Cookie – Just another rescue dog…

It was late summer when she was turned out in the street. I don’t know if she was sick right away or became sick from living on the street, but I’m guessing she wasn’t turned out with a full tummy. I can’t imagine the fear she must have felt that first night when the sun was setting and the world took on its frightening dark form. Did she find an empty cardboard box to curl up in? Did she find some warm garbage to get her though the night? The flies and fleas buzzed around her body spreading the infection making her feel warm.

Left in the street
Left in the street

I don’t know how she survived that first night or the many nights that followed, but she did and she did it on her own. I believe she was on her own for days before a stranger finally took notice of her standing in the street. How many people had passed her by and turned the other way? How many people had glanced and thought: what a dirty little dog? How many people passed her and thought: I would stop and help, but I’m late for work, dinner, an appointment, court.

Did anyone spare a thought to how this little one ended up on a busy street in the city? Alone and afraid she was suffering from starvation and infection. It wasn’t her fault her eyes were filled with pus and her skin was bleeding with disease. Where were her people? How could they do this to an animal, yet alone one who was the size of a new born and just as defenseless?

As I examined this little tiny girl I saw she was missing teeth and was a skeleton of bones and hot red infected skin. Her ears were packed with dirt and more filth hung in great chunks off her matted hair. Her eyes, once cleaned were cloudy with a hint of infection and an ulcer. As I picked up her shaking body and turned to look at her face her tongue darted out and licked my cheek.

After all people had done, and not done, to this little girl she still held love in her heart.

I can only speculate that this little girl was used as a breeding dog and was kept in a cage where she lost all her canine teeth chewing on bars trying to escape. A healthy weight for this little girl is about ten or eleven pounds and she weights a mere six pounds. I would guess by the size and shape of her utter that she was bred over and over again to produce puppies for her companions to make money. I believe she was turned out in the street when she couldn’t produce any more money. Tossed out like garbage and left to die. She nearly did.


Her first rescuer was an animal lover who stopped the car when she saw the filthy little dog sitting in the street. Frightened, cold and hungry the kind stranger fed and tried to bath the little girl, but she was too matted and the water made the smell worse and the fleas dance. After a grateful night in a warm bed in a home she found herself in a shelter.

The noise, smell and terror of the other abandon animals made her skin vibrate with pain and redness. Gentle hands shaved the filthy fir and cleaned the pus from her eyes and the dirt from her ears. She was stabbed with needles and poked and prodded by fat fingers. They determined she was too sick for adoption and was a candidate for rescue or euthanasia if nobody was willing to take her case.

A man came for her one day. A kind gentle man who held her tight and warm in the car where she finally fell asleep, exhausted. She was taken to a home where she was fed and kept safe and warm. Time moved slowly until one day a woman came to bundled her into a crate and they drove for hours and hours.


By now the little girl was too tired to care and had learned to sleep in a warm place when she could and eat when the food was plentiful, even if she gorged herself sick. It was late and dark when she was plucked from the crate, a mere skeleton with red skin and brought to a new place. A big open place with different smells and many warm beds.

The bowl of water on the floor was fresh and the food was tasty. The grass was green and it was quiet. Tired and afraid she clung close to the people as dogs danced around her sniffing and barking. What would happen next?

We are a group of animal lovers who want to stop and help dogs like this one, but we need your help. Don’t shop adopt. If you can’t foster, volunteer and if you can’t volunteer donate. If you can’t donate would you consider sponsoring one of the animals we care for everyday? Every little bit does help and if a kind stranger hadn’t stopped to look at this little one she would have been another dead dog.



Every day 9000 companion animals are euthanized. Every day. If everyone would simply educate themselves and their neighbour on the importance of spay/neutering your pet to help control the pet population and being a responsible companion to your pet I bet that number would fall to near zero. Our goal is to abolish the words: high kill shelters.

Remember when you adopt from a rescue or shelter your money is paid forward to the next dog in need and you get your dog up to date on shots, spayed or neutered, teeth cleaned and healthy for free. Won’t you pay it forward?

Pay it forward
Pay it forward


Check back to see what happens next with Cookie…

Storm Alert System

I was laying in bed having one of those rare deep sleeps when I heard a loud commotion downstairs with Taz barking like mad. Rather than wake Brent, who is a very sound sleeper, I raced down the stairs and searched for Taz. Without turning on the lights I scanned the kitchen and realized Taz was outside barking as thunder boomed and the door shook  in its hinges.

Was someone trying to break into my house? I crouched down to the small dog door and stuck my hand through, felt soft fur and quickly withdrew my hand in surprise. I hesitated only a moment, thinking of an intruder, but knew I had to save my puppy! I was pumped as I grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open to meet whoever was smashing into it on the other side.

As the door flew open there was a loud crack of thunder and I was knocked backwards by one hundred and fifty pounds of fuzzy white dog, who was tightly followed by eight pounds of Super Taz furry.

The Gus

Apparently Gus does not like thunderstorms and was kind enough to let me know there was one on the way. Taz was not too fond of having her sleep interrupted and kept a close eye on her giant brother while I glanced out the window to see a flash of lightening.

My “Storm Alert System”  turned out to be very handy as the horses were having a night out in the paddock. I glanced out the window and saw another flash of lighting, so I grabbed my raincoat and shoes and started running into the horse paddock screaming “ponies!” I always call them ponies.

Ponies!. I came across a very startled Splash who was enjoying the round bale and not the least put out by the lightly falling rain or light show. Silly me, why would a blind horse be the least bit bothered by a bit of lightening?

I found Turtle and Autumn hiding in the leanto out of the rain. I dragged them both towards the gate and they picked up their ambling pace when the thunder boomed and the rain got heavier. I managed to get all three horses in the barn before the deluge started.

I was standing in the barn panting when I made a startling realization: no pants. In my rush I managed to remember my coat and shoes, but no pants. Thankfully is was before 5 am.

Standing outside in the barn enjoying the storm I had a funny childhood memory: My father was a volunteer firefighter and we lived half a block from the hall. When the fire alarm would sound (the fire hall had an outside alarm that would sound when there was a fire) my father would startle awake from his nap on the couch where he was most comfortable with his pants on the floor, and race down the block with my mother hot on his trail yelling “Frank! Your pants!”

Damp and sweaty I giggled as I watched the storm roll in and thought having animals is really worthwhile.