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  #1  
Old 09-02-2009, 10:18 PM
Viking's Avatar
Viking Viking is offline
 
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Location: Twin Cities, MN
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Default The thing about fostering dogs

We have had Annie only about a week. Already she knows the routine. Eat by 9:00. Go for a walk by the pond late morning and pull and strain like crazy and sniff, sniff, sniff. Take a nap. Bark when you need or want to go outside. Start agitating to go to the dog park about 4:00 or so. Be the copilot and look around, maybe stick your head out the window while in the minivan. Back by 6:00 and it's time to eat. It's a dogs life.

The thing about fostering dogs is you can get attached to them.
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  #2  
Old 09-02-2009, 10:22 PM
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jlabauve jlabauve is offline
 
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No kidding! I've got 4 because I pick up strays. The plan is always that I'm going to get them medical treatment, then find them a home. And I have placed about 10 dogs ... but every now and then I get so attached that I can't give them up.

But 4 is definately my limit! I keep telling myself ...
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  #3  
Old 09-02-2009, 11:34 PM
panappr panappr is offline
 
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Good looking dog...... We used to to the "Bark Park" but it got to crazy with all the other dogs fighting, I don't know which was worse the dogs or the owners....
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  #4  
Old 09-03-2009, 07:01 AM
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Conservative in Virginia Conservative in Virginia is offline
 
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there is a SPECIAL place in Heaven for those of you who rescue these wonderful creatures and I pray every day that it will be with THEM.

God Bless You.

ps... (four is never enough but I feel your pain)
  #5  
Old 09-03-2009, 09:46 AM
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Mike Kennedy Mike Kennedy is offline
 
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Location: Southern Hudson Valley
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A letter from 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 belly rub.

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've 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. T hey 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 good-bye 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 dog speak, 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 directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.


A Note from the Author:

If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as You read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly "owned" pets who die each year in American & Canadian animal shelters.

major woofs (kudos) to VIKING

Christmas is coming folks.........spread the word

www.petfinder.com
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Last edited by Mike Kennedy : 02-28-2010 at 03:46 PM.
  #6  
Old 09-03-2009, 10:24 AM
staceyuw staceyuw is offline
 
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Default

Since everyone else is sharing.
Here are my 2 favorite girls.
Lucy the lhasa apso and Daisy the basset hound!
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  #7  
Old 09-03-2009, 10:24 AM
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Peter LeQuire Peter LeQuire is offline
 
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V -

Fostering dogs is somewhat like having children: you work your keister off, investing time, care, love and affection and about the time you get them (the child and/or the dog) to the point that they don't mess the carpet and are pretty good company, they move on. My brother trains service dogs, taking them on as pups and working intensively for a couple of years before the dogs are placed - I admire that immensely. (FWIW, he's also involved in training soldiers to train service dogs for soldiers who have significant injuries - talk about worthwhile.)
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  #8  
Old 09-03-2009, 11:31 AM
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Viking Viking is offline
 
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Default

Quote:
Originally Posted by panappr View Post
Good looking dog...... We used to to the "Bark Park" but it got to crazy with all the other dogs fighting, I don't know which was worse the dogs or the owners....

The dog park that I go to is a County Park in a rural area about 10 minutes from our suburb. About 12 of the 16 acres is wooded with trails. The dogs learn that they can run in the woods but have to keep track of you while you walk the trails. I've walked hundreds of miles there in the past couple of years so it is good exercise for owners too. The dogs there tend to be well behaved. The people are also well behaved and usually in a good mood!
  #9  
Old 09-03-2009, 11:45 AM
panappr panappr is offline
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Viking View Post
The dog park that I go to is a County Park in a rural area about 10 minutes from our suburb. About 12 of the 16 acres is wooded with trails. The dogs learn that they can run in the woods but have to keep track of you while you walk the trails. I've walked hundreds of miles there in the past couple of years so it is good exercise for owners too. The dogs there tend to be well behaved. The people are also well behaved and usually in a good mood!
Yeah but this is LA the land of the self interested, pretentious *ricks.
  #10  
Old 09-03-2009, 12:53 PM
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Smokey Bear Smokey Bear is offline
 
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I'd love to have a dog, but the landlord won't allow it. I'm thinking about getting around that by taking in Golden puppies that are in training for guide dogs. Then the law requires the landlord to allow the dog.
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