Bogie

 We’re going on a road trip, Richelle, I announced one day last month when she arrived to volunteer at SCARS. This was a digression from our “set in stone” schedule, but we went ahead and fed and walked the dogs, put them up and headed out.

A rural mail carrier had contacted me about a dog that had been dumped on a dirt road in a remote area of another county and he needed help, fast.  No shelters had room and this particular county did not have a facility for strays.

I had just finished announcing under no circumstances was I taking another large dog, much less another pit bull. They are hard to place for obvious reasons and responsible homes are scarce as hen’s teeth. However, once again I ate my words and asked for the directions.

We drove down gravel roads that wound around, and passed fields of corn that stretched endlessly ahead. Good grief, how could he have gotten all the way out here. There was only one way, he was dumped out of a car that sped away before Our dog could even blink.

Eventually we spotted a farmhouse with a propane tank on the side of the road where I was told he had collapsed.

And there he was, a large, but skinny pit bull lying in the dirt in the sun. The owner of the house came to meet us, said he appeared to be friendly but she hesitated to get too close, but fed him the night before.

On close inspection his toe nails were long and curved rendering it difficult for him to walk. His skin was red and raw, covered in sores, and most of the hair on his body was gone. He essentially had no ears as they had been cut away long ago with only a small piece of skin remaining on each side. He needed help.

Richelle and I carefully slipped a leash around his neck and he lumbered painfully to the van. Richelle kept turning around and stroking his head saying, “God love ya” and he began to relax as we drove along heading for the vet clinic.

And his journey continued.

I named him Bogie. He was gentle and loving and patient and didn’t protest when our vet tried to cut his long, hard toenails. He examined his skin and shook his head at the condition of his ears. Probably a “home job,” and I cringed at the thought of the pain he had endured.

Our bunkhouse is reserved for dogs who need to recover quietly, dogs who have basically fought to stay alive and are at the end of their endurance. We brought him inside, fed him and hoisted him up onto the sofa. Bogie settled deep into the cushions, sighed and slept for thirteen hours without moving. Every now and then he would lift a heavy eyelid until I quietly turned out the light and closed the door.

A month went by and no amount of advertising ended in finding an owner. I considered this a blessing.   

I fed him three meals every day, hovered over him, let him swim in the pond which helped build his strength. At first he tiptoed gingerly into the water, lifted his feet on the rocks and retreated back onto the shore. But slowly he began swimming further and further out, listening to distant voices teaching him the primal art of venturing into deeper waters.

Bogie’s skin began to heal, he had many visits to the vet until I knew it was time to find him a home.  He loved people and we are spread thin here, but where could I send him and have any peace after what he had been through. I prayed every day, every night that the right home would come along in spite of the fact that pit bulls numbered in the hundreds and many people wanted them for the wrong reasons.

But it happened. The right person really existed. Bogie was going home.

The prospective adopter and I emailed back and forth and spoke on the phone several times and finally he drove to meet him. After an hour of getting to know each other, our hero loaded Bogie into his car and the two settled in with Bogie riding shotgun in the front seat. “We will stop along the way and get an ice cream cone,” his new dad announced, and I said my last goodbye.

As the car turned around and headed out, dust lifting into the air, I leaned on the gate feeling drained. It had been a long hard month, emotionally and physically exhausting, and I had gone in the bunkhouse every night and we snuggled together on the sofa. I massaged his back until he sighed and drifted off to sleep. He was a treasure beyond words.

His new dad texted me that Bogie is doing just fine. He loves his ice cream, enjoys sitting by the fireplace as the nights are getting chilly and loves his long walks. 

The text closed with “I love him.”

Chief

 Home for Christmas…

This is a story I never thought I would write. Not because I don’t believe in miracles, but I feared this situation was almost beyond hope.

Two years ago a litter of five month old puppies was dumped at the city shelter when the owner realized he was way over his head. There were too many of them and they had become aggressive due to being locked in a small area with minimal care. At the bottom of the pecking order was a small black and white pit bull puppy who took the brunt of the aggression. In short, he was being beaten up.

The decision at the shelter was that he needed to get out and fast. He was cowering, thin, shaking and not eating. This would not work.

About that time I had stopped by for some reason and began talking to a staff member who knew me. She asked if I would consider taking this pup and we walked down the hall to his pen. He was, as she had said, not doing well. He was scared, and looking at the cement floor, I knew I had no choice. If the shelter trusted me to help him, that is what I would do.

For awhile everything went well. Chief seemed to like the other dogs, played a lot and slept well. Then one day I put him in the big yard and heard an earsplitting scream. Running out to check on him, I found him tearing at the bottom of the fence trying to get out, blood spurting everywhere. In a panic I scooped him up, put him in the car wrapped in towels and zoomed to the vet clinic. They did emergency surgery and I started rethinking my decision to bring him here. But when I went to pick him up, he began vigorously wagging his tail when he saw me. I scooped him up, he clung to me, and we went home.

I had to figure this out. I tried to anticipate and prevent a multitude of things that might trigger his anxiety.  One morning I discovered he had chewed up the plumbing under the sink in the Morton building and eaten most of the roof off of the igloo doghouse.  Keith was getting tired of rebuilding everything Chief destroyed, and our bills were piling up. Chief was like a student who did not succeed in a large class, he needed his world to be smaller and less stimulating.

Out of the 50 or more dogs at SCARS, he got along well with all but three and there were several scary dog fights. To his credit, he was not the one who started the fights which were ugly, but he sure finished them. Just another nail in his coffin. I kept telling him I had to be honest with would- be adopters and that if he did not change, he would never find his forever home.

Remember Jersey, the darling shepherd puppy who came here and became Chief’s best friend. They played together for hours and hours, and slept cuddled up together. They dragged a rope toy around endlessly. One day I took Jersey to the vet because he was not acting normal only to find out he had, at his young age, congestive heart failure and would not live long. It broke all of our hearts and I knew this would be devastating for Chief who had never had a buddy. His days were numbered and I held my breath and watched his every move. One morning I found Chief lying next to Jersey, his head resting on his back and I knew his pal was gone. Chief circled around Jersey’s blanket for hours and after that, he never chose a favorite friend again.

The juggling act to avoid a dog fight was exhausting and wearing me out. We had to move the three dogs in stages all day long, like Chinese Checkers, and keep them separated. It was nerve wracking and I often panicked that I might have left one out and forgotten. But I have a T shirt that says, “Not to spoil the ending, but everything is going to be OK.”

Is that a promise?

We realized that Chief was primarily a people dog. He loved every person who came here, especially children and many wanted to adopt him, but some were going to kennel him all day and others had dogs who would get in his face. I began to give up hope.

 Miracles come along when one is least expecting them and ambush you while you are looking the other way. Such was the case when a couple contacted us regarding Wilber and Orville. They adopted a dog from us twelve years ago who had since passed and they were now dogless. He told me about their lifestyle, they lived in the country, Dad worked from home and a tiny idea began forming in my head. I feared Wilber and Orville would wander off, but not Chief. Dare I bring “him” up?   I crossed my fingers, forged ahead and told them about Chief, including his problems, and nothing seemed to worry them.  I sent photo after photo, the favorite always being the one where Kirk White is holding him in his arms. They replied, “You had me at Chief.” Could my prayers, hopes and dreams for a sturdy little black and white dog finally be answered. He needed his own family desperately and longed for attention. He had lost his dearest friend and all of his siblings. Come on universe….

And so it happened. This wonderful couple came to meet him, loved him and took him home. He kept peeking at me over his shoulder as they put him in the car, and I assured him that everything was going to be OK, not to spoil the ending.

People who know me well, know that I do not like melodrama or crying in public….something I inherited from being raised in a military family. But when that car pulled away and I was alone, I rested my head on the gate and sobbed. It was as if a huge burden was suddenly lifted and I could breathe again. And maybe, just maybe, Chief had hit the lottery at last.

And then I looked up at the clouds drifting by.  I knew, oh yes, I knew there were powerful forces beyond my understanding that decided it was finally time for a scrappy little pit bull to get his very own home, just in time for Christmas.

Harvey part 2

A Christmas Saint.....

My friend and I were talking the other day about Chief, our black and white (very cute) pit bull, for whom there seems to be no adopter.  He is problematic for sure, but also lovable and fun. She reminded me there is someone for every dog, but finding that person is the key.

With that being said, my mind wandered back to a hot summer day two years ago when I got a most surprising telephone call.

“Maureen, this is Joe Smith, and I have a passenger in my car and I need somewhere to take him or face a divorce if he comes home with me. “ He went on to tell a most confusing story of finding a gorgeous and young St. Bernard tied to a fence in a  parking lot with a note attached…..”I need a home.” Joe looked around and saw no one in particular and stopped a few people, all of whom shook their heads and walked off. “I could not leave him there as it was so hot, so he is now in my car. Any suggestions?” We all know where that goes….the answer is supposed to be “Bring him here.” Of course, that is what I said. At one point we were teetering on being a St. Bernard rescue they were coming and going at record speed.

And so a big, burly, slobbery St. Bernard arrived at our gate with Joe being dragged behind him on a thin, frayed leash. A that point I was seriously considering moving to another state, but I gritted my teeth, and brought him into our large, fenced yard with a barn. That would at least let him meet the resident dogs through the fence and we could get an idea of his personality. My friend thanked me profusely and scurried away. I was now alone with a huge dog, temperament unknown.

 I called him Harvey and each day became a learning process. He was strong, really strong. He did not seem dog aggressive although he was a bit “iffy” around small dogs.

 Although there were no overt incidents, I reminded myself of the “Honeymoon period” that all of us in rescue have discovered. They start out as angels and often morph into Cujos.

The first alarm went off when a visiting teenager leaned down and he violently grabbed her pony tail and began jumping up and down. I immediately pulled him away from her, and to her credit, she stayed calm although tears were imminent. It happened again with a dog savy volunteer and we realized he thought pony tails were toys. It mattered not to him they were attached to a person and a 150 lb dog pulling  at the other end of a pony tail was painful.

I became more cautious. There were two more worrisome incidents and I became seriously concerned he was unadoptable. Here was a beautiful, young St. Bernard who misbehaved with several would be adopters, but was angelic around us. When a car came down the driveway he raced up and down the fence with such force that grass flew and people cringed witnessing the power behind that dog.

My next step was to put all of the dogs up in the evening and take him running behind the Gator hoping exercise would calm him down. We flew through fields of daisies, down to the pond and back until I hoped he was worn out . He even began swimming for prolonged periods but corralling him on a leash to put him up was exhausting and I was always alone.  After getting him settled for the night, I kissed him on his head and usually collapsed into the grass.

But then one day I saw an application for Harvey on  my email and I tentatively began to read. Most of the prior applications would never have worked, but I forged on. Hmm…retired single man, nice house, large yard, and always had Saint Bernards. Although he lived back East, he was willing to drive (we do not transport our dogs) I picked up the phone.

Thank goodness for our wonderful grown children who make everything easier by knowing how to navigate computers. His daughter had found Harvey on Petfinder and told him she would find a Bed and Breakfast near Auburn if the dog was available. 

After many long conversations with me throwing every warning at him  I could think of, he was not deterred and said he would drive to Kansas  the following week and spend the night at the B&B where his daughter had made reservations. 

We met at the local Gambinos when he arrived and he followed me to the house and I introduced them. I envisioned a disastrous meeting with Harvey jumping on his head and racing around hysterically, which he had been known to do. But I was wrong…so wrong…and how wonderful was that. Tom sat down on the sofa and Harvey came up to him and began wildly licking his face. He was insane over this man, he adored him. I could not believe my eyes. It was a miracle. The next morning Tom came back, leash in hand, and Harvey bolted towards him.  The two of them got in the car and it rumbled down the driveway, dust rising in the driveway. . I watched as they turned the corner and disappeared with many miles to go. Somehow I knew he would not be coming back. Yesterday he texted me pictures and said they were doing great and continued to have endless adventures.  He closed with “He will always be my Christmas Saint.” But you and I know there were two saints in the car that headed back East that December day.

Frankie

Here we go again ,I thought. My friend rescued  yet another three dogs from an auction. "Well, I couldn't let those horrible breeders get them , could I?" she  questioned. She assumed we have a money tree in the  back yard so I had better go water it fast.

OK...I will take them...get them groomed, socialized , spayed and neutered and on and on. This , of course takes weeks, so I sighed and began the long and arduous journey to their  forever homes.

One of them I named Frankie and not sure why, but it seemed to fit him. He was champagne colored and wagged his tail incessantly. He seemed to be ecstatic when I set him down on the grass, a place he had never been. He rolled and played and sniffed the ground endlessly.

The day he arrived, I put all three  in the yard while they played and when they were clearly  pooped, I picked them all up and carried them to their bed. But when I reached for Frankie he did not respond. How odd, I thought but I picked him up and looked at him closely. He was blind.

So the breeders were going to continue using him for breeding even though he was blind? This was reprehensible. I took him to our vet who said I was correct but  he had the ability to see shadows. This was most likely congenital which might make  his adoption more difficult. But then, I had been wrong before.

In responding to one inquiry I thought how perfect Frankie would be if he were sighted.  But what the heck, go for it and I sent them pictures and a brief writeup. Two days later mom and  her daughter were standing at our gate waiting to meet our boy.

And so , once again,  I was reminded that there are more kind, loving and compassionate people in the world than we sometimes realize . In a world of chaos and cruelty, kindness remains in us and surfaces when it is most needed. And Frankie needed them, needed someone to love and be loved in return. He had waited two years in loneliness and darkness in a cage, never losing his ability to be happy.

Frankie headed home that day. He knew where he was going, and  he was not afraid. Subsequently,  the reports are as I expected. He knows his  territory, plays with their other dog and is adjusting beautifully.

I needed this reminder, needed to have faith in humanity even though the news around the globe would have one disbelieve in human goodness. Frankie "sees" the good in everyone, and is a constant reminder that if we look closely,  beauty can be found in the most unlikely places.

Mike and Molly (party poodles)

Mike and Molly are purebred standard poodle puppies…high dollar dogs. Somehow they ended up at an auction (I have never been to one for fear of being arrested), breeders were bidding on dogs facing a bleak future in a dark crate, rarely seeing the light of day.  But one person stood in the back of the crowd, determined and brave, and outbid them all. Not quite sure where the money would come from she took them away from the madding crowd, unable to bear the thought of what might have become their destiny. Could SCARS take them, please.  In truth, I was not familiar with a Party Poodle, but found out they were rare and most desirable. Fluffy and soft, gentle and sweet, they won all of our hearts. It was clear from the beginning they were bonded and could not, should not be separated. Sibling rivalry did not even fit in this twosome. They adored each other and upon arrival, with strings with numbers around their necks , they clung to one another.

The groomer worked on them, they were spayed and neutered, socialized and fed as they were thin upon arrival. I finally posted them and had many wonderful applications. One couple seemed perfect, noted how much they loved one another, went home and started googling information on siblings, taking google as biblical. Well, we know how that goes. “Sibling rivalry” was a gloom and doom prediction and panic set in, common sense flew. Would we separate them and adopt out just one. Here is where the true and passionate rescue part of me enters the picture. I had witnessed the one crying plaintively when the other was taken to the other building for a bath.

I pictured the couple arriving, choosing the favorite, picking it up and laughing with lots of hugs and pictures being snapped. While the other one, which ever they chose to leave behind, would sit there, alone, at the gate, while they took  his sibling away. Oh well, he will get over it was surely their thought. But what about the hours and days of suffering which I have personally seen, until, at last they give up, curl up in a ball and sleep for days dreaming of the lost part of their soul. No appetite, no more  playing in the yard, joy of living gone.

Needless to say, my answer was a resounding NO. I have seen sibling rivalry and it can be worrisome. Therefore, I have separated a few who just would not let up on the other, but this was definitely not the case. It would have been cruelty beyond words to proceed with this heartless plan. And what about the quality of mercy. Back to square one.

Each night I hugged them and kissed them and reveled in the fact they were together, snuggled and warm after playing endlessly in the yard and going to the pond. The right home would come along. No need to hurry, they were babies.

In time a young couple came for a visit, fell in love and made the decision to adopt them together, of course, agreeing they should never be separated. They came back a week later to gather up the new members of their family, the air alive with excitement.  Someday there would be children who will grow up with the pups, and in the meantime they had nothing but love to give them.

 We put on collars with tags, food was loaded into the trunk, pictures were taken and two pups snuggled in the back seat ready to begin their wonderful new life. And there I was, back at the gate. “Drive carefully,” I said as I waved and the departing car, dust lifting into the air.  The husband leaned out of the window and said, “Of course, we have precious cargo.” Heading down he driveway toward home. they disappeared around the  bend, and were gone. Together.

Betsy

Betsy has found the perfect home!

Faux doodle #1

Would I take a Goldendoodle puppy rescued from an auction, she asked me. Well, that was a no brainer...I knew I could recoup the price on our adoption fee and doesn't everyone love  those dogs? So a little 5 month old registered Golden Doodle headed to SCARS. However , upon arrival I stopped dead in my tracks and said, "She really does not look like a doodle, " She is black, does not have a curly coat and her nose sure is long. So, I double checked the certification records and indeed she was a purebred Golden Doodle.

Well, ok then. I was not sure how to approach this as she was exuberant and wild, and somebody had surely slipped between the sheets.

But as we got to know her, she had the same effect on everyone who met her...they instantly fell in love.  Her face lit up when she met people, she hopped around like a bunny and licked all of the other dogs. She had no idea she was a faux doodle.

So , of course, when a family with three adorable children came to meet another dog, this little gal is the one who captured their hearts and the children BEGGED to adopt her.

After being spayed, and getting her shots, Mom came back from Lawrence today, alone, gathered up this little munchkin, and headed back with a big surprise for her family.

And I am reminded once again, that those we often overlook as being simply mutts, too ordinary to bother with, are often those of incomparable pedigrees and incomparable beauty.  And so it was the day our little Faux Doodle arrived here and won all of our hearts.

Mickey

A friend went to an auction of 300 dogs with no other purpose than to pick up a couple of Westies to transport to a rescue  back East, but while there, she saw two more little dogs among the crowd she felt she must save.  Scraping together the money, she outdid the breeders greedily choosing their next victim, took her two charges, stuffed them in her car and sped quickly away… She knows how choosy I am, how cautious, and contacted me saying, “They are with me and if you do not want them, or cannot pay me back, I am going to keep them one way or another. “

I knew she was true to her words, but I also knew she was taking on yet another responsibility when she had enough already. I will take them…bring them here.

After getting them neutered, groomed and current on shots, I posted the Lhasa first as he seemed to be a survivor. The other pup was still shut down and he needed more time.  “Micky” as I called the Lhasa was quite the little trooper. Once he decided to trust the new people, he began to blossom.

Somehow Mickey had decided that when he was rescued and set free, he would make up for lost time. In the meantime, I was wading through what seemed like an endless parade of applications. I came to realize that once someone has loved a Lhasa, they are hooked. They have to have another and yet, these dogs are not plentiful…especially through rescues.

One application sound perfect until I looked at the address, New York. Well, I had one from Maine and Maryland but they did not seem quite right The couple from New York sounded perfect, but we do not transport. When I talked to the wife on the phone, she sounded disappointed but understood. I explained many people fly out and drive back East, but it is a Herculean effort. Her husband was a doctor and it was difficult to leave the hospital, so I moved on the next application. But then Anna contacted me again, and they had done some serious talking .

Although I had many local applications, and a serious one from Canada, I just knew Anna needed this dog, and he needed her. They had lost their Lhasa a year before and he looked so much like Mickey, he even snored like their dog. Both Anna and her husband had searched endlessly for a new pup, but all had either fallen through or did not seem right. They could afford to buy one at a pet store, but chose not to do so. The die was cast….Mickey was going to have a  new home back East.

Plans were set in motion. They would fly to Kansas City, drive to Topeka, meet Mickey (new name “Tenzin)”, spend the night and head back to New York.

We emailed and talked on the phone, and soon the day came when they were to arrive at SCARS.  I stood in the driveway as the car slowly rounded the bend and came into sight. All of this for the love of a little dog who was totally unaware of the efforts expended on his behalf. After all, no one had cared about him before as he just existed in a wire cage for three years with little to no contact with the outside world. Why would anyone care now?

 Tenzin greeted his would be parents with his usual cavalier attitude  and slowly decided that maybe they were worth his attention. He spent the night with them at the Topeka Hilton and headed out the next morning with everyone holding their breath and hoping for safe travels. And as they drove along, texts beeped in regularly apprising me of his every move. He climbed from the back seat to the front, he is a great traveler, he has not barked, he is not eating…should she worry, he slept in her lap, he might have even hiccupped once. He was in good hands.

This was indeed a leap of faith for all of us. For the couple who took a chance on love and flew from New York to Kansas (almost a foreign country), rented a car and drove back nineteen hours with a scruffy little dog from a flyover state , and for the those who ran the rescue and worried in case this adoption  did not work out. But there was no fear in the heart of the little white dog as he traveled along, for he was ready and willing to begin his new life. And although not being carried in a basket by Dorothy, but in the arms of his new mom, he looked out the window and said, “I don’t think I am in Kansas anymore.”

 Sometimes you just have to close your eyes, click your heels, wish upon a star and follow that yellow brick road.

Muffin & waffle

Our two gorgeous standard poodle puppies, Muffin and Waffle, went off to their new homes today! Lots of applications but I think these homes will be great....each has another dog which was a must. They were so  much fun!!!!

Deliah

Dumped by her breeder for "failure to produce," this beautiful Papillon has been spayed and is learning how to be loved and just be a dog. Thank you, Marilyn, for being her new  mommy!!!

Tessa

We had several wonderful applications on Tessa and it was hard to choose, but she went off today with a great family. I even knew the grandmother and Tessa will have another Papillon to play with and two young girls to spoil her!!

Winkle  (now Max)

Sold at an auction, #3, a beautiful Aussie/Pomeranian was nameless. Three years of being a breeder dog, rarely seeing the light of day, had rendered him lonely and isolated.

A woman at this auction of 300 dogs in Kansas City spotted him and a badly matted Lhasa Apso in a wire crate next to him and decided then and there she would rescue them both.  Scraping up enough money to save them from the greedy breeders who were bidding on them, she loaded them in her car and drove away.  Ultimately they found their way here.

They were a challenge for sure. The Lhasa, although friendly,  was heavily matted and the Aussie was shut down. He stared at the wall and would flinch if touched. I went about my usual routine, had them groomed and neutered, shots, and began socializing them. Clearly this pup would need a quiet , nurturing  home, so I called my friend and lover of Aussies.  Yes, bless her heart, she would foster him and try to get him to open up with the help of her two dogs. Time marched on, the Lhasa went off to New York with an adoring family, and “Winkle” began to thaw. But Laura, our foster, was heading out of town after keeping him for a month and Winkle needed a place to go. I planned to pick him up on my way back from KC, but other plans were unfolding.

I decided to post him on petfinder and did not expect too many responses due to the fact he was so timid as I explained his profile. But oddly enough applications began coming in on my computer and one got my attention.

I contacted the person who filled out the application, and we emailed back and forth til late in the night. She sounded perfect and had a six year old daughter who was coming up on a year anniversary of her adoption . The child had a sad past until a wonderful family adopted her, and somehow we felt they could bond and heal together. But time was running out as I headed to Laura’s from Kansas City just missing the meeting and mom had left with a heartbroken six year old.

I do not let much grass grow under my feet, and in my typical back east manner, launched into action. It all seemed too perfect to put on hold and I called mom and we arranged to meet. Evening was coming on fast and I was already late getting home, but this was important. She turned around.

Pulling into a parking lot, I spotted the black car and mom standing outside of the door.  The child was in the back seat and did not know the treasure that awaited her. I turned and lifted Winkle out of the car and we opened the door. She looked at the puppy, at her mom, back at the pup and started to cry…”Is he mine? Is he really mine?”

And years from now a high school English teacher will sit down at her desk, get out her red pen, and begin reading about a puppy named Winkle, now Max, who was given to the writer  when she was six years old.  And our student will tell how she remembers reaching out and embracing a fluffy gray and black puppy, burying her face in his fur, feeling his warmth and she knew the true meaning of love.

Kylee

Kylee has found the most perfect family that will provide a fun and active environment to help her run out her energy. no more crates, hello grass!

Harley

Harley has found the perfect home and I cannot wait to here the updates on how the little guy is doing in his new loving home.

Clarence and Medford

Right before my husband and I got sick from Covid, I took in two  adorable little pups who stayed with us so long I was considering just leaving them here til they grew old! I named them Clarence and Medford after my grandfather and his brother. In time we recovered and  their picture was spotted by a wonderful family who only wanted one. When they were ready for adoption, they were so tightly bonded that one could simply not live without the other. They are now settled in their new home and have new names which I have forgotten. (One is Tanner) but I am so thrilled they are together and  have a wonderful family of six to shower them with love which they deserve. (look at the expression of the little boy in next to Clarence (tan pup) ..isn't it too precious?)

Mira

I love happy endings ...

Remember about a month ago when I not only took in our beloved Jersey, but I also had a beautiful Great Pyrenees puppy brought to us? This is how the story went...and this is a brief rendition....two young women stopped to look at furniture along the side of the road between Topeka and Manhattan and noticed a hefty bag sitting next to the tables and chairs. They opened the bag and to their dismay  found seven dead puppies but one, and only one,  made a tiny squeak. You remember....they called the police, wrapped up the puppy and got her to the nearest vet and she survived.

Well, this same little pup is now safely nestled with her very own family. She has humans who adore her and two other canine pals...Her rescuers named her Mira which is short for Miracle. And  it is true that there are still miracles among us if we close our eyes tightly and believe.....

Jett

In the hustle and bustle of our busy world, most of us hardly have time to "stop and smell the roses." I know I run in circles and rarely sit down BUT today I stopped for a  moment and took this picture of one of our dogs being adopted. Later today I looked at it again and in that moment, I captured the reason we are all involved in rescue. New beginnings.

Jett's background is murky and he has a few quirks like tearing up a dog bed so he can get comfy in the fluff on the floor. He tries to dig to China to find that elusive mole that he and Jasper were so determined to catch.

But after  today he is no longer ours. Jett now  belongs to a loving couple and has a lab brother to be his  pal.  And once again I turned toward the house, listened to the  the car disappear down the driveway and could not bring myself to turn around.

But in the words of BJ Thomas, "I am going home to the place where I belong," I take solace in the knowledge that Jett is also going home.

Be well and go with joy, knowing you  took a part of us with you...

Harvey

Harvey 's adoption is the best Christmas/New Years' present we could have. He came to us from an abusive situation, was  difficult to deal with for months. But he showed us he wanted to be loved and wanted to be a good dog and in time the right person came along. His new Dad drove 500 miles, spent the night and off they went back East to be a family. The news is wonderful and he is settled in and happy. Many thanks to Santa for this precious life saved.

Biscuit

Fifi

Fonzi