I used to run a dog rescue out of my home. Over the years, more than 400 dogs passed through my place, most of them had been abandoned out in the country to "live free" when their owners tired of the responsibility. I guess they didn't know, or didn't care that "living free" for a domesticated animal usually equates to starvation, dehydration, fox-tails blinding them, infections, being hit by a car, disease, or being attacked by other animals. Over the years, I took in a few cats, some birds, even a few horses, but mostly dogs, dogs, and more dogs.
There were a handful over the years I couldn't save. A few were so badly injured, a merciful end was all I could offer. I'd tell myself at least in the end they knew a few moments of empathy and caring. There was one, despite three years efforts at rehabilitation, who was so emotionally traumatized he was dangerous and ultimately had to be euthanized. By then he had bit me twice (I still bear scars on my thigh from a severe injury) and mauled two other dogs almost to death. He was kind and gentle, unless startled; and just about everything startled him, he was so fearful after the abuse he had suffered before he found his way to me.
When the dogs did find their way to me, one way or another, I made sure they received love, medical care, shelter, and the end goal was to find them a permanent family. Although I was raised with large dogs and am a German Shepherd lover myself, just about every breed of dog and every mix in-between passed through my home. A tea cup Chihuahua I found dehydrated on a country lane was given a home with a nice older woman who lived alone and was grateful for the companionship. A big yellow Labrador that had been hit by a car went to a lovely couple with two kids and a big yard. The beaten and battered German Shepherd left in a field to fight the coyotes off the bodies of her litter of pups, who'd had their skulls crushed with a rock, went to a family out in the country where she spent the rest of her years in peace, well-loved. Although there were some heart-breaking moments, over the years there were far more heart-warming moments.
A few years back I had to sell my house with the big yard and the doggie door. Now I'm no longer as young and healthy as I used to be, accumulating dogs has become a thing of my past. I'm not supposed to do that any more. I have as my companions an exuberant Chihuahua I found unconscious, starved and with an infection, and an older German Shepherd, I found starved, beaten, and in a small cage. The cage was so cramped, her legs didn't develop properly. She is fearful of strangers, but very loving. The three of us make a bit of a crowd, but we get by. I have to be careful with the little guy running around so he doesn't trip me. Because of severe osteoporosis, a fall is devastating for me. Last Thanksgiving I fell and broke my back so I'm very cautious. While my daughter is at work, I watch my "grand-doggie." He's 14, a wolf-Husky hybrid, and has cancer so he can't stay home alone. It can get a bit crowded, but it works.
Enter Buddy. Poor, sweet, clumsy, oafish in the way only a five month old puppy can be, Buddy. Buddy is a Pit Bull pup and looks to be a nice purebred. Recently, Buddy was found emaciated with his collar grown into his neck, wandering after being mauled by another dog. If I take Buddy to the local SPCA, because of his breed, there will be no evaluation, only death. Buddy had no tags nor chip and all efforts to locate his owner have failed. It's been a few weeks now and Buddy has gained weight and the veternarian healed his injuries. As Buddy is feeling better, he has become much more energetic, as a healthy pup should be. Buddy runs through here like gangbusters, almost knocking me down, which I fear. All efforts to find Buddy a home have failed also. I have no idea what I'm going to do with Buddy but something needs to happen soon. Buddy needs a family and a permanent home. He needs love. Buddy is sweet, kind, friendly, outgoing; chocolate brown with four white feet that are covered in brown freckles, and a big white spot on his chest. He lost his last baby-tooth two days ago and is frantically chewing on toys while he eases his swollen gums as he cuts his adult teeth. He thinks he is a lapdog and he is housebroken. Poor, sweet Buddy. Buddy needs someone who can take him for walks and play Frisbee with him.
Although I live in a densely populated area, we have only one no-kill shelter. They, of course, have no room. The economy is down and so are contributions. There is a huge influx of unwanted animals due to the high foreclosure rates and fewer resources to deal with them. Even in the best of economic times, animals often get the short end of the stick and when times are hard, pets are the first to suffer. They are disposable.
I know times are hard, but if you recycle and get a couple extra bucks, donate some dog food to your local no kill shelter. Maybe offer a couple of hours services a week if you don't have a couple bucks. If you're a graphics whiz, offer some help making ads. Offer something, anything, to these vulnerable victims of our economy, the ones that have no voice.
I have no idea what I'm going to do with Buddy. This situation is not good for him or me. For today, Buddy is here and he is safe, but I'm not supposed to do this any more. Sweet Buddy, gentle, a victim of his breed's bad reputation and our crappy economy, with only kindness in his heart. Poor Buddy, who just wants food, shelter, and most of all, love. I don't have any idea what is going to happen to Buddy, but I do know he is not the only one. And that makes me terribly sad.