Petstore Cruelty

Sadie's Story

Sadie & Simone

She had intestinal worms, heartworm, fleas, gunshot pellets, a crushed hip joint, and she had just given birth to 9 puppies. She was a pit-bull mix on death row in North Carolina, a bad place to be a homeless dog. But she also had soulful eyes that haunted her soon-to-be rescuer, who was checking on her adoption status daily. Kill time was fast approaching.
The rescuer could wait no longer.

How the rescuer would get her, how she would keep her, and how she would pay for the medical bills were questions for which she had no concrete answers, but she was already in love and she could not tolerate the idea of this dog dying the way too many do. She knew that this death would haunt her even more than others already did. Death was not an option for this dog, who she had already named Sadie. She talked her daughter, who was already overburdened with rescued dogs and cats, into fostering Sadie.

Sadie was rescued and transported from North Carolina to Northern Virginia. When she arrived she was in horrible condition, and the signs of abuse were evident. She was also malnourished, making it harder to supply milk for 9 puppies. How could someone who had been through so much maintain such sweetness? Her rescuer didn't know, but she had seen it before.

Dogs just as sweet as Sadie are killed in shelters every day, never having known kindness. The national average for shelters is a 45% kill rate. And it is not an easy death. It isn't the shelter's fault that the pet trade is a booming business and every puppy, kitten, bunny, etc., bred or bought guarantees the death of a shelter animal.

After the puppies were weaned and placed in homes, Sadie's situation became a priority. It was not likely anyone would adopt a dog with so many medical needs. Her rescuers did not have the money or the quiet (with a house full of previously rescued dogs and cats) needed for heartworm treatment.

It was hard to talk my husband into it, because we have birds and a chinchilla whose safety we had to consider, but we took Sadie in as a foster so we could get her the medical treatment she needed. We do not have the money needed either, but somehow it worked. We kept the birds and chinchilla in one room, which we converted into a fun and safe place for them to play. Sadie stayed in the rest of the house and never made a move to threaten the birds or chinchilla. We started heartworm treatment.

The treatment took months, but she was eventually cured. I really did not want to give her up. I asked my husband if he thought that we could adopt Sadie without reducing the quality of life for our other fids (feathered or furry kids) too much. He kept avoiding the question. I kept bringing it up.

Then, on our 9th wedding anniversary, I came home to find Sadie with a red ribbon and new dog tags around her neck. My husband had avoided the question because he was secretly plotting to adopt Sadie all along. He said he knew I wanted Sadie more than anything else in the world.

More recently, another rescued dog has come to us. Simone was young enough that she hadn't suffered the way Sadie did. She was found bony and shivering on the loose in Manassas, VA, when she was about 7 months old. It took a while to get Sadie to accept her, but now the two are good sisters. Simone looks like a pure American Pit-bull. She loves to play, and is frequently found with her little butt up in the air in play stance, trying to get Sadie to chase her.

Sadie and Simone have been the most precious gifts in our lives. We love them with all of our hearts. Over time Sadie has healed emotionally and physically, as much as anyone can after the abuse she suffered before her rescue. She was estimated to be around 2 years old when we adopted her. Every day we try to make up for what she went through in those first 2 years of her life.

********************************

The Foster

for Simone

It is cold when I rise, too cold,
even though I rise late,
even here in the South.
The newspaper on the doormat
headlines head injuries;
the mindless war lies
obscuring the word "welcome."

I flinch in memory
of the temperature, I dress warmly.
I must go now; the foster puppy
has held it in all night.
She is a wild thing, half grown at
seven months, all teeth and gallop,
found on the street, untaught.
Left to herself she will mess the house, chew the furniture, provoke the resident dog, run around too fast, bite my hands and pants, not meanly but sheerly out of urge. She needs so much.no more than any of us, really. And yet if I am up, leash ready, vigilant, patient, teaching, learning, she is, in her way, wonderful.
She will be a fine dog, if. If.

We brave the wind, its
million smells. We are
mostly alone, the neighbors gone to church leaving the trash and wrappers in their yard. A woodpecker pokes her head out of a hole to scold us as we pass, or warn her lover.
The trees move in their ocean rhythm.

I see that other neighbors have not
picked up after their dogs here in the woods.
We are in the watershed
of the great bay.they know better,
but here, no one is looking.
It is easy to leave one's small filth
without immediate consequences.

We return. The house is warm.
The television mutters, politicians croon their blandishments, then the pitchmen brag and dazzle.
My mother-in-law will soon go
for cancer surgery too long put off,
the fluttering pages of her life
scheduled and rescheduled
by doctors too busy to listen.

There is a voicemail message; a business appointment has been broken. The foster puppy flops down, contented
to mangle another toy, nose wrinkled
in pretend fury.
If we find a family for her, I can rest; sleep in on rainy mornings, have more time and fewer toothmarks.
And then what? Hang a banner
saying, "Mission Accomplished"?

Today is Easter Morning.
Is God risen?
Who among us
is keeping all these promises?

********************************************

A 12-year-old named Mollie wrote this poem.
She brought it to us at a recent Petland protest.

The Puppy's Plea

Here I lie, alone in my cage
The breed that I am is all the rage.
I came here from a puppy mill,
A place where dogs are bred until killed.
I remember my mother,
Her fur soft and sleek,
She, too, lived in a cage,
She was so small and weak.
I was only a baby,
Just 2 months old,
When I was taken from Mother,
I was hungry and cold.
I was shipped off in a crate,
All scared and alone,
I didn't know where I was,
But I knew I wasn't home.
There were other pups too,
Every one lost and confused.
I was starving and thirsty,
So were the rest.
I wanted my mother;
I know she's the best.
I arrived in the pet store,
Wishing for comfort,
But all that my heart felt
Was sorrow and hurt.
My paws ached from walking on grids,
When people came, I always hid.
Here I still lie, alone in the store,
You want to take me home,
And make me yours?
Please, oh, please,
Don't take me home,
For if you do another pup,
All cold and alone,
Will be sitting here,
Another dog in need of an owner,
Another puppy away from its mother,
I'll stay here, I can do it,
Just leave me here,
There's nothing to it,
If you walk out of the store,
Puppies will come here never more,
And no dog will have to live like this,
Cold and alone, without a home.
Nobody should have to live like this,
That's my one and only wish.

**********************************************

Let Me Play Before I Die
by Jim Willis, 2002

'Tis lonely here in prison,
I dream of sun, of fields,
I saw them from a window once,
but I don't know how they feel.
I've never known a caress,
a friend, a bone, a toy,
I'd happily companion,
a human girl or boy.

But some men have decided,
with selfishness and greed,
that my fate shall be a cage,
and for my keep, I'll breed.

What should fuel this folly?
My kind may bark in vain.
We care not for your commerce,
and few know of our pain.
We're hidden well from justice,
for our freedom some may cry.
God grant me, please, just one request--
Let me play once before I die.

**********************************************

From www.puppymillrescue.com/poems.htm

Day after day...
each one the same,
another year older
a little more lame
left out in the weather
with little protection
my body is sore
and hot with infection
in the freezing cold
or the searing heat
with nothing but wire
beneath swollen feet
my food bowl is empty
my water dish dry
What did I do??
please tell me, why?
the litters come
and the litters go
where do they take them?
I don't know...
Is this a bad joke?
or a horrible game?
I have no home
not even a name
no one to love me
no one to care
no one to bathe me
and brush my hair
my teeth are rotting
my eyes are encrusted
where are the people
to whom I'm entrusted?
I cry every night...
so afraid, don't you see?
could this be the life
God intended for me?
someone, speak for me
I am losing my will
take me out of this hell
called a puppymill...

*************************************************

	Poems, etc.
Home Boycott Petland Pet Store Hall of Shame, part 1 Pet Store Hall of Shame, part 2 USDA Violations by Petland Breeders USDA Records on Various Breeders How to find out more about your puppy's breeder Do Petland puppies really come from LICENSED breeders? Hunte Corp. Puppy Mill Links 14-Day Heartache Guarantee Protesting for Beginners Find a group near you Shelters Adoption info and links to rescue groups Low-cost Spay/Neuter Links About Us FAQ What You Can Do Rabbit Mills Bird Mills Ferrets Pet Store Laws En español Contact Poems, etc. Former pet store employees speak out Buying puppies online--buyer beware Pet Stores and Puppy Mills in the News Animal sellers in Washington DC area Pet supply stores that DON'T sell animals--the good guys:) Puppy mill survivor stories Shop Donate	Sadie's Story Sadie & Simone She had intestinal worms, heartworm, fleas, gunshot pellets, a crushed hip joint, and she had just given birth to 9 puppies. She was a pit-bull mix on death row in North Carolina, a bad place to be a homeless dog. But she also had soulful eyes that haunted her soon-to-be rescuer, who was checking on her adoption status daily. Kill time was fast approaching. The rescuer could wait no longer. How the rescuer would get her, how she would keep her, and how she would pay for the medical bills were questions for which she had no concrete answers, but she was already in love and she could not tolerate the idea of this dog dying the way too many do. She knew that this death would haunt her even more than others already did. Death was not an option for this dog, who she had already named Sadie. She talked her daughter, who was already overburdened with rescued dogs and cats, into fostering Sadie. Sadie was rescued and transported from North Carolina to Northern Virginia. When she arrived she was in horrible condition, and the signs of abuse were evident. She was also malnourished, making it harder to supply milk for 9 puppies. How could someone who had been through so much maintain such sweetness? Her rescuer didn't know, but she had seen it before. Dogs just as sweet as Sadie are killed in shelters every day, never having known kindness. The national average for shelters is a 45% kill rate. And it is not an easy death. It isn't the shelter's fault that the pet trade is a booming business and every puppy, kitten, bunny, etc., bred or bought guarantees the death of a shelter animal. After the puppies were weaned and placed in homes, Sadie's situation became a priority. It was not likely anyone would adopt a dog with so many medical needs. Her rescuers did not have the money or the quiet (with a house full of previously rescued dogs and cats) needed for heartworm treatment. It was hard to talk my husband into it, because we have birds and a chinchilla whose safety we had to consider, but we took Sadie in as a foster so we could get her the medical treatment she needed. We do not have the money needed either, but somehow it worked. We kept the birds and chinchilla in one room, which we converted into a fun and safe place for them to play. Sadie stayed in the rest of the house and never made a move to threaten the birds or chinchilla. We started heartworm treatment. The treatment took months, but she was eventually cured. I really did not want to give her up. I asked my husband if he thought that we could adopt Sadie without reducing the quality of life for our other fids (feathered or furry kids) too much. He kept avoiding the question. I kept bringing it up. Then, on our 9th wedding anniversary, I came home to find Sadie with a red ribbon and new dog tags around her neck. My husband had avoided the question because he was secretly plotting to adopt Sadie all along. He said he knew I wanted Sadie more than anything else in the world. More recently, another rescued dog has come to us. Simone was young enough that she hadn't suffered the way Sadie did. She was found bony and shivering on the loose in Manassas, VA, when she was about 7 months old. It took a while to get Sadie to accept her, but now the two are good sisters. Simone looks like a pure American Pit-bull. She loves to play, and is frequently found with her little butt up in the air in play stance, trying to get Sadie to chase her. Sadie and Simone have been the most precious gifts in our lives. We love them with all of our hearts. Over time Sadie has healed emotionally and physically, as much as anyone can after the abuse she suffered before her rescue. She was estimated to be around 2 years old when we adopted her. Every day we try to make up for what she went through in those first 2 years of her life. ****************************** The Foster for Simone It is cold when I rise, too cold, even though I rise late, even here in the South. The newspaper on the doormat headlines head injuries; the mindless war lies obscuring the word "welcome." I flinch in memory of the temperature, I dress warmly. I must go now; the foster puppy has held it in all night. She is a wild thing, half grown at seven months, all teeth and gallop, found on the street, untaught. Left to herself she will mess the house, chew the furniture, provoke the resident dog, run around too fast, bite my hands and pants, not meanly but sheerly out of urge. She needs so much.no more than any of us, really. And yet if I am up, leash ready, vigilant, patient, teaching, learning, she is, in her way, wonderful. She will be a fine dog, if. If. We brave the wind, its million smells. We are mostly alone, the neighbors gone to church leaving the trash and wrappers in their yard. A woodpecker pokes her head out of a hole to scold us as we pass, or warn her lover. The trees move in their ocean rhythm. I see that other neighbors have not picked up after their dogs here in the woods. We are in the watershed of the great bay.they know better, but here, no one is looking. It is easy to leave one's small filth without immediate consequences. We return. The house is warm. The television mutters, politicians croon their blandishments, then the pitchmen brag and dazzle. My mother-in-law will soon go for cancer surgery too long put off, the fluttering pages of her life scheduled and rescheduled by doctors too busy to listen. There is a voicemail message; a business appointment has been broken. The foster puppy flops down, contented to mangle another toy, nose wrinkled in pretend fury. If we find a family for her, I can rest; sleep in on rainy mornings, have more time and fewer toothmarks. And then what? Hang a banner saying, "Mission Accomplished"? Today is Easter Morning. Is God risen? Who among us is keeping all these promises? **************************************** A 12-year-old named Mollie wrote this poem. She brought it to us at a recent Petland protest. The Puppy's Plea Here I lie, alone in my cage The breed that I am is all the rage. I came here from a puppy mill, A place where dogs are bred until killed. I remember my mother, Her fur soft and sleek, She, too, lived in a cage, She was so small and weak. I was only a baby, Just 2 months old, When I was taken from Mother, I was hungry and cold. I was shipped off in a crate, All scared and alone, I didn't know where I was, But I knew I wasn't home. There were other pups too, Every one lost and confused. I was starving and thirsty, So were the rest. I wanted my mother; I know she's the best. I arrived in the pet store, Wishing for comfort, But all that my heart felt Was sorrow and hurt. My paws ached from walking on grids, When people came, I always hid. Here I still lie, alone in the store, You want to take me home, And make me yours? Please, oh, please, Don't take me home, For if you do another pup, All cold and alone, Will be sitting here, Another dog in need of an owner, Another puppy away from its mother, I'll stay here, I can do it, Just leave me here, There's nothing to it, If you walk out of the store, Puppies will come here never more, And no dog will have to live like this, Cold and alone, without a home. Nobody should have to live like this, That's my one and only wish. ****************************************** Let Me Play Before I Die by Jim Willis, 2002 'Tis lonely here in prison, I dream of sun, of fields, I saw them from a window once, but I don't know how they feel. I've never known a caress, a friend, a bone, a toy, I'd happily companion, a human girl or boy. But some men have decided, with selfishness and greed, that my fate shall be a cage, and for my keep, I'll breed. What should fuel this folly? My kind may bark in vain. We care not for your commerce, and few know of our pain. We're hidden well from justice, for our freedom some may cry. God grant me, please, just one request-- Let me play once before I die. ****************************************** From www.puppymillrescue.com/poems.htm Day after day... each one the same, another year older a little more lame left out in the weather with little protection my body is sore and hot with infection in the freezing cold or the searing heat with nothing but wire beneath swollen feet my food bowl is empty my water dish dry What did I do?? please tell me, why? the litters come and the litters go where do they take them? I don't know... Is this a bad joke? or a horrible game? I have no home not even a name no one to love me no one to care no one to bathe me and brush my hair my teeth are rotting my eyes are encrusted where are the people to whom I'm entrusted? I cry every night... so afraid, don't you see? could this be the life God intended for me? someone, speak for me I am losing my will take me out of this hell called a puppymill... ***********************************************
	Author unknown. My bones ache, my muscles sore, so tired I have grown, I sit within the small confines of this tiny cage I call home. Many friends surround me, lots of different breeds, They too share my aches and pains, with no humans to tend our needs. I am a bitch or so they call me, I hear it's not a bad name. Lots of puppies I have whelped, to them it's just a game. I sit and watch day after day, so many puppies being born. Where do they go, what happens to them, when from their Moms they're torn? I can see the grass growing tall and green, I long to sniff and feel it. I've never walked upon that field nor have they let me near it. Instead I walk upon this screen so hard, so rough, so cold. My feet ache, my toes are sore, I'm exhausted and feel so old. My friends have told they lived in places, long before this one. Where humans touched them every day and with children they could run. I long to have just one human pet and kiss me, and maybe play a game. I know it will never happen, but I wish it all the same. Instead they bring another dog and toss him in with me. Another litter I must bear, there's no end that I can see. The little girl that sits beside me cried out the other day. She screamed out loud then limp she went and the pups were taken away. She was gone but just a day, when her sister was beside me. She too had some more puppies, so small and weak and tiny. The other day they came and checked me, while my puppies were being born. "This one's too big, there's no use now, her insides are too torn." They scooped me up, it hurt so bad, the blood was everywhere. They never tried to help me, they didn't seem to care. They took me to that big green field and laid me on the ground. The smell was heaven and the ground so soft, I tried to look around. They covered me with more soft soil, I had nothing to fear. I closed my eyes and just relaxed, I knew the end was near. No longer do I imagine the feel of human touch, or how it feels to run and play, here I have so much. There is a great big colored bridge, and fields that go forever, I'm happy, I'm home, I'm someone's friend, it couldn't get much better. *********************************************** LOST SOUL [This was written about a dog in the Johnson County Pound, Smithfield, North Carolina. Gas chambers are still used in several Virginia counties.] Hello. My name is "Lost Soul" and I'm a stray mutt mix who was found by an animal control officer when I was trying to find food in somebody's garbage can. I'm starving, skinny and scared. I'm 3 years old, and my whole life was spent chained to a tree. My owner moved and just let me run free. I'm not that beautiful. I'm a black lab mix like most of the other "prisoners" at the shelter. Most people will pass me by because of my emaciated body and skin problems. I know it's time for me to go to heaven and I accept this. I just wish I could die a peaceful death with a shot. But no, I will die in the GAS CHAMBER in Johnston County, NC. I will be put in a box with many other dogs and locked in. I will be scared and start to cry. I hope none of the other dogs get mad and start to attack me, which is very common in this situation. I will start to breathe in the gas and I will feel my eyes and mouth burn and I will start howling. I will take my little nose and put it to the bottom of the grate to try to catch some fresh air. This isn't working, Oh God, Please Help, I can't breathe! I'm vomiting, dizzy and starting to black out and convulse. I hear the other "lost souls" scream and some blood is splattered on me because I'm pawing to get out...and I cut the pads on my paws off. Oh my God, this hurts and I'm so scared! I'm wondering why I have to die this way?? All I ever wanted was a family to love and warm lap to sit on!! Why do convicted murderers on death row get a shot, but I have to die in a GAS CHAMBER? I wish I could die with a shot, with a vet holding me and rubbing my ear telling me everything will be okay. I would die with some dignity and not defecate or urinate on myself. I better give in to the gas and go to heaven now, for if I don't die, they will put me in the gas chamber and do it again. I can't wait to get to heaven and have all the angels rub my belly and give me kisses. Please rescue a dog or cat before they are gassed...Please call the news or newspapers and tell them that you don't want your tax money used for the GAS CHAMBER. Gas box in Lee County, Virginia. Photo from www.valeagueofrescuers.com. They write, "Although Lee County is building a new facility, they plan to move this gas chamber to the new facility." ************************************************* PET STORE PUPPY This story may be published or reprinted in the hopes that it will stop unethical breeders and those who breed only for money and not for the betterment of the breed. Copyright 1999 J. Ellis I don't remember much from the place I was born. It was cramped and dark, and we were never played with by the humans. I remember Mom and her soft fur, but she was often sick, and very thin. She had hardly any milk for me and my brothers and sisters. I remember many of them dying, and I missed them so. I do remember the day I was taken from Mom. I was so sad and scared, my milk teeth had only just come in, and I really should have been with Mom still, but she was so sick, and the humans kept saying that they wanted money and were sick of the "mess" that me and my sister made. So we were crated up and taken to a strange place. Just the two of us. We huddled together and were scared, still no human hands came to pet or love us. So many sights and sounds and smells! We are in a store where there are many different animals! Some that squawk! Some that meow! Some that peep! My sister and I are jammed into a small cage. I hear other puppies here. I see humans look at me. I like the 'little humans', the kids. They look so sweet, and fun, like they would play with me! All day we stay in the small cage. Sometimes mean people will hit the glass and frighten us. Every once in a while we are taken out to be held or shown to humans. Some are gentle, some hurt us. We always hear, "Aw, they are so cute! I want one!" but we never get to go with any. My sister died last night when the store was dark. I lay my head on her soft fur and felt the life leave her small, thin body. I had heard them say she was sick, and that I should be sold at a "discount price" so that I would quickly leave the store. I think my soft whine was the only one that mourned for her as her body was taken out of the cage in the morning and dumped. Today, a family came and bought me! Oh happy day! They are a nice family, they really, really wanted me! They had bought a dish and food, and the little girl held me so tenderly in her arms. I love her so much! The mom and dad say what a sweet and good puppy I am! I am named Angel. I love to lick my new humans! The family takes such good care of me. They are loving and tender and sweet. They gently teach me right and wrong, give me good food, and lots of love! I want only to please these wonderful people! I love the little girl and I enjoy running and playing with her. Today I went to the veterinarian. It was a strange place and I was frightened. I got some shots, but my best friend, the little girl, held me softly and said it would be okay. So I relaxed. The bet must have said sad words to my beloved family because they looked awfully sad. I heard "severe hip dysplasia," and something about my heart. I heard the vet say something about back yard breeders and my parents not being tested. I know not what any of that means, just that it hurts me to see my family so sad. But they still love me, and I still love them very much! I am 6 months old now. Where most other puppies are robust and rowdy, it hurts me terribly just to move. The pain never lets up. It hurts to run and play with my beloved little girl, and I find it hard to breath. I keep trying my best to be the strong pup I know I am supposed to be, but it is so hard. It breaks my heart to see the little girl so sad, and to hear the Mom and Dad talk about "it might now be the time." Several times I have went to that veterinarian's place, and the news is never good. Always talk about congenital problems. I just want to feel the warm sunshine and run, and play and nuzzle with my family. Last night was the worst. Pain has been my constant companion now. It hurts even to get up and get a drink. I try to get up but can only whine in pain. I am taken in the car one last time. Everyone is so sad, and I don't know why. Have I been bad? I try to be good and loving. What have I done wrong? Oh if only this pain would be gone! If only I could soothe the tears of the little girl. I reach out my muzzle to lick her hand, but can only whine in pain. The veterinarian's table is so cold. I am so frightened. The humans all hug and love me, they cry into my soft fur. I can feel their love and sadness. I manage to lick softly their hands. Even the vet doesn't seem so scary today. He is gentle and I sense some kind of relief for my pain. The little girl holds me softly and I thank her for giving me all her love. I feel a soft pinch in my foreleg. The pain is beginning to lift. I am beginning to feel a peace descend upon me. I can now softly lick her hand. My vision is becoming dreamlike now, and I see my Mother and my brothers and sisters, in a far off green place. They tell me there is no pain there, only peace and happiness. I tell the family good-bye in the only way I know how, a soft wag of my tail and a nuzzle of my nose. I had hoped to spend many, many moons with them, but it was not meant to be. "You see," said the veterinarian, "Pet shop puppies do not come from ethical breeders." The pain ends now, and I know it will be many years until I see my beloved family again. If only things could have been different. ************************************************** Dog Daze by Bruce Andrew Peters www.GreatWriteUp.com Back in the day, It was "run with the pack," no sense to stray nor run away. But who'd like: To be forgotten, just because master's leaving? That a newborn child in the family would mean - we'll stop your breathing? Or the landlord who says: "No more shelter you'll be receiving!" Dump four-legged faithful on such a whim, yet they love us to the very end, even when the margins are so ever slim. Speaking at the animal shelter, is Labrador Jim: "I'm not sure how, but I ended up here. There's sixty thousand like me every day, That's over twenty one million each year. It's a reprieve from neglect and yelling and a bruising beating, or a blood-splattered dog fight - gnashing, tissue-tearing teeth, at a clandestine meeting. Oh! My heart wails! Sullen as the stench, choking the air. The injustice of it all, and nobody cares. Cold, lifeless steel bars, somber's the word in this jail. Yelp for help! Grim Reaper's driving coffin nails. Saviors rarely post bail. Against all odds, hope's all we have, at the end of the road. No trip's worse, than a final ride in the back of a hearse." Amidst soccer practice, evening news and dinner for two: prayer's answers are found in you. God and goodness we say on Sunday, Did we forget our furry friend's fiasco? It's 24/7 - that's every day. ********************************************** Take Me Home by Avril Lavigne Applies well to homeless animals and animals in breeding mills. Please visit www.itsmeowornever.org/homeless.html to see a touching video about the plight of homeless animals. It has "Take Me Home" as background music. Takes a couple of minutes to load. It contains no violent images. I'm standing on the bridge I'm waiting in the dark I thought that you'd be here by now There's nothing but the rain No footsteps on the ground I'm listening, but there's no sound Isn't anyone trying to find me? Won't somebody come take me home? It's a damn cold night Trying to figure out this life Won't you take me by the hand take me somewhere new I don't know who you are but I, I'm with you I'm looking for a place I'm searching for a face Is anybody here I know 'Cause nothing's going right and Everything's a mess And no one likes to be alone Isn't anyone trying to find me? Won't somebody take me home? It's a damn cold night Trying to figure out this life Won't you take me by the hand, take me somewhere new I don't know who you are but I, I'm with you, I'm with you Oh, why is everything so confusing? Maybe I'm just out of my mind It's a damn cold night Trying to figure out this life Won't you take me by the hand, take me somewhere new I don't know who you are but I, I'm with you, I'm with you ******************************************** Shelter Dog by a shelter worker. From www.critterhaven.org I wish you could see as I sit here today, Tears filling my eyes, the loss in my heart... For a dog unknown to you. Her body strong, her eyes bright, Gleaming with anticipation for any little treat. Locked in a cage for more than a month, Her hope, never faded, Her trust, never waived... Though her card said "Caution," With love she obeyed. Sitting up straight on her hard plastic bed Begging once more, "Just please scratch my head" My love for this pup was hard to endure, For the day before her time was due, I gave her a bone which she dropped to the floor. She knew...I had come to say goodbye. I cursed the owner for Shawna's fate! When next someone exclaims: "How could you work here?" No, we're not to blame, only doing your dirty work With anger, not shame Not "puppy-killers" or "evil"... Just the last loving hand to say goodbye... ***************************************** Bye Baby Written by an Animal shelter volunteer in Massena, NY From All Breed Rescue and Referral, a D.C. area rescue group www.allbreed.org No more lonely cold nights or hearing that I'm bad No more growling belly from the meals I never had. No more scorching sunshine with a water bowl that's dry. No more complaining neighbors about the noise when I cry. No more hearing "shut up", "get down" or "get out of here"! No more feeling disliked, only peace is in the air. Euthanasia is a blessing, though some still can't see why I was ever born If I weren't meant to be. My last day of living was the best I ever had. Someone held me very close, I could see she was very sad. I kissed the lady's face, and she hugged me as she cried. I wagged my tail to thank her, then I closed my eyes and died. ***************************************************** See the video about shelter animals at www.borntodiepets.com. The next 3 poems are reprinted with permission. More at www.geocities.com/molly_nicole_16/mollynicole A RABBIT'S LIFE ON A FARM Your mind tells you that you need to go seek warmth, But there is no warm place to go, I am just stuck, vulnerable in this wire cage, There is no box able to keep an adequate amount of body heat in, and there is no heat source to warm me, My coat is not thick like a wild rabbit, It is far from it, I just sit hunched up, constantly, my muscles are tensed up so much that they get sore and tired, I can lay with my legs under me to try to keep them warm, but all there is is open wire underneath me, There are 11 whole hours of the night’s miserable cold to endure, And 13 hours of day that is not as extreme, but still cold, to endure the whole next day, And the process repeats, And each miserable hour turns into days which turns into months, like this, I just want some relief for my body, Sometimes I just want to escape my body, I am tired of life, I am just tired, ‘Cause it’s hard to sleep when you feel so cold and vulnerable, And I cannot sleep away my boring days to try to make them go by faster. For a person to just walk outside for a few minutes to feed me, they aren’t truly feeling what the weather is like, But if they were to stand out here for an hour or two, they’d feel what the weather does to your body, and they would understand to an extent. I wish someone would take me in their arms, love me and take me into a warm place to stay with them, and make me feel like a have a family, Make me feel alive again, Like my life is worth living, And I can run and be happy, How amazing that would be. ©2005 Molly Nicole (all the animal poems I write are about real situations and based on facts. This is how rabbits live when they are raised for fur on farms. Or how a lot of pet rabbits live.) BIRDS THAT CAN'T FLY A bird that can't fly, Sits in a miniature cage, On a perch, and looks through the silver wires, This small space is his entire world, nothing beyond it, And it stays the same every day, nothing ever changes, Every little detail has already been explored, a long time ago, On the first few days of the beginning of this "life." What do you do when your world is about a foot wide? Climb on the wires and then hop onto the other wires? Call for someone because it's so insane, Pull my feathers out, I can hardly explain how this sadness feels, It's deeper than just sadness. I am getting by, by hours upon hours, of days, of months, of years now, I've been living like this, Getting by for what? Hope? But there has been no question of letting him out of his cage, The owner goes about living her busy life, Where all her interests are at her fingertips, So it's hard for her to know what its like for him. If only someone could go into their mind for just a moment, And then they would suddenly feel all of their feelings, And know there is much more than what their face could tell, And words could not amount, Because then they would know what its like, And know that if they used to pretend that the bird is happy, they can no longer pretend, Realizing it was easy to because birds are not able to say otherwise. Finches sit in miniature cages, locked in until the day they die, And they're life has been wasted, Because no one could comprehend how sad and boring their life could be. What they ache for can't be satisfied by toys or perches, They want the simple thrill and joy of being alive, being beyond wired containment, Beyond insanity or depression, They just want to feel free, And see everything new again, Like life is now worth living, And it can be beautiful. ©2005 Molly Nicole I AM FLESH AND BLOOD I am in the middle of four wire walls, Enclosed, To live here all my days, I am outside at the mercy of weather, No place to stay warm when it's cold, So I am vulnerable, And constantly cold to the core, And it's so uncomfortable, I long to ease this feeling I've had for so long. They only come by to simply place food into my bowl, And then close the door, And I am so lonely, I long for companionship, Just something, 'Cause my life seems so empty, I don't even have something to keep my mind busy, There is nothing, I want so much just to run through the grass and stretch my legs, Just for a moment of freedom and joy I'd do anything, But all of these things I cannot have, And it hurts my soul, It aches, That I have nothing and noone. I am a rabbit in a cage, And all I want is love. ©2005 Molly Nicole *********************************************** My Foster Dog by Unknown Author My foster dog stinks to high heaven. I don't know for sure what breed he is. His eyes are blank and hard. He won't let me pet him and growls when I reach for him. He has ragged scars and crusty sores on his skin. His nails are long and his teeth, which he showed me, are stained. I sigh. I drove two hours for this. I carefully maneuver him so that I can stuff him in the crate. Then I heft the crate and put it in the car. I am going home with my new foster dog. At home I leave him in the crate till all the other dogs are in the yard. I get him out of the crate and ask him if he wants "outside." As I lead him to the door he hikes his leg on the wall and shows me his stained teeth again. When we come in, he goes to the crate because that's the only safe place he sees. I offer him food but he won't eat it if I look at him, so I turn my back. When I come back, the food is gone. I ask again about "outside." When we come back, I pat him before I let him in the crate,he jerks away and runs into the crate to show me his teeth. The next day I decide I can't stand the stink any longer. I lead him into the bath with cheese in my hands. His fear of me is not quite overcome by his longing for the cheese. And well he should fear me, for I will give him a bath. After an attempt or two to bail out he is defeated and stands there. I have bathed four legged bath squirters for more years than he has been alive. His only defense was a show of his stained teeth, that did not hold up to a face full of water. As I wash him, it is almost as if I wash not only the stink and dirt away but also some of the hardness. His eyes look full of sadness now. And he looks completely pitiful as only a soap covered dog can. I tell him that he will! feel better when he is cleaned. After the soap, the towels are not too bad, so he lets me rub him dry. I take him outside. He runs for joy. The joy of not being in the tub and the joy of being clean. I, the bath giver, am allowed to share the joy. He comes to me and lets me pet him. One week later I have a vet bill. His skin is healing. He likes for me to pet him. I think. I know what color he will be when his hair grows in. I have found out he is terrified of other dogs. So I carefully introduce him to my mildest four legged brat. It doesn't go well. Two weeks later a new vet bill for an infection, that was missed on the first visit. He plays with the other dogs. Three weeks later his coat shines, he has gained weight. He shows his clean teeth when his tongue lolls out after he plays chase in the yard with the gang. His eyes are soft and filled with life. He loves hugs and likes to show off his tricks, if you have the cheese. Someone called today and asked about him, they saw the picture I took the first week. They asked about his personality, his history, his breed. They asked if he was pretty. I asked them lots of questions. I checked up on them. I prayed. I said yes. When they saw him the first time they said he was the most beautiful dog they had ever seen. Six months later, I got a call from his new family. He is wonderful, smart, well behaved, and very loving. How could someone not want him? I told them I didn't know. He is beautiful. They all are. *************************************************** DEAR MISS BEAZLEY By Gary Loewenthal of www.animalwritings.com Dear Miss Beazley: I heard you found a home with the First Family and are living at the White House. Congratulations! I wasn't so lucky. I got killed at the shelter last night. They just ran out of room. There weren't enough cages for all the animals, so they had to put some to sleep. I came to the shelter about a year ago. I had been living with a bunch of other dogs outside. Our "family" didn't spend much time with us. They came out to fill up the food bowls once a day. Sometimes they chained us to the fence. All we could do was bark. It got hot in the summer, because we couldn't all fit under the one scrawny tree. Often the water bowl was empty by afternoon. When the people moved, they left us to fend for ourselves. Fortunately someone called the Humane Society. The people there were nice. But most of the visitors wanted puppies. It's hard to adopt out an older dog. Plus I was never real comfortable with strangers because I wasn't used to them being nice to me. A few times I thought I was going to get a real home. Someone would fill out an application for me, but always another dog got chosen. During my last year, even though I never got a home, at least I was comfortable. The shelter volunteers took me for a walk in the courtyard each day. They were nice, but I sure thought about a home a lot. I wished I could be in someone's living room, next to their chair. The family would come over to pet me, and maybe throw me a toy. I'd fetch it and bring it back to them. I'd get lots of pets all day long. Maybe my family would have other dogs I could play with, and maybe two kittens who would run around and amuse me, then snuggle up next to me to nap. Do you have a nice yard? I bet that's great. I think you'll have a lot of fun in your new home. I heard you're a pedigree. I don't know who my parents were. Well, if you get a chance, see if you can get your humans to come down to the shelter and visit. Who knows, they might fall in love with a dog there. A dog like me. A mixed-breed adult, a little shy, looking for someone to love him. Good luck. I have to go now. I see one of my old friends from a few cages over just arrived. *************************************************** HAVING A DOG IS NOT EASY. Think about it long and hard. I do lots of rescue work and currently have 7 dogs at the moment (4 are mine, 3 fosters). So now, I am used to everything but at first...wow. I had always grown up with dogs. My first dog that I rescued on my own was easy. She was older, housetrained, good with the cats. I took her everywhere, she would sleep in with me, totally low maintenance. But that only lasted about 2 months because then I got a puppy to keep her company. On top of the fact that she resorted back into puppyhood at this time and I had two sets of teeth chewing everything, and I do mean everything. It turns out that that puppy was severely epileptic. Over the 7 years, I have spent thousands of dollars on doctors, neurologists, acupuncture, medications, and different food and vitamins to control the seizures. He is on 4 types of medications 4 times a day. I can't be gone from the house for more than 4-5 hours because he always needs meds and vacation...well that is history. Who is going to babysit 4 dogs (when there are no fosters). I have to be up no later than 6 am because of medicine time and can't go to sleep before 10 pm because he needs meds then as well. Thank goodness my mother comes to my house at lunchtime to give him his meds then. I won't even go into the fact that I have to keep everything covered with multiple blankets because you never know where/when he will have a seizure and urinate on something. And those are just two of the dogs... Over the years I have had many dogs, shapes, sizes, ages come and go since I foster and I have had numerous "WHAT AM I DOING?" moments. But once they look at you, it's over and I melt. They rely on you to take care of them. You are their guardian. They love you unconditionally and no matter what will always be there for you. A fur baby is a lifelong commitment. You can't just throw them away like last year's shoes because they did something that made you angry or you are just tired of taking care of them. You are all they have. My babies are just that, my babies. I wouldn't have it any other way. I can't tell you how many people have told me to put my dog down because of his illness or how much money it costs in medication. Hell no. He is happy and has a great life and he makes me happy. It doesn't matter how many messes I have to clean up or how many meals I miss because he needs meds, that is OK because at the end of the day I can't count how many times I've laughed or looked down at the most thankful eyes you have ever seen. I hope everyone thinks twice about getting that cute little puppy (or full grown dog). It is not to be taken lightly. It's a LOT of time, money, patience and understanding. Please make sure before you adopt that it's for the long haul. --Anonymous ************************************************** Free Kittuns From Jim Willis An Essay by Jim Willis, Copyright 2002 The sign on the mailbox post was hand-lettered on cardboard and read "FREE KITTUNS." It appeared there two or three times a year, sometimes spelled this way, sometimes that, but the message was always the same. In a corner of the farmhouse back porch was a cardboard box with a dirty towel inside, on which huddled a bouquet of kittens of different colors, mewing and blinking and waiting for their mama to return from hunting in the fields. The mother cat managed to show them enough interest for the first several weeks, but after having two or three litters per year, she was worn out and her milk barely lasted long enough for her babies to survive. One by one, people showed up over the next several days and each took a kitten. Before they left the woman who lived there always said the same thing, "You make sure you give that one a good home - I've become very attached to that one." One by one the kittens and their new people drove down the long driveway and past the sign on the mailbox post, "FREE KITTUNS." The ginger girl kitten was the first to be picked. Her four-year-old owner loved her very much, but the little girl accidentally injured the kitten's shoulder by picking her up the wrong way. She couldn't be blamed really - no adult had shown her the proper way to handle a kitten. She had named the kitten "Ginger" and was very sad a few weeks later when her older brother and his friends were playing in the living room and someone sat on the kitten. The solid white boy kitten with blue eyes was the next to leave with a couple who announced even before they went down the porch steps that his name would be "Snowy." Unfortunately, he never learned his name and everyone had paid so little attention to him that nobody realized he was deaf. On his first excursion outside he was run over in the driveway by a mail truck. The pretty gray and white girl kitten went to live on a nearby farm as a "mouser." Her people called her "the cat," and like her mother and grandmother before her she had many, many "free kittuns," but they sapped her energy. She became ill and died before her current litter of kittens was weaned. Another brother was a beautiful red tabby. His owner loved him so much that she took him around to meet everyone in the family and her friends, and their cats, and everyone agreed that "Erik" was a handsome boy. Except his owner didn't bother to have him vaccinated. It took all the money in her bank account to pay a veterinarian to treat him when he became sick, but the doctor just shook his head one day and said "I'm sorry." The solid black boy kitten grew up to be a fine example of a tomcat. The man who adopted him moved shortly thereafter and left "Tommy" where he was, roaming the neighborhood, defending his territory, and fathering many kittens until a bully of a dog cornered him. The black and white girl kitten got a wonderful home. She was named "Pyewacket." She got the best of food, the best of care until she was nearly five years old. Then her owner met a man who didn't like cats, but she married him anyway. Pyewacket was taken to an animal shelter where there were already a hundred cats. Then one day, there were none. A pretty woman driving a van took the last two kittens, a gray boy and a brown tiger-striped girl. She promised they would always stay together. She sold them for fifteen dollars each to a laboratory. To this day, they are still together...in a jar of alcohol. For whatever reason - because Heaven is in a different time zone, or because not even cat souls can be trusted to travel in a straight line without meandering - all the young-again kittens arrived at Heaven's gate simultaneously. They batted and licked each other in glee, romped for awhile, and then solemnly marched through the gate, right past a sign lettered in gold: "YOU ARE FINALLY FREE, KITTENS." *************************************************** I HAD TO PUT YOUR DOG TO SLEEP TODAY You called me one evening. I am a rescue, you had a dog of the breed I rescued. You weren't sure what to do, seems the dog was nipping the children lately and you didn't like that. I offered you some advice, the name of a good trainer/behaviorist, but your mind was made up. Please come get the dog now, if possible. I rearrange my evening plans and go over to your house. I sit down with you and your husband, explain the paper work you had to sign. You signed it without asking any questions, even the part that says once in a while, we have to put down a dog. I asked if you had contacted the breeder yet. Your answer is you had never thought about that. You hand me the signed papers, her AKC papers (I would contact the breeder myself) and her leash. You point me to the back yard. As I go out into the back yard, I see two children. The oldest has the dog pinned down in a choke hold and the little one is sticking something down what looks like the dog's ears. The children see me and immediately jump up. The dog runs away, it paces the fence looking for a way out. There is no dog house, no bedding. I see a bowl of dirty water only. I tell the kids to say their good byes to the dog, they shrug and walk inside. Still the dog is pacing the fence, she is so scared she doesn't even look at me as I approach. I talk quietly to her, she ignore me. I walk so very slowly up to her. She stops and looks at me, the pain on her face is so real, I take in a deep breath of shock. I show this dog the leash. She is dirty, looks like she hasn't been groomed in ages and stinks to the high heavens. She sees the leash and her tail finally wags a bit. As I go to put the leash on her, she snaps at me. It is a threat only, not meant to connect and bite, but still I did jump a bit. She follows me as I take her out the gate and to my car. In the car, she is shaking her head and whining. She digs at her ears. I finally stop the car, talk to her and reach for her ears. She snaps again, once more a warning, not to bite, but to warn. The minute I lift the ear leather the smell about knocks me over. She would not let me get close enough to look inside. Her growls are real, so I leave it be and head immediately to the ER vet. The vet, his assistant and I could not hold her down to look in her ears. The vet got a closer look than me and said all he could see was hair everywhere. We have to sedate her to clean out her ears. In them, we found sticks, stickers and pebbles. I cry as I stroke this girl. The vet is aware I am a rescue and this is a dog I just picked up, but the look on his face says how angry he is. The damage is extensive, both eardrums are punctured and the vet is not sure she will ever regain her hearing completely. The cost was $600 for just that procedure but it could not wait. She was in so much pain, it was late and my own vet wouldn't be open until Monday (of course this was a Friday night). Her weight is very low for a dog her size. Her ribs show, not dangerously but not good either. She is thin and exhausted. She sleeps in the back of the car as I drive home. The next day she sleeps most of the day also. My own dogs greet her, her reply is a growl, they respect her space and back away. She eats like she is starved, this is a good thing. But she is also food guarding, as if someone is going to take her food away. I keep telling myself that she is still not well, give her a chance! She has lived a horrible life and needs time to heal. Six weeks go by and still she is unresponsive, stiffens when you pet her and wants nothing to do with the other dogs. Fights have broken out over food and toys. If I raise my voice even a fraction so she can hear me (remember her hearing is bad) she pees. She paces constantly when she is not asleep. I have contacted the breeder who says she has no idea whom this dog is. I give her the information on the AKC papers for the dam and sire, she admits they are her dogs but no, she doesn't want to take this dog back. She says I can do what ever I want with her. I am willing to bet it is a BYB or a puppy mill. She finds no happiness in anything. Toys are to be hoarded as is food. She doesn't play, not even with my other rescues and personal dogs. The rescues behaviorist takes a look at her. She sort of shakes her head when she is done. She is withdrawn, is not food motivated, and has no need for human contact. She doesn't respond to praise. She sat the entire time the behaviorist was with her, looked away as if looking for an escape route. She even snapped at the behaviorist when she pushed her a bit to see if she could get a reaction. She gave me some exercises to try to reach her, but she thought maybe, just maybe this one was a lost cause. All we could do was hope for a miracle. I keep working for the next two weeks, trying to put my hands on her, rewarding her with treats. She takes them in her mouth, spits them out and then waits until I am gone before she eats them. I try to get her to sit with me on the couch so I can love on her, pet her, show her that she has nothing to fear here. She usually runs for her crate or a dog pillow and turns her back to me. If I force her, she sits stiff and stone-like, no response from her at all. Nothing make her happy. Then one day while I was giving her her meds, she attacks me and bites my face. I am not mad, it is probably my fault for forcing her more than I should to swallow the pill she is suppose to take for her ear infection. We had gone to my personal vet many times by now for ear problems, teeth problems and of course behavior problems. She saw what she did to my face, immediately freezes and pees all over herself. She cowers as if I am going to beat her, she whines and lays down in her own pee. I move not a muscle except to touch my face to see if I am bleeding. I leave her be and finally she crawls off for her crate. Talking to the behaviorist, she decides to take her for a while and see if maybe she can reach her. She attacks one of her little dogs and kills it. Today, I took her for one last walk, gave her some of her favorite food and we went for a trip to the vet. I pet her as she laid on the table, still growling at being held down while the vet preps your vein. A look of peace came over her face as the medicine coursed through her system. Then the eyes dull over. I cry hard. I cry so very hard because I felt I have failed her. I know she was illbred, mishandled, abused and not loved. How could someone do this to this lovely breed of dog? I tried so hard. I wanted her to know life as a loving pet, to know love and trust, to know how to be spoiled and pampered. I know she is happy now and no longer in pain. I look at the vet and curse the breeder and the family that the breeder never truly interviewed when they sold them this dog. I cursed her abuse, her inability to love and be happy, I curse her inability to trust. I cursed everything I could think of including myself. I am a rescue, I am not suppose to put dogs down! Today, a lovely dog enters the rainbow bridge where she is healed and able to love. Where no one torments her and she can hear once again. I pray she is happy now and that all her demons are gone. For this was a beautiful blue Great Dane , one of the most lovely of all dogs. You think abuse never happens to such dogs, but it does. You think that breeders of this lovely breed would care. I for one will miss her, even if she is happier away from this life of pain. I hope today she has finally found happiness. Author Unknown ***************************** INTERVIEW AT THE DOG POUND by Sally Hull As a journalist, I decided to go to the dog pound, and interview some of the "inmates". I wanted to know what it was like in there from their perspective. What follows is not for the faint of heart. I entered the building, and one of the workers accompanied me to the holding area. This is where dogs are kept before they are allowed up for adoption; IF they are allowed up for adoption. If the dogs are found to be aggressive in any way, euthanasia is employed. Fortunately, if "fortunately" is the word to be used here; this is a Canadian establishment, and they use lethal injection, not a gas chamber. The pound worker led me past a big steel door that says "Employees Only". "What is in there?" I asked. From the look he gave me, I knew that this is where dogs go in, and never return. We moved on to a row of kennels. The dogs were barking loudly, there was the acrid smell of urine and feces, and a feeling of despair seemed to permeate the room. "Go ahead," the worker said. "They're all yours." Pete I looked into the first kennel, and saw only the back of a medium sized dog who was curled up in the corner of his kennel, shivering. He was mostly white, with some black spots. "Hello?" I said. "May I come in?" He lifted his head, as though it weighed more than he could bear. When he looked at me, I could see he was a Pitbull. His eyes were gentle, but filled with grief. "Enter," was all he said. I stepped in, closing the gate behind me. He put his head back down, facing away from me. I crouched down a few feet away. "My name is Pete. Petey my Master called me," he said, still not looking at me. "Why are you here Pete?" I asked. "I am here because Master cannot afford to move to another province. I am here because someone with power said I am vicious, and a killer. Someone who never met me. Master took me for a walk one day, and some lady started to scream when she saw me. I got frightened, and barked at her. The dog police came, and they took me away. I have been with Master for 10 years. The last time I saw him, he just held me and cried. He kept telling me he was sorry. I worry for him. Whatever will he do without me?" Pete shivered even more. A tear slid down my face. I am supposed to remain objective, but this was wrong; so wrong. "Thank you Pete." I said. He said nothing as I got up and left his kennel. Popper The kennel next to Pete's held a very young looking dog. Pure Border Collie by my guess. He stood on his hind legs, looking at me through the gate. "Hello. My name's Popper. He tilted his head. "Are you here to take me home?" "No, I'm sorry," I replied. "But I would like to talk with you." "Sure. What would you like to talk about?" "Popper, how did you come to be in this place?" I asked. Popper dropped down from the gate, with a perplexed look on his face. He walked to the back of the kennel, then back to the front. I noticed he had one blue eye, and one brown. He was quite beautiful. His black and white coat was shiny and thick. "I am not certain WHY I am here. I think maybe my family will come back for me. They bought me when I was only 6 weeks old. I remember they said how smart Border Collies are, and how it would be so easy to train me. They were very excited at first. The little ones played with me all the time. But the trouble with little Masters is, they refuse to stay in a group. I constantly had to nip their heels to keep them together." He looked confused. "Why won't they stay in a group?" he sighed. "So I did what I thought I should do. I am not quite sure why the little ones screamed when I did my job, but they did, and the Masters got very angry at me. They also got angry when I had to relieve myself, and did so in the house. I am not sure where they expected me to go. All they said was that I was the smartest breed in the world, and I should just KNOW better. Then they left me in the yard for a month or so. I got bored a lot, and I dug holes in the grass. The next thing I knew, the Masters brought me here." Popper jumped back up on the gate, his white paws protruding through the links. He looked at me with his lovely eyes, and asked, "Will you please let them know I want to come home? Please tell them I promise I will be good?" "I will Popper," I said. Spartan My heart was breaking. I was beginning to regret coming here, but their stories had to be told. I moved along. The next dog I saw looked to be easily 100 lbs., a Rottweiler. He was handsome indeed, except for the scars on his face and back. He tilted his head, and looked me right in the eyes. "Hello. Who are you?" he asked. "I am a reporter," I replied. "May I speak with you for a little while?" "Most certainly. My name is Spartan. You can come in, I won't bite," he said. "Thank you Spartan. I will." I entered his kennel, reached out and stroked his giant head. He made a loud grumbling noise, and closed his eyes. "Spartan, why are you here?" Before he could answer my question, he was suddenly in the grip of a nasty coughing spasm. It sounded painful. "Please excuse me," he said when it passed. "Kennel cough. It seems all of us who come in here get it. "Why am I here? Well, about two years ago, I was born in the backyard of some person I can't even recall. I had 11 brothers and sisters. I recall a day when a big man came and gave that person some money, and took me away from my mother. They had to chain her up, as she was very angry that he took me. They chained her and beat her. I came to know the man by the name of Jim. I overheard him telling his friends that I would grow up to be big and mean like my mother. But as I grew older, all I wanted to do was play and be friends with everyone. Jim said I needed to be taught how to be mean, so he chained me up in the yard. No more house for me, he said, I was too spoiled. When people came by to visit, I was so happy to see them. I wanted them to come and play. But that made Jim angry, so he beat me with sticks and chains. When he came near, I would roll onto my back so he would know I wasn't a bad dog. That made him beat me more." Spartan's eyes clouded with grief. "Then he brought me here." I reached out and stroked Spartan's massive gentle head once more. "I am so sorry Spartan. Some people are just plain evil." I gave him a kiss and left his kennel. As I walked away, Spartan called out, "What will happen to me, nice lady?" I shook my head. "I can't say Spartan. Maybe someone kind will come and get you. We can only hope." Patsy I walked a little further down. I could see a shape moving at the back of the next kennel. "Hello?" I called out. Suddenly the shape lunged at the gate in a fury, barking and gnashing its teeth. I stumbled backwards, and crashed into an adjacent kennel. The other dogs began barking loudly and jumping at their gates. "Don't go near her," a small female voice came from behind me. "She's mad." I gathered myself back together, and saw a little Jack Russell Terrier behind me. "Thanks for the warning," I was still trembling. Across the way, the other dog, apparently a Husky and German Shepherd cross, was glaring at me, lips curled back revealing brown stained teeth. Her ribs and hips showed through her dull, matted grey coat. The little dog invited me into her kennel, and I gladly went in. "Who are you?" "My name is Patsy." The little brown and white dog held a paw up to the gate in greeting. "My owner surrendered me. She said she wanted a cute little dog like the one on the TV show, Frasier. She didn't bother to look into the type of dog I am." Patsy heaved a sigh. "I suppose she expected me to just lie about and only need a short walk each day, just like Eddie, but my energy was so high that I needed to run and play." She glanced at her surroundings. "Now I am here. I suppose it could be worse. I could be like her." Patsy looked towards the still growling dog across the way. "What happened to make her so vicious?" I asked. "From what we could gather," she replied. "she was found tied in a back yard. She only had a three foot chain. Some days there was no water. Rarely was there any food. One day a nice neighbour came by and brought her some meat. By then it was too late. She was already mad. She broke off her chain, and bit the poor man badly. We know she will be going behind the steel door. I am sad to say, I think it will be best. Perhaps then she will know some peace." Just then, the door at the end of the building opened, and a woman stepped inside. All the dogs began to bark wildly, then one by one, they went quiet. I whispered to Patsy, "Who is that? Why have all the dogs gone quiet?" Patsy breathed deeply through her little nose, and closed her eyes. "SHE is a Rescuer. Can't you smell it?" she asked. "Smell what?" I was confused. "Compassion. Love. Sorrow. It emanates from her pores. She is here for one of us, but nobody knows who just yet." Patsy looked hopeful. The Rescuer moved from kennel to kennel, looking at each dog. I sat quietly watching. I could see tears in her eyes as she made eye contact with each one. She stopped at Spartan's cage and spoke quietly to him. "No more beatings my man. No more. You are coming with me. From here on in, it's all going to get better." The Rescuer produced a leash, opened the kennel door, and took Spartan away. As he walked beside her, his little stubby tail wagged with delight. Patsy sighed again. I could see the disappointment in her eyes, and it grieved me. They all had the same look, as they watched The Rescuer depart. "I am so sorry Patsy," I said in a whisper. "But you are a little dog, and everyone loves little dogs. I am convinced you will be rescued soon." Patsy's brown eyes twinkled at me, a little bit of hope returning. I had heard and seen enough. I needed to tell people how it was for these unfortunate creatures. They were all here through no fault of their own. I stood to leave. I passed by many other dogs I did not interview, looking at each one, wishing I could take them all home with me and give them the love they deserved. I stood by the door taking one last glance back, when it opened, and one of the pound workers came in. His face was drawn and sad. He walked by without a word, and stopped at Pete's kennel. I heard him take a deep breath, then he paused, and opened the kennel door. The words were muffled, but I am sure I heard him say "I'm sorry old boy." He came out, with Petey in tow. The old dog's head hung down in resignation, and they both disappeared behind the big steel door. --- Copyright Sally Hull July 6th/2006 selahv@... Please consider a small donation to Shahna's Shelter of hope: http://members.shaw.ca/shelterofhope/ 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, in the Mills of Missouri Written by: Robin Presnall of Small Paws Rescue "Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the mills, Not a puppy was stirring, it was strangely quite and still. While back at the pole, Santa readied the sleigh, To pick up these mill dogs, it was such a long way! The reindeer were dressing all quick in a hurry They were headed for RESCUE, and straight for MISSOURI! On Dasher on Dancer on Comet and Cupid. Those pups go to Pet Shops! We know! We're not stupid! As his sleigh did approach, the mill gates opened wide, Santa called to them all, and they all jumped inside! On Poodles, on Bichons, on Golden Retrievers! Grab up the babies, we save those for grievers! On Westies, on Lhasas, on cute Weenie Boogers, On Shih Tzus and Scotties, they're all sweet as sugar! On Schnauzers, and Maltese, on Wire Haired Fox Terriers! We've got room for ALL, the more now, the merrier! And the sleigh just grew bigger as they all made more room, These pups lives were changing! No more gloom and doom! While out on the lawns there arose such a clatter The millers ran out to see what was the matter! When they found their "stock" gone, how the millers did sob, While a Voice from about boomed, "GO GET A REAL JOB!" As it seemed it could not get much better than this, I started to wake, did I dream all of this??? There was no red sleigh, no reindeer with wings. I guess it was sadly, just one of those things, That you dream and you dream, till one day 'twill be. That glorious day, when the mills are history! And I think as we tell them, and tell them again, Soon it will be that we all know that when, One buys from a pet shop, there are pups you don't see. The Mama and Daddy, who are longing to be, Loved by a family, and scratched on their heads. Not sleeping on wire, that are now called their beds. One day it will be, oh how great that will feel! We won't mill our puppies like paper and steel! And I heard it exclaimed as I woke up that night, We won't stand for this, we'll stand up and fight! With each breath we do have and each word we do say, We'll tell about the mills, till that glorious day, When the mills are outlawed, and all over Missouri, The occupation of milling, will be but a memory. http://www.nebraskaanimalrescue.org/Stories/christmasmill.html *************************** HELP NEEDED ASAP: Please help!!!! After two long years of being on a waiting list for an agility dog, we have been notified by the breeder that, at long last, our number has come up and ... WE ARE HAVING A PUPPY!!! We must get rid of our children IMMEDIATELY because we just know how time consuming our new little puppy is going to be and it just wouldn't be fair to the children. Since our little puppy will be arriving on Monday we MUST place the children into rescue this weekend! They are described as: One male - His name is Tommy, Caucasian (English/Irish mix), light blonde hair, blue eyes. Four years old. Excellent disposition. He doesn't bite. Temperament tested. Does have problems with peeing directly in the toilet. Has had chicken Pox and is current on all shots. Tonsils have already been removed. Tommy eats everything, is very clean, house trained & gets along well with others. Does not run with scissors and with a little training he should be able to read soon. One female - Her name is Lexie, Caucasian (English/Irish mix), strawberry blonde hair, green eyes quite freckled. Two years old. Can be surly at times. Non-biter, thumb sucker. Has been temperament tested but needs a little attitude adjusting occasionally. She is current on all shots, tonsils out, and is very healthy & can be affectionate. Gets along well with other little girls & little boys but does not like to share her toys and therefore would do best in a one child household. She is a very quick learner and is currently working on her house training-shouldn't take long at all. We really do LOVE our children so much and want to do what's right for them; that is why we contacted a rescue group. But we simply can no longer keep them. Also, we are afraid that they may hurt our new puppy. I hope you understand that ours is a UNIQUE situation and we have a real emergency here!!! They MUST be placed into your rescue by Sunday night at the latest or we will be forced to drop them off at the orphanage or along some dark, country road. Our priority now has to be our new puppy. -- Author Unknown ********************************** I AM FAMOUS NOW! (Retrieved from the Internet; also appeared in the Mastiff Club of Victoria newsletter.) I was born today. One of 10. My daddy was very famous. I have lots of half brothers and sisters. My mother is very famous. Since she got famous, she has only had puppies. No more loving hands, no more fun trips ... just puppies. She is always sad when they leave her. I left home today. I didn't want to go, so I hid behind my mama and my three littermates that were left. I didn't like you. But one day they said I would be famous. I wonder; is famous the same as fun and good times? So you picked me up and carried me away, even though you were concerned about me hiding from you. I don't think you liked me. My new home is far away. I am scared and afraid. My heart says BE BRAVE. My ancestors were. Did they go to good homes like mine? I'm hungry because I can't eat too much because it will be bad for my bones. I can't bite or snap when the children are mean to me. I just run and play and pretend I am in a big green field with butterflies and robins and frogs. I can't understand why they kick me. I am quiet, but the man hits and says loud things. The lady doesn't feed me good things like I had with my mother. She just throws dry food on the ground, then goes away before I can get too close for touching and petting. Sometimes my food smells bad but I eat it anyway. Today I had 10 puppies. They are so wonderful and warm. Am I famous now? I wish I could play with them, but they are so tiny. I am so young and playful that it is hard to lay here in this hole under the house nursing my puppies. They are crying now. I am so hungry. I scratch and worry my fur. I wish someone would throw me some food. I am also very thirsty. I now have eight. Two got cold during the night and I couldn't make them warm again. They are gone. We are all very weak. Maybe if I take them out on the porch, we can get some food. Today they took us away. It was too much trouble to feed us and someone came to take us away. Someone grabbed my puppies, they were crying and whimpering. We were put in a truck with boxes in it. Are my babies famous now? I hope so, because I miss them. They are gone. The place smelled of urine, fear and sickness. Why was I here? I was beautiful, like my ancestors. Now I am hungry, dirty, in pain and unwanted. Maybe the worst is unwanted. No one came though I tried to be good. Today someone came. They put a rope on my neck and led me to a room that was very clean and had a shiny table. They put me on the table. Someone held me and hugged me. I felt so good!!! Then I felt tired and laid over the last one who cared. I AM FAMOUS NOW. Today someone cared. *************************** Spix's Macaw I Am Just A Bird** by Alyson Cozzolina Based on the true account of the Spix's Macaw. Unfortunately, the last Spix's Macaw disappeared in 2000 so the species is now extinct in the wild. This is due solely from human exploitation for the pet trade. I am just a bird, and life is with my mate. We were frisky on the rocks today- our morning started late. Amidst the other flocks, we clearly had our fun- hanging upside down for her and basking in the sun. Another lazy day, when all at once we tensed, so off we flew! (the flock birds too) for danger had been sensed. I called to her, she called to me- we looped and swooped and soared! My every move in tune with hers, (the one that I adored.) I am just a bird, we destined for our nest. Only with us safely there, allow our wings to rest. Almost home, I called to her but something was not right- I heard no echo in reply, which filled my heart with fright. I circled 'round and back once more calling as I flew. Oh the fear, without her near! (For she was all I knew.) I am just a bird, and when I heard her cry, I screamed with joy and flipped and twirled- my colors lit the sky! But just like that I stopped, and perched atop a tree. What stretched across the distance confused and baffled me. Shock came not from what I saw, but from the absence there- beyond the tree below me now the forest was stripped bare. I am just a bird, then I saw my mate below- entangled in a shiny mesh her eyes abrim with woe. I called to her, she called to me- her call was soft and weak. I glided slowly downwards and caressed her with my beak. My heart began to break, for she was fading fast. I tried to ease her pain as these moments were her last. I preened her blood-soaked feathers, and she rubbed me with her head. I stayed against her body, long after she was dead. I am just a bird, without a mate to find- in all the world, I now remain the last one of our kind. So as I fly alone, I long for her each day, and though I know she's gone, I call her anyway. Still in these shrinking woods, a call is often heard- my lonely, aching call to her- I am just a bird. ********************************** A Rescue Dog's Christmas Poem Tis the night before Christmas and all through the town, every shelter is full - we are lost, but not found, Our numbers are hung on our kennels so bare, we hope every minute that someone will care, They'll come to adopt us and give us the call, "Come here, Max and Sparkie - come fetch your new ball!! But now we sit here and think of the days... we were treated so fondly - we had cute, baby ways, Once we were little, then we grew and we grew now we're no longer young and we're no longer new. So out the back door we were thrown like the trash, they reacted so quickly - why were they so rash? We "jump on the children:, "don't come when they call", we "bark when they leave us", climb over the wall. We should have been neutered, we should have been spayed, now we suffer the consequence of the errors THEY made. If only they'd trained us, if only we knew... we'd have done what they asked us and worshiped them, too. We were left in the backyard, or worse -let to roam- now we're tired and lonely and out of a home. They dropped us off here and they kissed us good-bye... "Maybe someone else will give you a try." So now here we are, all confused and alone... in a shelter with others who long for a home. The kind workers come through with a meal and a pat, with so many to care for, they can't stay to chat, They move to the next kennel, giving each of us cheer... we know that they wonder how long we'll be here. We lay down to sleep and sweet dreams fill our heads... of a home filled with love and our own cozy beds. Then we wake to see sad eyes, brimming with tears - our friends filled with emptiness, worry, and fear. If you can't adopt us and there's no room at the Inn - could you help with the bills and fill our food bin? We count on your kindness each day of the year - can you give more than hope to everyone here? Please make a donation to pay for the heat... and help get us something special to eat. The shelter that cares for us wants us to live, and more of us will, if more people will give. --Author Unknown ****************************** Why Some Rabbits Have Pink Eyes A long, long time ago when the world was very new and all the animals were learning why they were created, the Maker of Animals spoke to the rabbits. "You must ensure our world continues by helping to feed the eagles and the foxes, for without them and others of their kind, all life on our world will soon die out. In gratitude, I grant you the ability to run very fast so many of you will escape. I also grant you many other gifts which will allow your family to increase. Rabbits will always be!" One odd-looking little white rabbit with pink eyes spoke up, saying "But Maker, what about me? I look really different than my brothers and sisters and my eyes are so sensitive I can't bear to go outside during the daylight. I'm afraid my family will disappoint you and fail in your plans for us." The Maker gently took up the white rabbit and spoke thus, "Oh, sweet bunny, you have a very special gift! You are all white to show the rabbits' pure love, kindness, and gentleness to all the humans in this new world. You and many others of your kind, white or not, will be chosen to live with fortunate humans who need and appreciate the very special connection between humans and many of my animals." "Maker," said the white bunny, "my family will gladly give love to those who seek it. But still I wonder why my eyes are pink - so different than all these other rabbits." The Maker stroked the fur of this oh-so-curious, smart little rabbit, now called Bunny. "Well, My Own, your kind in particular will be those most blessed of rabbits who will be able to see their beloved humans through rose-colored eyes!" ~the author wishes to remain anonymous ************************* They laughed around her, About things she knew were cruel and appalling, She was the lonely one who cared about animals, Was more sensitive, Like she felt separate from the human race. She tried to make friends, Reached out and was there for people, But they were never there for her, Never returned calls, Didn't show up for plans, Just were polite and phony to her face, Time after time, making her become a hand-me-down. She tried to be strong, Attempted to have confidence, Though loneliness at times would hit her, And make her sob. She gradually became bitter and untrusting, Though in her past she always said she didn't want to become that way, But she was taught from experience; No one would choose her to spend their time with, No one would be there for her, No one simply cared. On one of her days full of reflective thoughts, She wandered a store shopping as she prayed, In the next moment, She was drawn to a bulletin board, There in front of her was a flyer; "She's been at the pound the longest." And looked into the beautiful eyes of a pit bull, The sight was poignant, Like a plan, she got into her car, And drove to the pound. Through the building the barking was so loud and hard to take in, Walking down the prison isle, Waiting to see her face. When she came into view, And she saw her face, She immediately knew it was her. Bending over to touch her face, She almost cried, This stranger was so precious, So sensitive, That she saw her own life in the pit bull's eyes, Which were so sincere. She did not ask, just opened the barred door, She knelt down and touched her gently, The pit bull gave her a sincere kiss back. She could see right through her, Understood her, As they were both hand-me-downs, No negative judgments were made, Didn't notice her unfancy brown coat, Just hugged her, wanting to reassure her. She knew, Deciding, at that moment, She said with emotion; "It will be OK from now on, I will never leave you, I will always be there for you, I love you." And gave her a kiss. She meant it more than when anyone else she knew had said it, The pit bull's returned kiss was like she repeated the words back. Someone finally responded to her sensitive touch, Appreciated her love and care, Something they both needed and craved, Finding someone that would never hurt them. That day she chose to spend her life with her, She gave her the gift of life, And received life for herself again, Never to be alone, Always having each other there to lean on and comfort, when life became hard to handle, And resolving the achingness of broken love by sharing it every day with each other with loyalty. -(c)2008 Molly Nicole -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back to top