Today We Rescued Your Dog
by Pat Closher
Today we rescued your dog. We don’t know where you got him from - maybe you saw him in a pet store window or maybe one of your neighbors bred a few litters a year just to make some vacation money or because they loved their dogs so much that of course they wanted to have puppies. We don’t know much about how you cared for him either, although our vet thought that for such a young dog, his teeth were in pretty bad shape.
by Pat Closher
Today we rescued your dog. We don’t know where you got him from - maybe you saw him in a pet store window or maybe one of your neighbors bred a few litters a year just to make some vacation money or because they loved their dogs so much that of course they wanted to have puppies. We don’t know much about how you cared for him either, although our vet thought that for such a young dog, his teeth were in pretty bad shape.
Did you know they were going to keep him outside? At least it was a pretty mild winter. There were no heavy snows, not much heavy winter rain and only a few days of bitter cold. But for all of those weeks he had no companionship, no care, and no love.
For some reason, your grandparents took him to the shelter. Maybe a neighbor complained about him or maybe their own health gave out or maybe they just got tired of him. You know the local shelter is a kill shelter, don’t you? You know that their own statistics indicate that about half of the dogs that enter are killed, don’t you? Maybe your grandparents thought he would be adopted quickly. He is a purebred, after all. No one was interested in him, though, maybe since he’s an adult dog and not a cute little puppy. No one contacted the purebred rescue group either. They probably would have placed him quickly, since he really is a great boy. The shelter is a clean place and they take good care of the dogs. They get good food and they’re bathed and brushed. It’s still a shelter though, and is noisy and chaotic and frightening. He spent two months there in that confusion, away from everyone and everything he had known.
One day, we saw him on the shelter web site. We called and asked about him. The shelter workers were so happy to hear from us and were delighted to agree to bring him to a local pet store where they do adoptions. Do you want to know why they were so accommodating? He was scheduled to be killed that afternoon. He didn’t know that, but the shelter workers certainly did. It hurt them and he felt that, so he knew something was wrong. All of a sudden, though, the shelter workers were happy and excited and so was he. They bathed him and brushed his coat. We think they probably told him this was it - his big chance, or maybe he just knew it somehow. When we met him, we all fell in love.
He had to go to the vet to be neutered, of course, but then he came home. He has his very own 13 year-old boy. You know, it’s almost like watching one of those old Lassie movies, seeing how well they’ve bonded. He’s got good food and his own toys. He’s taken on walks three times a day, is regularly groomed and is taken to the vet for needed care. We’ll be with him always, even if we have to make that last, difficult decision, because, you see, he is our dog and we are his family.
He has a good heart you know, but then he is a dog, so that’s to be expected. He’s probably forgiven you and, with a dog’s grace, doesn’t even remember you dumped him. He’d probably even be willing to greet you at the Rainbow Bridge. But you know what? He’ll greet us and go with us at the Bridge, and then he’ll be with us forever, because he’s our dog and we’re his family.
The way we heard the story, you moved out of state and didn’t want to take him with you. You left him at your grandparents. Maybe you thought a lively, handsome dog was just the thing for them, and under better circumstances it might have been. Maybe they have been cleaning up your messes for your entire life and an unwanted dog was just another mess to clean up.One day, we saw him on the shelter web site. We called and asked about him. The shelter workers were so happy to hear from us and were delighted to agree to bring him to a local pet store where they do adoptions. Do you want to know why they were so accommodating? He was scheduled to be killed that afternoon. He didn’t know that, but the shelter workers certainly did. It hurt them and he felt that, so he knew something was wrong. All of a sudden, though, the shelter workers were happy and excited and so was he. They bathed him and brushed his coat. We think they probably told him this was it - his big chance, or maybe he just knew it somehow. When we met him, we all fell in love.
He had to go to the vet to be neutered, of course, but then he came home. He has his very own 13 year-old boy. You know, it’s almost like watching one of those old Lassie movies, seeing how well they’ve bonded. He’s got good food and his own toys. He’s taken on walks three times a day, is regularly groomed and is taken to the vet for needed care. We’ll be with him always, even if we have to make that last, difficult decision, because, you see, he is our dog and we are his family.
He has a good heart you know, but then he is a dog, so that’s to be expected. He’s probably forgiven you and, with a dog’s grace, doesn’t even remember you dumped him. He’d probably even be willing to greet you at the Rainbow Bridge. But you know what? He’ll greet us and go with us at the Bridge, and then he’ll be with us forever, because he’s our dog and we’re his family.
A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z
Click a letter to find an animal or view all.
How do you say goodbye to your best friend? Mugsey was the most noble and best friend anyone could have. In his youth, he was playful and mischievious at times. In his prime, he was brave, strong and protective of his loved ones. Always, he was sweet and there to cuddle with and heal my human hurts. He had the heart of a warrior and until the end, he expressed his love for me. My heart is heavy these days but I know he is whole and healthy again waiting to see me again someday. He is part of my heart forever. I was truly the luckiest person to have known this most noble of God's creations. Goodbye my boy Mugsey until we are reunited again.
My love forever, your Ed.
LSBR Archive - 2005
I met Jake over eight years ago when I rescued him from a family temporarily taking care of him. Jake, about one year old, had been shot in the right leg and was literally skin and bones when I took him home. He had been rescued by the very kind family only a few days prior. All they knew was that Jake was a very loving companion and could eat twice his weight in dog food, every day. That great day I had called around and set out to rescue a Boxer. As far as I am concerned Boxers are the best breed on earth! Consequently, I had interviewed seven other potential Boxer rescues that day and was torn as to which one to take home with me. I was very close to choosing a younger .puppy., but hesitated, so I moved on to my final interview of the day. Unfortunately, when I called Jake.s owners there was no answer. It was late and well after 9:00PM. I felt sure that I would not meet the dog they were sheltering. About ten minutes later, they family called back and said that they were up and could introduce me to Jake that night.
That is when it happened! Of all the seven other dogs I had met that day, Jake looked into my eyes and .we. both knew we were meant for each other. I played with him, tested him, for everything suggested by the manuals, if adopting a new adult dog. Would he let you touch him, his face, mouth and does he seem like he is looking and listening to you for direction, really was he also looking in his case for his new master? Jake passed every test looked to me for our next step. That step was the best decision I have ever made in bringing .Jake. that night to his new loving home. With basic obedience training I held every after noon for the first few weeks. Jake passed with high marks. He always wanted to please, and how he could do just that was always on his mind! Jake was part of my family from the start, in sleeping by our bed, every night to actively participating in all BBQ's or even lounging in back of my kayak, while I was vigorously paddling in the river, lake or in the Gulf of Mexico. Jake was always a part of our family activities and that is what he and all dogs truly want and need to flourish. They want to be a part of the family or included in the .pack. and what is going on! When my son James was born, Jake just naturally stopped sleeping by our bed, and moved into my son James room and slept there, always loving him and protecting him.
Yesterday, 9/02/05 we had to put Jake down, after a diagnosis and treatment of a very quick and virulent battle with cancerous tumors in both atriums of his heart. Jake never missed a scheduled visit with the Vet as we had removed a number of subcutaneous mass cell tumors common to Boxers and kept him up on all scheduled visits, shots and heartworm treatment. This cancer was not picked up with routine any of these veterinary exams. Unfortunately, by the time the Cardiologist took the CV Cat Scan, he determined that the tumors were inoperable. Jake at best had only a few weeks at to live!
Today I rescued my next wonderful Boxer at Lonestar Boxer Rescue, and named her Peanut. She is not being rescued to replace Jake, but to give another wonderful Boxer in need, a good loving home, and begin another wonderful and amazing time spent with such a special and loyal companion. If Jake had met Peanut, I know he would approve, as he knows oh so well, that all Peanut needed, was a Second Chance!
Sincerely, Joe Clinton Winter
LSBR Archive - 2005
"In Memory of Miss Olivia"
I had no intention of caring for two boxers at once. After Cassius passed away suddenly, peacefully, several years ago, and after his brother/best friend Cato the cat followed him over the Rainbow Bridge five months later, I was told (by the receptionist at the vet clinic where I brought Cato's body for pick-up and cremation) about a five-week-old male boxer in the neighborhood who was going to be advertised, along with his four sisters, any day.
I made an appointment with his human mom to visit that evening, and a few days later I drove him home -- curled up on my shoulder and neck. His name metamorphosed from Doug to Lucius -- in keeping with Cassius' and Cato's Romanesque/Shakespearean monikers.
Lucius and I were a happy pair. We had no need to be a threesome. But one day in March 2003, on an inexplicable, even unwanted urge, I applied to LSBR to be an adoptive or foster mom to a rescue boxer. A voice deep inside told me it was the right thing to do -- and the right time to do it.
That very day, unbeknownst to me, LSBR's Mona got a call about an older female brindle boxer, Maggie, who had been left behind by her family on a porch in San Leon, near Galveston. Mona, bleeding-heart boxer rescuer that she is, drove down there at a moment's notice to pick up the boxer. After she got Maggie to Greenway, Mona called and told me all she knew -- which was little. Just that Maggie had a pronounced limp. And that her front half looked like she worked out in a weight room, while her back half was a bit shrunken.
After a thorough exam, a heartworm shot and an overnight stay at the vet, Maggie was ready to be picked up. She came barreling out of a back room, looked at me with one gold eye and one brown eye, and smiled (actually, she was panting, but it looked like a smile). She reminded me of a wheelchair marathoner, with a massive upper body (front legs and chest) and a lower body (hips and back legs) that she dragged around behind her. After having a long drink, she hopped into the car, settled in what would become her favorite spot (the floor behind the driver's seat), and off we went to her new home -- my porch.
Since I wasn't sure if she would be aggressive with laid-back Lucius, I kept them separated for the first day or two. Then I began walking them together, one on either side of me. She seemed okay in his presence. Next I graduated to letting them hang out off leash, with me between them, in case of trouble. There was none, so upstairs I went, leaving them together in the small kitchen on hot, cold days or rainy days, and in the large porch/garage area in mild weather.
Maggie being a common tag for girl dogs, I upgraded hers to the more elegant Olivia. She liked it, and responded readily.
Olivia -- Livie for short, or Miss Olivia -- had several peculiarities, which I adapted to without a murmur, out of compassion for her.
First and foremost, she loved to drink water, which meant that her liquid output was just as frequent as her intake. But she didn't know that! So, if I didn't want her to leak uncontrollably, I had to take her outside -- often. When I mistimed those trips to the grass, the little droplets built up in no time into bed-soaking puddles. As a result, I laundered urine-stained bedding and towels at least three times a week, sometimes more often. All without complaint. I never knew I had such forbearance.
Another oddity: Olivia had thicker, longer, finer hair than any boxer I have known. She was a non-stop shedder, both clumps and single strands, no matter how often I brushed her. So usually I didn't bother. I just let her be. And did my best to sweep up after her.
Olivia's other unusual trait was that she got hot very fast and panted even in moderate temperatures. That, combined with her limp and her refusal to stay home on the closed-in back porch alone (the abandonment syndrome), meant that Lucius and I took slow, usually short walks with her. In the winter, and on cool spring/summer/fall nights, Olivia mustered the strength to walk an hour or more, sometimes stopping to rest along the way. Also on cool days, she frolicked and ran -- actually, bounced along -- as if all four legs worked normally. "Bouncy bounce girl," I called her. The only other time she walked as if nothing were wrong with her back legs was whenever she saw a cat. Her total absorption transformed her little body into a perfectly functioning canine cat-catching machine. (Not that she ever meant harm, or even got close.)
On and off, especially on very hot days, I tied Olivia to a tree directly in front of the house. She loved to lie on the cool dirt beneath the boxwoods. When Lucius and I returned, Olivia barked her joy so loudly that I thought my eardrums would burst. For that matter, even if I went out of sight for only 15 seconds, her welcome-back bounces and high-decibel barks knew no limits.
When the townhouse association frowned on her front-yard presence, a dog-loving friend in the complex next door offered to let Olivia stay on her wide-open second-story carpeted front porch. We dubbed it Olivia's porch. (The porch-owner's dogs lived in her boyfriend's house next door, and they weren't allowed to go upstairs to the porch.) Olivia found a shady spot, lay down, and waited with her usual infinite patience for us. As long as she could see the street and sidewalk -- as long as a wall wasn't separating her from the outside world -- she knew I would come back. She knew there would be no repeat of her San Leon experience.
When friends and strangers greeted Olivia, she would stand stock still, hoping they would pat her head. When they did, she became their instant friend -- and wanted to visit them as often as possible. With dogs she was standoffish, even testy. There was only one dog other than Lucius who she felt at ease with instantly and never barked a stay-way warning at -- Rascal, a Golden with the temperament of an angel.
Miss Olivia and Mr. O'Lucius were comfortable companions. Though each of them clearly lived to be with me, in my absence they seemed glad to have someone with whom to wait. After separations, they greeted one another with kisses and sniffs. The only times Livie snapped at Lucius were when I didn't set down her food bowl first, or when he ventured over to her bowl before she was finished. Once in a while, if she was done first, she thought it perfectly fine to eat his food. He always backed off graciously.
Two years after Maggie Olivia moved in, she was ready to move on. Her week-long decline was fairly sudden and virtually pain-free until the last day. She enjoyed her last visit at the HPD barn, where she sniffed manure and startled nosey horses with her fierce bark. At home, she wolfed down scrambled eggs and chicken-flavored Ramen noodles and steak tidbits (leftovers from a neighbor). She devoured treats -- bones, baby Tootsie Rolls, animal crackers, and bites of all my food. She lay under her boxwoods and on her porch (the strength it took to climb those 20 or so steps was Herculean). She walked around the townhouse complex and drank at a couple of her favorite watering holes (there were about 10 faucets and hoses on her rounds that she knew by heart). She listened contentedly to the hymns and prayers that were etched in her heart.
Mona, Maggie's rescuer and Olivia's ever-friend, was her usual generous self that Sunday morning in early March 2005. She came right over and drove me and my girl to the emergency clinic on the Katy Freeway. An angelic veterinarian was working that day: Dr. Sarah Neaderhouser. She and her assistants couldn't have been kinder to me and Miss Olivia. Their hugs combined with her tears and gently reassuring words made us feel totally loved, and at peace. As Olivia's head lay on my legs, I sang hymns, stroked her forehead and cheek, and thanked her, through my tears, for her fine qualities, which will always remain alive in my mind and heart: her courage, confidence, and calmness; her joy, exuberance and vitality; her forgiveness, gentleness and sweetness. The list goes on. And so does Miss Olivia. Not only in memory here, but in actuality there. Her life could not possibly be lost. As one of her comforting hymns puts it, "O perfect Life, in Thy completeness held, none can beyond Thy omnipresence stray, safe in Thy Love, we live and sing alway: Alleluia! Alleluia!"
Mona Cabler
LSBR Archive - 2005
I adopted Kleatus around 5 years ago. He was my first rescue dog. He was so skinny when I first got him. I helped bring him from 45 lbs. to 75 lbs. Little did I know what I was getting myself into. He was so chatty. If he was hungry or thirsty, he would talk to me. If he wanted me to pet him, he would talk to me. If he wanted to go for a walk, he would talk to me. It was so funny to have a conversation with a dog. He also loved me very much. I never once felt unsafe with him around. He would protect me from strangers, other dogs, squirrels, anything that moved. He would also protect me from the vaccuum, aerosol cans, the hose, etc. In January he developed a plum-sized tumor on his pelvis. It was determined that it was inoperable and too aggresive to treat conventionally. In two months that tumor grew to a grapefruit-sized tumor that eventually ulcerated. He was going to slowly bleed to death if left alone. I had to make the very painful, but necessary, decision to free him of his suffering. I let my entire family say their good-byes. I let him know how much I would miss him and that Koji (my first boxer) would be waiting for him on the other side. He left me on Monday, March 14, 2005. I find myself still looking for him and in quiet moments in my life I can't help but reflect on how much I miss him and how much love he filled my life with. I only had half the time I should have with him, but he gave me twice the love of any dog.
Deana Kreitz
LSBR Archive - 2005
How little we knew of all of the love and pleasure that had just entered our life on that cold, wet and windy October night in 1996 outside a bowling alley when Lucky "found" us. My wife could just not leave her there and promised me that, if she could not find the owners in 3 weeks, I could take Lucky to the "animal shelter". I did not want a 2nd dog (we still had our 11 year old yellow Lab, Boo, and a cat named Spanky), but I agreed. However, Lucky "politicked" both Boo and me. After I tried for the 3rd time to take Lucky to the "animal shelter", I crumbled and succumbed to her charms. Even though it has been 16 days since we had to put her down after her 4th stroke, and we have now had Walker (from LSBR) with us for 6 days, it still hurts for us to think about being without Lucky. I cannot stop crying as I write this. She made me a better owner, and Walker and all other predecessors will be the recipient of a better "daddy" because of Lucky. Lucky was about 2 years old when she found us, and she was about 10 years old when she left. Knowing what I now know about Boxers, I knew my wife and I had to "get back on the bicycle" and find another sweet companion to share our lives. I cannot think of a better tribute to Lucky or of our love for her, but to get another Boxer.
She had her first stroke episode over Labor Day weekend and the 2nd, 3rd and 4th followed until just recently. She never stopped wanting to be near us, nor did her little "stub" of a tail stop wiggling. She would recover from each stoke as best she could and never ask for anything else but love and companionship (well, food too). I lost my job of 15 years in late July and it was tough at first. Shortly thereafter Lucky sensed my needs, and one night she crawled up onto my bed (we had never allowed her to get on the bed or couch), and I could never again tell her not to join me in sleep. She really helped me through a very tough and emotional time.
I will miss my "little girl" and I now choose to believe in the Rainbow Bridge. Except for a chance meeting, I would never have spent 8 years with the most wonderful dog I have ever known. Her name was Lucky, but we were the lucky ones.
LSBR Archive - 2005
Click a letter to find an animal or view all.
A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z