Relocating Rusty

The following is a true story based on many conversations that I have had with Susan, Rusty's mommy:

He is a mutt. Lots of golden retriever, but also maybe part chow-chow (since he has a purple tongue), and part…well, I don’t really know what other part. I do know he came into my life when I needed a confidant, a buddy and someone to love me unconditionally.

Rusty, my handsome, happy boy:

In 1995, Rusty was first adopted by a young man through Friends of Strays, an animal shelter in St. Petersburg, Florida. Rusty lived with this first owner until he was about 2 years old. Then, suddenly, Rusty’s owner could no longer “keep” him. I was finally on my feet after some rocky years as a single parent, and I had just bought my own home. It was the perfect time for me to have a dog, and it was something I had been wanting to do for many, many years. So in July of 1997, this furry, cheerful mutt became my boy.

Rusty is such a happy-go-lucky guy…my friend used to joke that if a burglar came into my home in the middle of the night, Rusty would lick his hand and say, “Follow me! I’ll show you where the valuables are!” Very rarely does he bark at strangers – he mainly just whines at the front window and waits for people to come into his home so that he can greet them and enjoy their company.

After Rusty had lived with me and my daughter for more than 6 years, I got re-married. My husband had already owned a Maine-Coon cat, named Tony, and when Tony joined our home, he and Rusty became best buddies. Rusty taught Tony to sit next to him when he comes in from outside, so that they can both get a treat. Rusty also enjoys going for car rides in his daddy’s truck, and at the end of the day, when my husband and I tell Rusty and Tony that it is bedtime, they both come into our bedroom to go to bed.

Rusty and Tony, relaxing together and looking out into our backyard:

Rusty in his daddy's truck, ready to go on another excursion:

Rusty has a great passion for chasing furry creatures that wander into our backyard. He loves to chase squirrels and recently he even caught a possum (opossum)! What an adventure that turned out to be…I spent an hour chasing Rusty around the yard, trying to get him to put the possum down. Finally, when it was all said and done, I put the possum in a bag and put the bag into the trash. The following day, my husband was gathering the trash and he was surprised to find that the possum was still alive…We set the creature free; he walked off, and he hasn’t been back since!

Rusty is beginning to show his age. He must be somewhere around 14 years old now, and his golden face has begun to turn white. He gets up a little slower than he used to, but he’s still my happy companion day in and day out. I sometimes try to imagine my life without my golden retriever mutt, but I just can’t. I know that relocating Rusty from his first owner to my family was one of the best things that could have happened for Rusty, and for me. I am so thankful I found out about the young golden-retriever-mix that needed a home, and I am grateful I was the person who could give that home to him.

Rusty's face is turning white - but his smile is still a happy one:

~ I will continue to share true stories with you in the hopes that they may inspire you to take some sort of action -
1) whether to move you to make a small donation to your local shelter,
2) to possibly donate a few hours of your time volunteering at a Humane Society or Rescue near you,
3) to become a foster-home for needy puppies or for animals awaiting adoption,
4) or to even become a "furever" home for a needy soul, like Susan did for Rusty. ~ Thank you!!

Beautiful Bailey

The following is a true story based on many interviews that I have had with Kelli, Bailey's mommy:

In 1991, when I was 23 years old and fresh out of college, I left my shift at the hospital for the afternoon and went to the local Humane Society to drop off some old towels and blankets. I did this often, because I have always had a heart for animals (especially dogs). I had just recently moved into a small apartment and although this phase of my life was fresh and new, I realized my life still had an empty spot, too.

On this hot August afternoon I told myself not to go inside the shelter, because I felt I just wasn’t in the right place in my life to own a pet. For an unknown reason that day, I felt compelled to take a peek at the puppies that were visible from the fence. After that, I felt even more obliged to go inside, and as I passed through the office to go out to the kennels, I saw a worker bottle-feeding a tiny puppy. The little pup was just 3 weeks old, and the only survivor from its litter. The mother dog had been abused and neglected, and this led to dehydrated and starved babies. As I peered at the diminutive ball of scraggly fur in the worker’s lap, I was told that the Humane Society was considering putting the weak puppy “out of its misery”. Odds were not good that the baby would even survive at all, even if they could find the manpower to bottle-feed and nurse the puppy through the next few precarious weeks. The last chance for the puppy would be to find a foster home that would be willing to donate the endless hours of care the baby needed. I took the weakling right then and there, intending to bring her home and nurse her until she was old enough for me to fill out the paperwork and adopt the baby, providing her a permanent, lifetime home.

Bailey, my shepherd/lab mix puppy, had the odds against her from the very beginning. Once I had the baby home, I soon discovered that the puppy was not only malnourished, she was unbelievably infested with worms, highly anemic, and had dangerously low blood calcium levels. For the first week Bailey was home, I didn’t sleep. I cared for the puppy 24-hours a day, treating her holistically, focusing on Bailey’s needs, providing her with natural and healthy foods, healing exercise, being sure she received crucial rest, and providing safe and effective homeopathic treatments when possible. Bailey was so malnourished that on her very first walk on a leash, at 5 weeks of age, the puppy suddenly began to limp. I found out that Bailey’s toe had broken on the walk, due to such low calcium levels. But very slowly, over the next few weeks, Bailey’s health began to improve. I even made crazy raw liver and wheatgrass shakes to improve the puppy’s iron levels. Amazingly, Bailey loved them!

My Bailey-baby, growing and getting healthier every day:

There is no doubt that Bailey was a fighter, and I think I was the human being who was granted the gift of giving this dog the ammunition she needed to win. The once near-death puppy began to grow and heal, and with my intense and consistent care, Bailey was housebroken and crate trained by 8 weeks old! Furthermore, a now healthy Bailey rapidly learned to be squeeker trained, knew all the basic commands, mastered several advanced commands, and passed the Canine Good Citizen Test, all before she was one year old! When Bailey did turn 1, in August of 1992, she officially became a therapy dog.

But the remarkable story of this beautiful shepherd mix does not stop there! Bailey’s life became one filled with amazing adventures. Bailey became my shadow, accompanying me everywhere. She even sailed to the Bahamas and up and down the Eastern Seaboard with me.

Bailey, beautiful and all grown up:

Bailey also had many remarkable events happen to her in her lifetime. When Bailey and I moved from Florida to northern Virginia, one afternoon Bailey successfully rescued a little boy from drowning in a lake. Another time, when Bailey and I were hiking in the Shenandoah’s, we unknowingly came too close to some bear cubs. When the momma bear began to charge, Bailey instinctively stood in front of me, ready to shield me from any harm. That was not the only occasion where Bailey protected me. Once the brave shepherd shielded me from another human being when someone broke into our home. Bailey was unhurt, but the intruder was sent to the hospital. Another time, on a walk together in our neighborhood, a loose dog lunged to attack me. Instinctively, Bailey protected me by grabbing the offending dog by the throat and growling as she held the animal down to the ground until the dog’s owners came to retrieve it. The entire time Bailey exhibited grace and speed, yet she never hurt the attacking dog, she simply stopped it from harming me in any way.

Bailey hiking with me in the Shenandoah Mountains:

Bailey’s heroic acts were so memorable, and one time she even made the local news! This happened when I lived on a busy highway in Virginia. One morning, there was a clutch of baby geese trying to cross a 4-lane highway. I got out of my car, stopped traffic and whistled for Bailey to come to me, and then gave the shepherd the “herd” command. The goslings made it safely to the other side of the highway, pictures were taken, and Bailey became a local celebrity. And her instinct to herd did not stop with baby geese. Once I took Bailey to Asetegue Island, and she even herded the wild ponies!

The bond created between me and Bailey began on that hot August afternoon in 1991. For over 12 years, Bailey had protected, loved, cherished and devotedly gave of herself to me. Then, just a month after her 12th birthday, Bailey was diagnosed with a rapidly growing brain tumor. It was if the world had fallen out from underneath me, and there was no way I could imagine my life without my Bailey. I turned to an herbologist, who helped Bailey live a happy, pain free, vibrant and full life for almost one full year after the initial diagnosis. On August 28, 2004, three weeks after Bailey’s 13th birthday and almost 13 years to the day from when I first brought home the emaciated and weak puppy, Bailey suffered a stroke. Unbelievably, I realized Bailey’s time here on this earth had to end. My heart broke over and over again as I had to put my soul-mate to sleep.

The love that I felt, and still feel, for my Bailey is not something that can be described in words. The bond between the two of us was indescribably strong and solid. That little shepherd/lab mix puppy deserved such a full and happy life, and so much more. I only hope I was able to give Bailey everything she was worthy of.

“Bailey was an angel on earth and now she's an angel in heaven.”

~ I will continue to share true stories with you in the hopes that they may inspire you to take some sort of action -
1) whether to move you to make a small donation to your local shelter,
2) to possibly donate a few hours of your time volunteering at a Humane Society or Rescue near you,
3) to become a foster-home for needy puppies or for animals awaiting adoption,
4) or to even become a "furever" home for a needy soul, like Kelli did for Bailey. ~ Thank you!!

Saving Jaxon

In a small, rural Florida community, down a narrow dirt road, behind some overgrown brush and untrimmed bushes, there is a single-wide mobile home with a large, dark brown dog sitting in a dusty front yard. This dog lives outdoors, attached to a tree via a short, tangled chain. A well-worn path surrounds the trunk of the three, made by the many circles of the female dog. She appears to be a mix between a Rottweiler and a Labrador Retriever. And almost 2 years ago, on a chilly March morning, this dog gave birth to a litter of 10 puppies. Obviously the dog was not spayed, the pregnancy was not planned, and the irresponsible owner suddenly found himself with 10 puppies that had no homes.

When the puppies were 3 weeks old, my daughter and her friend went to this worn-down trailer to look at some tires that were for sale. My then 19-year-old child can be extremely compassionate, and when she heard about the puppies, she just had to see them. My daughter peeked into a soiled cardboard box and saw the panting mixed-breed momma, with her 10 little puppies that looked more like rats, hungrily nursing from their mother. The mother dog was run-down, skinny and struggling her best to continue to care for her 10 ravenous puppies. Three of the babies had their mother’s same dark brown coat with black markings, three were solid tan, three more had coat patterns like a Rottweiler, and one sole pup stood out from the rest, with his white coat and huge paws. As my daughter lifted up each baby, the pup would squirm and yip to be returned to its mother. But the bigger white puppy just grunted and sighed when she picked him up. He just sat in my daughter’s hands, soaking in her warmth.

Two weeks later, when the puppies had then become 5 weeks old, my daughter again returned to the dilapidated home. This time she saw the momma dog tied to a tree on a cable less than 2-feet long, with 10 little puppies running about the yard randomly. In the side of a small hill in the yard was an L-shaped “tunnel” dug out about 3 feet deep and about 5 feet across. At the very end of this long dirt cave was where the puppies slept and avoided the weather. My daughter watched as the owner filled a disposable aluminum foil roasting pan with dried dog food, and then sprayed the food with cold water from the hose. One by one the puppies surrounded the mush to eat. Finally, a grey, filthy puppy, twice the size of his brothers and sisters, crawled reluctantly from the dirt tunnel and came out to eat. My daughter scooped him up instantly. She held him close, momentarily oblivious to the thousands of fleas that were ravaging the puppy’s fur. She decided, then and there, that this little boy deserved a chance. It was apparent to her that the owner was pretty irresponsible about his dog, and who knew what was going to happen to these unhealthy, young puppies that weren’t receiving the care they should have received? My daughter was going to do what she could, and right then-and-there she chose “Jaxon” to be her new baby.

A dingy, flea-infested Jaxon on his first car ride, leaving the dirty tunnel and heading to a life of pampering and love:

Very shortly thereafter, 3 more puppies were given away to others who felt the need to save a pup. Two more of the puppies ended up staying at the run-down home with their momma. And sadly, 4 more puppies were turned over to a kill-shelter in our county. One can only hope they received a loving home before their “time ran out”, but we will never really know.

Jaxon's momma, tethered to a tree on her terribly short cable, surrounded by some of her dirty and neglected puppies:

When my daughter brought Jaxon home, he received not just one bath on that first day, but three! Each time she washed the filthy baby, more and more fleas would fall from his body and fill the water in the tub. The fleas were so heavily infested in this pup, that initially my daughter thought Jaxon had a spotted stomach, but after the third bath, she discovered his belly was really bright pink. And due to the intense flea infestation, this puppy was riddled with worms. His belly was huge and swollen due to such an intense worm problem.

It took three baths until the fleas were not so prevalent, but you can still see some in the tub water:

After his first bath, Jaxon slept for hours and hours. When he awoke, he began to eat his warm, nutritional puppy food, but promptly fell asleep in his food bowl!

An exhausted puppy, too tired to finish eating:

At 7 weeks old, after my daughter worked for 2 weeks to reduce the fleas and worms living in Jaxon’s body, the white puppy had his first official vet visit. Although he was not even 2 months old, the vet stated Jaxon was the size of a 12-week-old puppy. Jaxon received his puppy shots, was microchipped, and had his first de-worming.

Jaxon at 7 weeks old, now clean but with a huge belly due to worms:

Now, at this point, most new puppy owners begin to work on teaching their young dog some basic commands and how to be house trained. But Jaxon was definitely an exception. My daughter quickly discovered that Jaxon had a unique and troubling problem. His immune system did not seem to be very strong at all. Worms continued to be a huge problem, even with consistent de-wormings, and when Jaxon was around 5 months old, his hair began to fall out in patches all over his body. Another vet visit (one of many, many visits in his first year) revealed that Jaxon was suffering from mites. The vet advised that puppy mites are seen in 1 in 10 dogs that suffer from a weak immune system, and Jaxon seemed to be that one! If not cured, these mites can turn to mange, which can be deadly for a dog. Furthermore, if an owner chooses to sleep with a dog that has mites, the critters can transfer to a human (they leave the dog when his body temperature decreases during sleep) and an owner can find themselves with a scabies infestation. The medication that Jaxon needed to fight the mites was an oral formula that he had to receive every day. He took the medication for 9 months. The prescription cost $125 a month, and every 3 weeks my daughter brought Jaxon back to the vet’s office to have his skin scraped to monitor the progress of the mites. Even now, Jaxon still has one spot where his hair never grew back, due to scar-tissue forming from the repeated skin scrapings. In addition, Jaxon received steroids to counter-act the pain and itchiness of the mites. By the time Jaxon was 1-year-old, he had cost thousands of dollars in medical treatments, and, thanks to the large amount of steroids, had grown to over 100 pounds!

Jaxon with his bald spots (on his face, forehead and legs) during his battle with puppy mites:

Finally, tired of never resolving the mite issue and of filling her dog with medications and treating him with pesticides, my daughter brought her one-year-old Jaxon to a new vet. This doctor advised her to remove Jaxon from the mite treatments to see if his own immune system had finally become strong enough to fight the battle without medication. Very soon, Jaxon’s hair began to grow back and his weight came down to a healthy 85 pounds.

Big boy, finally with a stronger immune system than ever before:

During this first year with Jaxon, my daughter and I did a lot of research about dogs with weak immune systems, and discovered that such a weakness can easily return if a dog undergoes any type of stressful event, which can be something as harmless as moving, to something as invasive as a surgery. Thus, we had to wait to have Jaxon neutered until we knew for sure his body’s system could handle the procedure. This past winter, when Jaxon was 18 months old, it was apparent that he was now a healthy, muscular and active dog who had LOTS of testosterone flowing through his veins! Being a responsible pet owner, my daughter had Jaxon neutered. The surgery was very hard on him, and he suffered a few infections and there were a few set-backs, but now we can say once again he is a healthy and happy boy!

Jaxon in his e-collar, napping with his mommy during his recovery from his neutering surgery:

Jaxon turns 2-years-old in just a couple of weeks. My daughter takes him to the beach, the river and on many walks. Jaxon loves to swim, play in the water, chew on plastic bottles (his absolute favorite toy), and one of his favorite past-times is to watch TV when his mommy is at work. He will even bring toys up to the TV screen to offer them to animals on the television! (If I hadn’t seen this for myself, I don’t think I would have ever believed it!)

Any water will do...even a mud puddle makes Jaxon happy:

Jaxon is house-broken, crate-trained, and knows many commands and tricks that he will happily perform for a “cookie”. Jaxon is a very vocal dog, always “talking” to his momma. It is amazing to watch my daughter and her almost-90-pound baby interact with each other. Jaxon protects his mommy and deeply loves her, as only a dog can do. Most people think he looks like a “white Rottweiler”, but more than one vet has told Jessica that they think his father may have had some American Bulldog in him, due to Jaxon’s tan patches and markings on his white coat and pink skin. Whatever his genetic makeup, Jaxon has become a faithful watchdog, a dedicated pet, and a permanent member of my daughter’s life.

Jaxon lovingly giving hugs to his mommy (my daughter):

This brings me to my final comment about Jaxon – just like all other “unexpected” or “unwanted” puppies, Jaxon was still a dog that deserved a chance. Undoubtedly, his weak immune system as a puppy was just one more strike against Jaxon’s chances for survival. Without some big intervention on the part of a human being, that white puppy probably would not have survived.

With so many furry souls already in shelters, at rescues and even roaming the streets, why can’t dog owners become more responsible, and simply spay or neuter their pets? My heart breaks each time I think of how many dogs lose their lives each day due to the ignorance of some people. But then I feel reassurance when I think of the people that go the extra mile to save a deserving dog, just like a 19-year-old girl who saved Jaxon.

2-year-old Jaxon today: Happy, healthy and loved.

~ I will continue to share true stories with you in the hopes that they may inspire you to take some sort of action -
1) whether to move you to make a small donation to your local shelter,
2) to possibly donate a few hours of your time volunteering at a Humane Society or Rescue near you,
3) to become a foster-home for animals awaiting adoption,
4) or to even become a "furever" home for a needy soul, like my daughter did for Jaxon. ~ Thank you!!

Discovering Dixie

Sometimes it is not in an overcrowded shelter where a needy pup is discovered…sometimes there is a much different story that leads to the rescuing of a deserving dog.

In July of 2000, I was visiting a fellow equestrian friend to watch her teenage daughter barrel ride one of their horses. This friend also owned 3 black German Shepherds that were happy canine residents on the farm. During the few hours I was there that afternoon, I saw, more than once, a very fuzzy, tiny black creature pop out from a hole that was dug underneath one of the huge existing wooden dog houses. I finally could not contain my curiosity any longer and asked my friend what animal was hiding in that hole dug into the dirt.

I was told that on a Monday morning, one week before I went to visit, my friend had taken all 3 of her dogs to the vet for their annual check-ups. She was the first client of the morning, and when she entered the vet’s office, all of the employees were visibly upset. One of the assistants was crying, and another was obviously angered. When my friend asked about the emotional displays in the office that morning, she was told the following story:

A breeder of registered working Border Collies had successfully bred her dog and the pups were due any day. She was a client of the same veterinarian’s office as my friend. When the puppies were born, to the breeder’s dismay, no white blazes, spotted noses or snowy white chests were to be seen. Every single newborn pup (there were at least 5, maybe more) was a solid black ball of long, fluffy fur. Instantly the breeder knew that the father of the puppies was her neighbor’s black Chow-Chow, instead of the champion Border Collie stud she had selected for her dog. According to her breeder’s beliefs, this was now a “spoiled” litter. Not only would she have to return the deposits to the waiting future dog owners who had contracted with her to receive Border Collie puppies, but now this woman had to figure out what to do with baby dogs that would not be of any use to her. She decided to tell her customers that the puppies were all still-born, and that another litter would be available later that year.

I suppose one could say that this breeder at least had a tiny semblance of a conscience (although that statement could be challenged) and she reluctantly let her dog nurse the puppies for almost 4 weeks. Then she became concerned that someone would discover her “secret” and find out that her pure-bred had been spoiled with a mixed litter of “mutts”. So, on a Monday morning, just 15 minutes before the office was scheduled to open, the breeder brought a cardboard box filled with jet-black puppies to the vet’s office and left the box on the sidewalk near the front door. Not only were these puppies abruptly taken away from their mother without any gradual weaning, but they were also disoriented and panicked, and they quickly managed to tip the shallow box over. When the employees arrived to open the office that morning, they found two 8-pound black furballs cowering on their bellies in the parking lot, visibly frightened. Horrifically, they also discovered three more pups – already deceased, as they had been hit by cars either in the parking lot or on the busy street that faced the office, humming with morning rush-hour traffic. The employees were intently caring for the two surviving puppies when my friend arrived for her appointment. My friend immediately volunteered to foster one of the dogs for as long as it took to find it a permanent home.

By the time my friend came to this point in the story, I was shocked, angered and felt desolate, all at once. She then turned to the tiny black furball that was peeking out from underneath the dog house, dirt on its face, with only bright brown eyes visible in its jet-black face. I knew this was the puppy she volunteered to foster.

The black furball baby (after a bath!):

The dog stayed with the vet for 1 week, and then my friend started to take care of her and had already had the pup for 7 days. She said the little baby was still riddled with tapeworms, which they were treating with medication, and since the puppy had not been gradually weaned, her gastrointestinal tract was still not handling much food very well. Thus the baby had chronic diarrhea…and was also slightly anemic. On top of that, they were also fighting a case of fleas, since the puppy was still too young for any flea baths or flea shampoos. During the day the puppy would just stay in the dirt underneath one of the dog houses, and at night she would sleep underneath one of the beds inside the house.

I approached the puppy and pulled her out from her dirt tunnel. She was a little weak but still shook with fright as I picked her up. She was SO dirty – but her fur was extremely soft! I only had to hold her for a few moments to know I could not leave that farm that hot July afternoon without taking this puppy with me. I had plenty of space at my home and although I already owned an outdoor working farm dog, this little girl was going to be a house dog that would be a constant companion for me and my young daughters. I took the pup with a promise to my friend to get the puppy healthy, give her plenty of love, and to have her spayed as soon as she was old enough.

The stinky, dirty, flea-infested ball of fur curled up in a towel on my lap as my truck drove out of my friend’s driveway. I looked up and read the street sign on the approaching corner: “Dixie Lane”. Thus, I became the momma to “Dixie”, a 6-week-old, solid-black, Border Collie/Chow-Chow mix.

This is Dixie at about 6 months of age - she was less fuzzy and more gawky at this age,
with one of her folded ears suddenly deciding to stand up, and her long collie legs starting to grow:

Dixie will be 9-years-old this June. She has been the smartest, most confident and definitely the best dog our family has ever had. She is an alpha-dog, and her 55-pound-frame, covered in the full black Chow-Chow coat, with her long legs and her beautiful Border Collie head, is an intimidating picture for people who do not know our girl. (Some of her friends affectionately call her the "black wolf"). She is protective of all of us and of her house, but once she decides she likes a new visitor, she will love on that person as long as they will let her.

Our gorgeous girl today:

Dixie can do more than 20 tricks, she completely listens to all of her commands, and she constantly follows me all around the house (it must help her fulfill her need to round-up critters, I suppose). She and my husband like to have "howling matches" even though that drives me crazy! The one ailment Dixie has always suffered from is skin problems caused by food allergies. Any food with corn or wheat products can really stress her digestive system and her skin – some say that this may be from her early experiences with a non-gradual weaning. I have worked to give her a high-protein, grain-free diet, and that has helped a lot. Also, unfortunately, one thing Dixie has never been able to do is feel comfortable with a car. She trembles and pants uncontrollably whenever she has to go for a ride in our van. I am certain her morning in that parking lot over 8 years ago instilled a never-ending fear in her, so I never scold this behavior… I can’t even imagine what Dixie must feel or remember whenever she approaches a huge, rumbling vehicle.

Dixie is a faithful big sister to Tillie, our Aussie-mix who joined us almost 3 years ago.
Here they are "stalking" the tree frogs that are hiding under the hurricane shutters on our bathroom window:

Lately we have noticed that Dixie has begun to trot a little slower on her walks, and it has become apparent that her legs are a bit stiff when she lies down or gets up. Recently her eyesight has begun to fade a little, and last year we had to start giving her “hormones” to keep her bladder a little more elastic and thus keep it from leaking during Dixie’s naptimes. She can still catch lizards on the sidewalk every once in a while, but Dixie does sleep for longer periods during throughout the day now.

Dixie "hunting" and leaping for lizards:

I no longer feel anger towards that breeder for her ignorant actions. But I did feel a tiny bit of satisfaction when I found out that the breeder was questioned by the veterinarian about the status of her pregnant dog, and her dastardly deed was discovered. Finally the woman admitted her actions, and eventually she was no longer permitted to breed or sell registered Border Collie puppies. And imagine - if it weren’t for that determined Chow-Chow that lived next door to the Border Collie with the “pure” bloodlines, I would have never had the gift of living with our brilliant Dixie!

We know that larger dogs have a shorter lifespan, but it is still unimaginable to me that there will someday be a day when my beautiful Dixie will not be walking immediately in front of me or behind me (as she always does) when I am at home. Without a doubt, I will never regret pulling that little black furball out of the dirty hole she had dug underneath my friend’s dog house. Discovering Dixie changed my life, and the life of my daughters and my husband, forever.

~ I will continue to share true stories with you in the hopes that they may inspire you to take some sort of action -
1) whether to move you to make a small donation to your local shelter,
2) to possibly donate a few hours of your time volunteering at a Humane Society or Rescue near you,
3) to become a foster-home for animals awaiting adoption,
4) or to even become a "furever" home for a needy soul, like we did for Dixie. ~ Thank you!!

Adopting Matilda

At the end of August, 2006, my 18-year-old daughter and I made a trip to our local Humane Society. We would do this two or three times each year, bringing along a 25-pound bag of dog food to donate to the shelter. Of course, like so many other visits we had made in the past, we were NOT going to get another dog…our beloved Dixie had been the perfectly behaved queen of our house for more than six years, and I could never imagine trying to housebreak and train yet another dog.

But…on this sunny and humid afternoon, when we saw the thin, pitiful Australian Shepherd mix (it said “Red Merle” on the papers attached the front of her cage) my heart broke. They told us the dog had “failure to thrive” - she had not eaten in over 10 days, and would barely interact with the staff or visitors. She was depressed and had decided to give up on life. The Aussie-mix was at least 15-pounds underweight, dehydrated, and her hair was dull and brittle. The pads on the bottoms of her tender feet were sore and cracked from the necessary bleach sprays applied to the concrete floors each evening. She did not use the blue plastic pad lying in the center of the floor for rest. Instead, this pup chose to sit in the corner of the kennel, leaning her bony shoulders on the cement walls, her head hung low against her white chest.

The Humane Society told us that when this Aussie-mix puppy was found along Interstate-95, she had tags that identified her from the state of Wyoming, but her owners could never be reached or located. How did a 6-month-old puppy travel over 2,000 miles to our state of Florida? Did someone own this once beautiful puppy and lose her? Or did they become careless and just toss her along the interstate? Had she received any medical care or training? I was soon to find out answers to at least some of those questions.

I could not help myself. My daughter and I asked to have the timid dog brought outside into the hot sun so that we could spend a few minutes with the shepherd, and give her a bit of badly needed love and attention. At first the dog was reluctant to follow us, and she seemed cautious as we coaxed her out of the humid, stinky concrete kennel area and led her into the bright and warm patch of grass. Instantly the dog leaned against our legs and when we stepped, she followed us, tucking herself behind our knees, sticking to us as close as our shadows. We brought her back into the “visiting room” to spend a few more minutes with her, and slowly her tail came out from between her legs and her submissive ears began to perk up slightly as we cooed over her, and pet her, and hugged her.

Here is a photo of the malnourished (20 pounds underweight) and sad pup on
the day we first met her at the shelter:

Finally I called my husband at work (he was a beloved cat lover when we first met, but my cat allergies forbid any feline sons or daughters in our home) and he instantly balked at the idea of a second dog. I am certain visions of the constant fur balls rolling around the corners of our home from Dixie, our current member of the family (Dixie is our 55-pound Border Collie/Chow-Chow mix, so her black fur is plentiful, always), swayed his decision to not want a second dog in the house. I reminded him that Dixie had recently shown signs of slowing down and lately seemed like she was getting “old”, so maybe a young pup would do her good. He still disagreed at the idea, but asked me to email him a picture of the puppy I was so enamored with. My daughter quickly snapped a few photos with her camera phone and emailed them to my husband. A second phone call still brought “no’s” from my husband. As I looked at the pitiful Aussie, I realized my husband was probably not able to see the potentially beautiful girl hidden behind the bony dog that was riddled with malnutrition and depression.

I went to speak to the manager at the front desk, and told her I was considering adopting the puppy, but still had to talk to my husband that night at home. I asked if I could complete an application for adoption, and felt confident that my consistent care of Dixie over these many years, and my great relationship with my vet, would be positives in my favor for being approved. She advised me I would have to bring my current dog in first to check for compatibility, and if that “meeting” between the two dogs was successful and my application were approved, they would spay the pup the following morning to ready her for being picked up. She also told me that if I decided NOT to adopt the dog, I would still be responsible for the surgical expenses of the spaying. I agreed and my daughter and I headed home to bring Dixie back down to the shelter for a visit.

The meeting between the two dogs was extremely uneventful. Dixie is clearly an alpha dog, and she spent just a few moments inspecting the timid pup before she went about her business, exploring the many scents in the grassy patch behind the Humane Society. Neither dog was threatened or bothered by the other, and this action received an approval by the shelter.

Obviously, I spent quite a while convincing my husband that evening. He finally agreed, although somewhat reluctantly, and said the only stipulation was that he wanted to name the dog. He chose to call her “Matilda” (named after the Australian song, “Waltzing Matilda”) and “Tillie” (as we now affectionately call her) was going to become our second dog the following day!

When my daughter and I returned to the shelter the following afternoon, “Tillie” was still groggy as they led her out of the clinic just an hour after she had been spayed. Yet she saw us from across the reception area and her droopy tail raised up as she gave us a couple wags. She not only remembered us, she was happy to see us! My eyes instantly teared up as I walked over to the bony, timid pup, and knelt down and hugged her around her neck. I told her she was coming home. The Humane Society manager gave me a “refund guarantee”, advising me they were not certain this dog was going to last even the next 2 weeks, so she told me if the dog “didn’t make it”, I could always come back and try to adopt another. It saddened me that the shelter knew how strongly Tillie had already given up. But I resolved that I was going to do my very best to change those odds.

We made many discoveries about Tillie very soon after that day. An immediate vet visit confirmed that she was almost 20-pounds underweight, she was somewhere between 6 and 9 months old, but she also had a respiratory infection, she was riddled with fleas and even ticks, and the sore pads on her feet would need some attention. Surprisingly she did not have any tapeworms or heartworms. That was an indicator to us that she indeed had been someone’s pet, at least for a little while. We soon also discovered that she has anal glands that need to be regularly expressed, and she can easily get a urinary tract infection if she doesn’t drink plenty of water constantly throughout the day. However, these are all mild issues compared to Tillie’s positive attributes.

Here is Tillie 4 months after we had adopted her, enjoying her tennis ball presents on her first Christmas with us -
she had already gained 10 of her missing 20 pounds of body weight:

She is so well-behaved, and she became house trained in only two days. At first we kennel trained her, but now Tillie does perfectly fine while we are away, either with or without a kennel. Our girl quickly gained back her weight and is now a gorgeous 38-pound gal, with a colorful, soft and shiny coat, beautiful bright eyes and a wonderful disposition. She rarely barks and only makes her voice heard if it is truly necessary. Tillie quickly learned several commands and still learns more all the time, she loves to go on frequent walks, and if something has fur or feathers, she is mesmerized! Most of all, she loves and respects her older “sister”, Dixie. Tillie comfortably slid into a “#2 dog” position behind the alpha-Dixie, but we all know in this house that one day those positions might change.

Here are a few photos of our healthy, beautiful Tillie now,
2 1/2 years after we brought her home, as she enjoys some playtime in the backyard:

Even now as I write this tale with such a happy ending, Tillie is nudging my knee with her wet nose and placing her head on my lap, which lets me know she just needs a good scratch and a pat. Everyone in our household gives our Aussie so much love and attention, since we all wish she would have never suffered those weeks of heartache and depression. Even my husband scratches her and pets her for hours at night as he sits in his recliner or works at his desk. She won his heart, just like she did ours. Matilda, our now 3-year-old red-merle Aussie-mix, is a permanent addition to our home, and we cannot imagine our lives without her!

Here is a recent photo of Dixie and Tillie "napping" together:

~ I will continue to share true stories with you in the hopes that they may inspire you to take some sort of action -
1) whether to move you to make a small donation to your local shelter,
2) to possibly donate a few hours of your time volunteering at a Humane Society or Rescue near you,
3) to become a foster-home for animals awaiting adoption,
4) or to even become a "furever" home for a needy soul, like we did for Tillie. ~ Thank you!!