Dru in his crate, I decided to wait on my side steps for Alana to come.

I spoke softly to the crow, "Shhhh, it's OK, it's OK" and gently settled him in a more comfortable position. His cries had taken on that burbling, harsh sound that usually means blood is in the lungs. Not good. I reached inside my coat and stroked his breast with my thumb. I cooed quietly, "There, there, Thunder" (for I'd named the crow that) "you'll be OK. Poor baby!"

I had visions in my head of seeing Thunder nursed back to health and eventually seeing him set free. I'd help as much as I could. The thought thrilled me. Thunder started to settle under my caress. "This is good," I thought, "He'll get well."

The cawing and burbling had stopped; he was just breathing now. I kept up the tender talk, hoping I was soothing him. He WAS calmer. This was such a good sign. I felt so good, so helpful.

I want to say it was sudden but I guess it really wasn't. One moment, it seemed, I could feel his breathing and heartbeat under my thumb; the next moment I couldn't feel anything.

I cautiously opened my jacket just a bit, and laid my hand on him. I held my breath, hoping against hope, but he was gone. I bent over him and wept. I kept him inside my jacket, next to my heart, until his body's warmth was gone. I held him next to my heart until Alana came and took him out of my hands. Tears glistened on his feathers. Tears for an animal I did not even know.

Alana took him to the park and laid him to rest underneath a tree and covered him with leaves. It was the first time I had felt the last vestiges of a beating heart. I had arrived too late to witness my father's last moments. To say goodbye and let him go. I had not been able to cope with my mother's removal from life support. No, my brother was there for her last sigh as the machines stopped breathing for her. But, here on my side steps, on a cold November evening, perhaps this had been my chance to help a soul make its transition from life into death and beyond. Maybe Thunder the Crow came into my life for that very reason. He needed my help and love. I don't know.

I am sure that someday I will understand the significance of Thunder's brief interlude in my life. That I will understand what it all meant. For all that happens to us and around us is part of the tapestry of our lives -- the color, pattern and weave of who we are becoming every moment. Right now, I don't know.

I have heard it said that Crow is a messenger, that he represents magic and luck. I don't know.

But I do know that when I pass on, I will meet all my animals at the Rainbow Bridge. There will be an assortment of wonderful dogs and cats, and my pony, Pooh.

And one other to greet me. A crow named Thunder.

~*~*~*~*~

ONLY A DOG

Do you remember thinking it was time that the kids learned some responsibility and scanning the newspaper ads for a cheap dog for sale? Do you remember bringing home this little ball of shivering fur and putting her out in the yard on a chain that was too heavy on a night that was too cold? Of course you don't remember this. After all, she is only a dog.

Do you remember this baby crying because she was afraid and alone? Do you remember screaming at her to be quiet and finally going out there to kick her to drive home the lesson? Of course you don't remember this. After all, she is only a dog.

Do you remember the many times you noticed her water bowl was empty and her food bowl was covered with mold and thinking that it was the kids' job to take care of her? Do you remember seeing that her coat was dull and lifeless and, in many places, chewed away down to the skin because of the parasites no one took the time to rid her of? Of course you don't remember this. After all, she is only a dog.

Do you remember her first heat and the neighbor's male visiting her night after night? Do you remember thinking that letting her have the puppies would be a good experience for the kids? Do you remember that every one of those pups died because their mother was no more than a puppy herself? Of course you don't remember this. After all, she is only a dog.

I know you remember the animal control officer coming to the house, accusing you of animal cruelty and taking her away because you couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. After all, she is only a dog.

I thought you might be interested in how this girl is doing today. You see, once she found a home that gave her love, attention and proper care, she blossomed into a beautiful, loyal companion. To these people, she is much more than only a dog.

She became a therapy dog and now goes to nursing homes and hospices where she brightens the lives of the infirm and dying. To some of these people, she has given hope. To others, she's given them a reason to keep living. To even others, she's given them the will to die peacefully, with a smile on their lips. To these people, she is much more than only a dog.

Just last week, she helped find a little boy that was lost in the woods. She spent a long, cold winter's night, lying over him to keep him warm and risked her own life to protect his. To this little boy and his family, she is much more than only a dog.

What is the difference? Why did that filthy, flea-ridden animal chained in your backyard suddenly become so important to so many? Because she never gave up her trust in people and she never once thought, "After all, he is only a human."

ANONYMOUS

~*~*~*~*~

I found your dog today. No, he has not been adopted by anyone. Most of us who live out here own as many dogs as we want, those who do not own dogs do so because they choose not to. I know you hoped he would find a good home when you left him out here, but he did not. When I first saw him he was miles from the nearest house and he was alone, thirsty, thin and limping from a cactus burr in his paw.

How I wish I could have been you as I stood before him. To have seen his tail wag and his eyes brighten as he bounded into your arms, knowing you would find him, knowing you had not forgotten him. To see the forgiveness in his eyes for the suffering and pain he had known in his never-ending quest to find you.....But I was not you. And despite all my persuasion, his eyes beheld a stranger. He did not trust, he would not come.

He turned and continued his journey, one he was sure would soon bring him to you. He does not understand you are not looking for him. He only knows you are not there, he only knows he must find you. This is more important than food or water or the stranger who can give him these things.

Persuasion and pursuit seemed futile; I did not even know his name. I drove home, filled a bucket with water and a bowl with food and returned to where we had met. I could see no sign of him, but I left my offering under the tree where he had sought shelter from the sun and a chance to rest. You see, he is not of the desert. When you domesticated him , you took away any instinct of survival out here. His purpose demands that he travel during the day. He doesn't know that the sun and heat will claim his life. He only knows he has to find you.

I waited hoping he would return to the tree; hoping my gift would build an element of trust so I might bring him home, remove the burr from his paw, give him a cool place to lie and help him understand that the part of his life with you is now over. He did not return that morning and at dusk the water and food were still there untouched. And I worried. You must understand that many people would not attempt to help your dog. Some would run him off, others would call the county and the fate you thought you saved him from would be preempted by his suffering from days without food and water.

I returned again before dark. I did not see him. I went again early the next morning only to find the food and water still untouched If only you were here so you could call his name. Your voice is so familiar to him.

I began pursuit in the direction he had taken yesterday, doubt overshadowing my hope of finding him. His search for you was desperate, it could take him many miles in 24 hours.

It is hours later and a good distance from where we first met, but I have found your dog. His thirst has been stopped, it is no longer a torment to him. His hunger has disappeared, he no longer aches. The burrs in his paws bother him no more. Your dog has been set free from his burdens, you see, your dog has died.

I kneel next to him and I curse you for not being here yesterday so I could have seen the glow, if just for a moment, in those now vacant eyes. I pray that his journey has taken him to that place I think you hoped he would find. If only you knew what he went through to reach it....and I agonize, for I know, that were he to awaken at this moment, and I were to be you, his eyes would sparkle with recognition and his tail wag with forgiveness.

Author unknown

~*~*~*~*~

WHAT DID I DO?

What did I do, my master, my friend,
That I should meet such a devilish end?
You brought me in to the shelter today,
And I heard you say you're moving away.

Why can't I go wherever you go?
I'm a really good dog, as surely you know.
I'm completely housebroken, quiet and all,
And I dearly love a good game of ball.

You got me here when I was just a pup,
And its been several years since I have grown up.
We've had such good times, just you and I,
Why is it then that you've left me to die?

I thought all along, it was 'til death do us part,
But your leaving me here has broken my heart.
I don't know why I should meet such an end,
I guess you were my master, and not my true friend.

-Mollie McCurdy

~*~*~*~*~

Sometimes, the tears we shed are ones of joy, or relief, or awe at the rays of goodness that can shine out of other people ...

Dog Gone Good Samaritans

For years, I was employed by a "living history" farm, part of a large outdoor historical museum. Several days each week, I and a few trusty Border Collies would move sheep through the "village" and relate information about sheep, working dogs, wool, and agricultural life in 19th century America. My menagerie and I lived just a few minutes from the museum.

My heart's true home, however, was a "real" farm an hour away. The days we weren't at the living history farm were spent there, where hundreds of sheep, dairy cows, and 500 acres of crops gave both the dogs and myself plenty of truly rewarding work, often in very "fragrant" conditions. Each evening, I'd put off the inevitable drive back to the city as long as possible.

My aging pick-up truck was appropriate for hauling manure-covered farm dogs. An insulated cap on the back kept them warm or cool as weather demanded, and also prevented them from spreading their eau de farm to the upholstery. But the truck died one evening at a busy intersection about ten miles from home.

With six dogs in the back, and the end hanging out in traffic, I turned on the blinkers, ran across to a gas station and arranged for a tow truck. As I returned, I noticed a classy full-size sedan pulled behind the truck with its lights also flashing. Two elderly women asked if they could push me into a parking lot just up the road, and I gratefully accepted. I told them how scared I'd been that someone would clip the rear of the truck, since I had dogs in there.

Instantly they wanted to drive all seven of us home. I explained that the dogs had been working on a farm and were filthy and smelled terrible. A tow truck was coming, I assured them. They were horrified at the idea of the dogs riding in the truck as it was towed, and insisted on saving us! So I canceled the tow truck and climbed into the back of the obviously well-cared-for luxury car with my farm boots on. Twenty-four not-clean paws and a lot of dirty fur surrounded me.

The ladies insisted they were already headed in my direction and assured me that they loved dogs and not to worry a bit about the dirt! They refused to tell me their names when I asked, and refused any payment. When we pulled into my driveway, I tried to read their license plate number, thinking I could find a way to thank them if I had a name! It was dark, and they pulled away before I could decipher the numbers. It was clear, however, that the plates were for a handicapped driver.

Why would two elderly women risk their own safety to stop for a broken-down, beat-up pickup? The driver's parting words remind me every day that taking a risk for someone else can pay you back:

"Just do the same for someone else someday," she requested.

by Nancy Hebb
Manchester, Michigan, USA

~*~*~*~*~

The Family Behind Me                                                                                    Raising a puppy for the Seeing Eye
Former Fosters - Special Mentions                                                              Current Foster (See who is at our house now)
In Memory - Our Pets Gone but not Forgotten                                           Premier Products (Collars, Gentle Leaders, etc.)
Rescuers' Tales
The Page of Tears
Jewel and the Gems of Rescue

Pocono Guiding Pups
Mid-Atlantic Great Dane Rescue League