It's a Ruff Life

Today I want to give you a little insight into one of my biggest passions, dogs!  I absolutely adore dogs. So much so, that Trey and I have founded our own dog rescue, Heavenly Howls Rescue.  We saw there was a huge crisis with lowcountry dogs and the shelters are always overwhelmed, so we decided to do what little we could to help.  Trey and I take in dogs from local shelters and from owners who are no longer able to keep them.  We keep them in our house or place them in a foster home.  Once the dog is in rescue, we spay/neuter them, update them on vaccinations, microchip them, test and treat for heartworms, if necessary, and assess any other medical or behavioral issues they might have.  After the dog is fully up to date we put them up for adoption.  Potential adopters fill out an application to adopt from us.  We are very particular when it comes to who we adopt to.  We do vet references, personal references and home visits before the applicant can be approved.  It can be pretty time consuming, but ultimately so worth it.  Our main goal is to place abandoned, neglected and abused dogs in responsible, loving homes that are willing to make a lifetime commitment to them.

We are so picky because the numbers of homeless animals in our state and country is alarming ridiculous.  It really bugs me that people dispose of their family pets like they are nothing, just dumping them at the closest shelter when the dog just gets too big, or they are moving, or they're having a baby, or they suddenly develop allergies, or blah blah blah. So many excuses.  Even though it's extremely irritating to hear some of the excuses, I have to look at it as an opportunity to educate that person on responsible pet ownership.  The general public needs to know that:

70,000 puppies and kittens are born every day in the U.S.

Between four million and six million pets are euthanized every year because they are homeless.

That means between 11,000 and 16,000 pets are euthanized every day simply because they are homeless.

An animal in a shelter is killed every 1.5 seconds.

Only one animal in 10 born in the U.S. gets a good home that lasts a lifetime.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg.  I could go on and on for days, but I will just leave it to basics right now.  I know Trey and I can't take on every dog in need, but the ones we do come in contact with give us the greatest hope for being able to make an impact in the dog community.  Here are some of our most recent rescues that have been given a second chance at life:

Jeffery - Yorkie mix - adopted 5-28-10

Kobi - Great Dane - adopted 5-17-10

Turbo - Pomeranian - adopted 5-6-10

Please think twice before you get a dog, they are a huge responsibility and should be given a home that can provide the best for them.  Also, SPAY & NEUTER!  This would drastically reduce the number of homeless pets.  I have great contacts in the Charleston area and have a great low cost vet that is amazing.  Please don't hesitate to ask if you would like their information.  And last but not least, adopt a rescue dog.  Don't shop, Adopt!

**Over the past 3 years, Trey and I have fostered and adopted out close to 100 dogs!  I am so happy that I had the chance to get to know each and every one and place them in their forever homes.**

www.heavenlyhowlsrescue.petfinder.com

"In a perfect world, every dog would have a home and every home would have a dog."

How Could You?

by: Jim Willis

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" - but then you'd relent, and roll me over for a bellyrub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent - and I would have defended them with my life if need be.

I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter.

It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.

After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you - that you had changed your mind - that this was all a bad dream...or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.

I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.

She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"

Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.