Bob just died. He was about 11 years old. I heard that three dogs had been left for three weeks in an apartment in W. Virginia, and had been taken to the shelter. Two of them, small dogs, were adopted, but Bob, a homely hound around 40 pounds, was headed to the euthanasia room. I said I would take him. When it came time to load the truck to CT, there was no room for Bob. He might have ended up dead, except that the driver took a chance and put him on top of the crate right behind him so he could keep an eye on him.
For 13 hours, Bob didn’t move. He lay on top of that crate and looked out the front window, looked north all the way to CT. A foster had him for a few days, and I went down to get him, and he again looked north for the three hour trip. He ended up going to my friend’s farm, where he walked backwards into the house for the first few months. He was much loved, much cared for, and he lived another 7 years as her best buddy.
Rescue dogs aren’t always gorgeous, smart, spectacular – but they do seem to have some special qualities that those who haven’t suffered the same way just don’t have. I brought up about 3000 dogs and puppies in 10 years, and I spent every penny I made, and I wouldn’t give back one of them. I love rescue dogs.
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When I started in dog rescue, the lovely town of Greenville, SC had a 87% kill rate of the 21,000 dogs and puppies that came in every year. I got my Carolina and my first rescue dogs and pups there. I pulled 21 of them after they killed a little black hot-dog kind of dog I had my eye on. Carolina was my third pull – the local boarding kennel had been helping me but bailed when some dog got sick. I had to send Carolina and about ten other dogs to a vet for kenneling until the transport was coming. Carolina got a respiratory infection and almost died – the vet called me and yelled at me for sending them a sick dog. That’s when I realized that even to most vets in the south, shelter dogs were trash to be put in black garbage bags and taken to the landfill. This was the start of my nightmare.
More to come…
Did you ever wonder why funk and funky have the same root when they mean such different things? This keeps me up nights, along with wondering why so few humans spend any portion of their days trying to make the world a better place? This actually angers me, as I spend so much time and money I don’t have trying to save and rescue dogs, and then go on Facebook, and see dozens of selfies and whining about such trivial things. Yes, in my few, they are trivial; they may be meaningful to others, i get that. But when i ask for help, I get, “oh, I wish I could, but I can’t because of x, y and z.” That’s not helpful at all. It’s almost better to not say anything at all, rather than some excuse for inaction. I want to rant at people there, but people would think I’ve gone off the deep end and call the men with the butterfly nets to lock me up. So I spend as little time on social media as possible.
There is a blog I follow, Cold Feet Studio. She is very funny and has great jewelry tutorials on her site. She also gives away every penny she makes to charities. She doesn’t rant at people, either; rather, she just keeps making and selling and donating.
She has inspired me to do the same. I’ve been working very hard at my craft all summer so I can get good enough so people actually will buy my jewelry, cause I am following her lead about the charities. I may even open a little studio at my house so people can come up and buy when I’m working at home. I want to keep helping to rescue dogs, but I can’t take any more. This is a way for me to give something so I don’t feel so helpless all of the time.
Here is my etsy site.
September is always a tough month for me. I’m hanging on, getting ready for a few shows so I can hopefully make some sales to send some funds to some rescues I admire. Be well.