Free to Good Home?

We see so many upsetting photos on the internet of adult dogs about to be put down. We are bombarded with them. The sadness in their eyes, the yearning to be free to love and be loved. We know that they all have a story to tell and wonder as we look into their eyes what that story is. How did that dog or cat end up in the pound to begin with? Animal cases come through our shelters at such an overwhelming rate that we tend to find ourselves racing against time to save the lives of the adult animals, not paying much attention to the puppies. After all, puppies are cute and playful and are easy to adopt out. How could anyone resist a puppy? A puppy has no history. You get him new to the world and you're going to make the perfect dog out of that puppy, right? It's just downright easy to get a puppy into a home. No threat of euthanasia. Easily placed. Out of sight, out of mind. Cute puppies? No problem. Just take them up to a yard sale, flea market, dog pound, or advertise them on the radio, "Free to Good Home" or "Free Puppies". In the case of our local pound, they're only $20 each. Wow! Twenty dollars buys a puppy! Awesome!

 I've raced the "needle" for months, the same as the rest of the animal activists around the country. "Hurry! This dog is in a high-kill facility and only has until Friday if not adopted! Please help him!" And that poor animal definitely needs to be helped and is certainly deserving of such, considering he has been literally betrayed by the human that he trusted to love him, care for him, feed him, keep him safe. There's no doubt that poor unfortunate canine or feline is in need and is deserving of rescue, a family, and a happy life. And I have, personally, worked very hard to see that adult animals escape the needle and end up with a happy home with many more years of tail-wagging ahead of him. It's very difficult to get the adults adopted, yet extremely rewarding when you have a hand in that happy ending.

But, what about the puppies and kittens? Oh, let's not worry about them. They're easy to "get rid of". No sweat. Keep 'em cheap or even free...they'll go. And if things don't work out with that puppy...he eats...he gets sick...he uses the floor to go potty...he chews up everything he can get his teeth on. Oops! Not quite what you expected, right? Well, there's a solution to that pesky puppy problem. As he gets older he's not quite as cute as he was and he's been driving you crazy for months. The kids have lost interest. Probably shouldn't have gotten that darn puppy in the first place. Now you have an adult dog that you don't want around anymore. What to do? Chain him up outside, put him in a pen, turn him loose on the street, dump him on a country road, or drop him off at the pound. You might even give him to the first person who will take him. Out of sight...out of mind. This, folks, is the beginning of a vicious cycle that will not ever stop unless we intervene at every opportunity on the "free to good home" or "twenty-dollar" puppies and kittens. We must be pro-active in our approach to animal rescue. Yes, race the needle and save the big dogs. Of course! But don't forget this: while your main focus is on saving Sparky from the needle, hundreds of puppies and kittens right in your own community are going into homes with little or no screening of the adopter and are very likely, for this reason, going to end up dead, abused, producing more puppies, or up at the pound...another adult racing the needle.

Spay and neuter, spay and neuter, SPAY AND NEUTER!!!! Bob Barker said that on TV for over 30 years and it still has not sunk in. Animals are reproducing at unbelievable rates in spite of the message that we preached and should continue to convey. Of course, spaying and neutering is THE solution. No doubt. But, since most folks, obviously, are not adhering to the message, what do we do with all those puppies and kittens? Hey, I know! No problem! Lets just give them away or take them to the pound. Easy solution, right? This is the beginning of Sparky's journey. Without heavily screening the adopter, without follow-up after the adoption, Sparky stands a greater chance than not of a very uncertain, likely horrible fate.

This brings me to the story of Ruby and Max. A couple of months ago, a lady contacted me about two stray pups that wandered up to her house in the city limits. Animal control was called when they wandered into her neighbor's yard and the puppies were trapped and taken to the pound. When this lady found out that the pound had come and gotten the pups, she took it upon herself to go up and get them out, even though these puppies were not her responsibility, she made it so. She asked that I come and get them and find them a loving home. I agreed to do so. A few days later, I was gonna schedule a time to go and pick them up and she said to never mind. Another lady had agreed to take the puppies. After all, they were free, right? Turns out the lady who adopted Max and Ruby couldn't keep them and she desperately needed to "get rid" of them, so she gave them to the fellow that does her yard work. Whew! Gone. No more puppies. All is back to normal.

Now, a couple of months later, the lady who had originally found Max and Ruby and thought she had found a good home for them saw them in photos on the dog pound's website and was shocked. They had been picked up again by animal control roaming the streets, hungry, thin, looking for food. She went to the pound and retrieved the pair and I now have them in foster care where they are being fed, vetted, loved, socialized and will NOT be adopted out to anyone without heavy screening. Max and Ruby became a statistic...and example of not spaying and neutering, but also "free to good home".

Out of sight, out of mind is not a solution. "Getting rid of" is not the solution. No puppy or kitten, dog or cat, should EVER be given away to the first person who offers to take him off your hands. No puppy or kitten should leave the pound without the potential adopter being heavily screened. No puppy or kitten should ever leave the pound or the person adopting the animal out without follow-up on his care. If there is no screening, no follow-up, the efforts of the person or the shelter adopting the animal out are fruitless and it's the animal who pays the price. We must be pro-active on our approach to animal rescue. Yes, we race the needle and try to do everything we can to save the hard-to-adopt adult dogs and cats. Absolutely! But we cannot forget that the reason that dog is there is because someone chose to get rid of him. The cute "free" or "cheap" pet grew up and is no longer worthy of the affection of the person who betrayed him.

Voices for Hope must educate the public, starting with school children, on proper pet care and the importance of spaying and neutering. The adults aren't listening because, as the saying goes, "it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks." So we must start with the children. Start with the children. Start with puppies and kittens. Be pro-active. Help the lonely, abused adult animals in the pounds escape euthanasia. But, don't forget this very important fact: at one time that dog or cat was a puppy or kitten, and someone, in one way or another, sent him into a very irresponsible home. Let's work together, use common sense, and be proactive in helping to end this vicious cycle.

Sweet little Ruby (one of thousands who fell victim to "free to good home")

Queen Feline

feline majesty at its best!

resting

from your fearsome hunt last night?

frightful sight

to tiny prey!

sleep all day if you must.

I trust

you’ll hunt again tonight.

her majesty in calico!

I don’t know

the world nocturnal eyes perceive.

you leave

relentless chase

of unsuspecting prey

for flannel sheets.

you seem so sweet

to humankind.

matriarch!

how shrewd her majesty!

manipulating those

of tender heart

with begging strokes

and soft meows.

my sympathetic heart allows

you take control

of your domain.

you reign

within the borders of this place

you chose as home.

your satisfaction

brings contented purrs

to human ears.

I’m happy that you’re here 

to comfort me.

‘tis my reward to care for you,

your majesty.

rest well, sweet queen,

until the darkness

calls you out again

when contented purrs

become sinister growls

in your nocturnal reign.

Ollie Mae's Litter (for the kiddies)

OLLIE MAE, THE CAT, GOT MARRIED

(YOU SEE, CATS CAN GET MARRIED, TOO);

SHE MARRIED A CAT NAMED “CURTIS”

IN THE TOWN OF CATTAMAZOO.

THEIR MISTRESS, THE WIDOW KELLEY,

PROVIDED THEM A COMFY DEN;

THEY EVEN HAD A KITTY DOOR

TO GO OUT OF AND COME BACK IN.

A GENEROUS SUPPLY OF FOOD

WAS PROVIDED BY MS. KELLEY;

SO NEVER WERE THE TWO FELINES

LEFT WITH AN EMPTY BELLY.

THEY HAD A WARM AND COZY BED,

WATER AND LOTS OF KITTY TREATS;

THE WIDOW EVEN SHARED AT TIMES

THE KINDS OF FOODS THAT PEOPLE EAT.

THEY LOVED EACH OTHER VERY MUCH,

AND THEIR DEAR MISTRESS LOVED THEM, TOO;

THEY WERE THE HAPPIEST FELINES

IN THE TOWN OF CATTAMAZOO.

THE HAPPY FELINE BRIDE AND GROOM

SHARED A KIZILLION PURRS A DAY;

LIFE SEEMED QUITE COMPLETE, NO DOUBT,

FOR BOTH CURTIS AND OLLIE MAE.

BUT SOON OLLIE MAE SEEMED TIRED;

SHE BEGAN TO GET QUITE CHUBBY;

SHE DIDN’T WANT TO POUNCE AND PLAY

WITH HER HANDSOME FELINE HUBBY.

HER TUMMY WAS GETTING FATTER;

SHE WAS SUCH A MOODY CRITTER;

THEN ONE DAY THE WIDOW ANNOUNCED

THAT OLLIE WOULD HAVE A LITTER.

NOW CURTIS WAS A BIT CONFUSED;

HE WASN’T SURE HE UNDERSTOOD;

BUT SHE SAID IT WITH EXCITEMENT,

IT MUST MEAN SOMETHING VERY GOOD!

NOW CURTIS JUST WATCHED AND WAITED

EVERY DAY PASSED SLOWLY BY;

HE BEGAN TO GROW IMPATIENT;

AND SOON HIS PURR BECAME A SIGH.

HE STEPPED OUTSIDE THE KITTY DOOR,

HE WAS FEELING A LITTLE WEIRD;

AND LATER WHEN HE CAME BACK IN,

FOUR  TINY KITTENS HAD APPEARED.

OLLIE MAE’S EYES SPARKLED SO BRIGHT

AS SHE KISSED EACH TINY CRITTER;

SO THIS IS WHAT THE WIDOW MEANT

WHEN SHE SAID THAT STRANGE WORD “LITTER”!

FOUR WONDERFUL LITTLE TOMCATS

AT LAST HAD JOINED THE HAPPY PAIR;

AND ONLY A FLEETING TIME PASSED,

TILL THEY WERE RUNNING EVERYWHERE!

ONE WAS LONG AND A SLIGHT BIT THIN;

HE HAD HUMONGOUS EARS ON HIM;

THEY CHRISTENED HIM “CURTIS, JR.”,

OF COURSE, HIS NICKNAME WOULD BE “JIM”.

THERE WAS ONE THAT THEY NAMED “JERRY”,

A ROUGH AND ROWDY LITTLE RUNT;

HE LOVED TO JUMP AND POUNCE ABOUT,

AND CHASE THE BALL AND CROUCH AND HUNT.

THE THIRD THEY CALLED “HOMER GILBERT”;

HE WAS A LITTLE CALICO;

WHEN OTHER KITTENS RACED OUTSIDE,

H.G. WOULD BE THE LAST TO GO.

THE FOURTH ONE WAS FAT AND FLUFFY,

HE HADTHE GREENEST EYES THEY’D SEEN,

HE LOOKED MUCH LIKE OLLIE’S BROTHER,

SO THEY NAMED HIM “CLANCY EUGENE”.

THEIR LOVE HAD MADE A FAMILY;

THEIR HEARTS WERE FILLED WITH LOVE AND JOY;

OLLIE MAE AND HER DEAR CURTIS

WERE SO THANKFUL THEY HAD EACH BOY.

THE WIDOW’S FAIR HOME WAS BURSTING

WITH LOTS OF MEOWS AND HISSES,

THERE WERE TONS OF JUMPS AND POUNCES,

AND PLENTY OF PURRS AND KISSES.

THEY’D RUN AND PLAY AND LEAP AND SLIDE;

THEY SCURRIED BOTH INSIDE AND OUT;

GROWING KITTENS WERE EVERYWHERE,

THEY WERE SCAMPERING ALL ABOUT.

THE WIDOW KELLEY’S HUMBLE HOME

IS NEVER GLOOMY OR BITTER,

JUST AS LONG AS SHE HAS CURTIS

AND OLLIE MAE’S PLAYFUL LITTER.

SIX FINE FELINES TODAY RESIDE

WHERE ONCE WERE NO MORE THAN TWO;

LIVING HAPPY EVER AFTER,

IN THE TOWN OF CATTAMAZOO.

THE END

Katrina Estes Hill

To Quinn Michael from God

Dear Quinn Michael,

          I hope you like the gift I sent you this year. I’d heard you wanted a dog, and understood that you needed one. I found one that needed you, too. I got her used…not in the best of shape, I admit. I did that on purpose. I knew that if you were willing to spend a good bit of money to patch her up, then it’s likely that your heart would be in it. Turns out you were willing to do just that. (By the way, I sent you the money, too.) Now, I realize she’s got some pretty worn-out teeth, and eyes like Marty Feldman, but, trust me…she’s a darn good mutt! I think you’ve already figured that out. A lot of buddies have come into your life in the short time you’ve been around. Many more will come and go, but I’m telling you right now that one thing is for certain: This year, your 23^rd year of life, you have met more than a buddy or pal, you have met the best friend that you’ve ever had. The memories that you make with your loyal companion, Layla, will always stand out as some of your most favorable. No matter what your mood, she’ll love you anyway. No matter what you act like, look like, talk like, walk like…smell like…that goofy-looking mutt…well…she’s still gonna love you anyway. Your buddies may betray you. They may envy you. They may find a flaw in your character or personality that just doesn’t suit them. They’ll put conditions on their friendship. Your friend, Layla, will do none of those things. She can’t. She’s not programmed that way. No dogs are. I made sure of that when I created them. Your wish is her command. She lives to please you. Her happiness comes from making you happy. Take care of her. She’s gonna take good care of you. I promise…and I always keep my promises!

Happy birthday!

Love, God

  

The Blind Chihuahua

            When I lived in Birmingham, I was selling shipping manifest computers to small companies.  One day I had an appointment with an elderly couple who owned a small sock factory in Fort Payne, Alabama.  When I arrived at the run-down old building with peeling paint and big fans circulating the sultry summer air, I hoped, as I had many times before since I’d been in outside sales, that I was at the wrong place.  Unfortunately, when I stepped inside the rusted metal door, I was quickly made aware that I had reached my intended destination when an old timer in overalls called for me to come over to the table in the middle of the room where he and his wife were working.  I didn’t notice what they were doing because once I began walking in that direction I was captivated by a pathetic and very sad sight. Although a disturbing sight, it made me feel good to see that someone else loved animals as much as I.

            Once I spotted the Chihuahua, the rest of the room became a blur.  The co-proprietor, a fat old country lady with a Marlboro hanging from her lips, had a tiny Chihuahua resting on her shoulder.  I couldn’t believe the condition of that dog!  Its tongue was hanging out of its mouth because it had no teeth at all.  Blindness had rendered its corneas opaque.  It seemed to melt into her pudgy shoulder as she rendered a consistent pounding of hard pats against the tiny canine’s body.  I was flabbergasted. 

            “Oh my God!” I said.  Bless its little heart!  Is it blind?”

            The lady kept the steady, solid pat going at the same monotonous pace as she replied, “Yep, she’s blind.  She ain’t got a tooth in her head either.  That’s why her tongue hangs out all the time.  She’s twenty-five year old,” she said.  The dog’s entire body was jarred with each slap and it never changed its position.

            “You’re kidding,” I said.  “Twenty-five years old?”

            “Got her when all my kids was little, and they’re all grown now.  She’s been with her Mama a long time and I just don’t know what’d I’d do without my baby.”  She continued to pound the pooch.

            The sweet little decrepit dog knew that the pounding was her mama’s stern pat letting her know that she was there for her.  That little Chihuahua was so lucky to have been adopted by a mother that loved her unconditionally throughout her long life.  Those consistent stern slaps reminded her that she was safe in the hands of her beloved mother.  That old woman’s loyalty to her pet left such an impression on me.  So much that, even though it’s been over ten years ago, every now and then I still think about them.  The old woman and her beloved Chihuahua, no doubt, have gone on and reunited in Heaven.

            Our pets depend on us to care for them.  We are all they have; yet many of us, when a pet needs an expensive surgery or gets old and incontinent, just have it put down.  There’s something incredibly wrong with that.  A pet’s love for their family is unconditional.  They feel like they are a part of a loving family unit.  Then one day when Fido can’t fetch anymore or Fluffy can’t climb into the litter box fast enough, the “human” begins to come out in the pet owner.  That’s so sad and so wrong unless the animal is clearly in pain.

            The first and only pet that I ever help put down while I was working as a veterinarian’s assistant was a thirteen-year-old Chihuahua.  The owners had sent their son-in-law down to the clinic to have it taken care of because they couldn’t bear to do it.  The reason was the dog had gotten so old that it had become incontinent. 

            Dr. Carter called me into the treatment room to hold the little pooch still while he gave the lethal injection.  I put my arm around her and she began to wag her tail as if she thought we were her friends.  After all, she had no beef with either of us.  I dreaded this so much!  Dr. Carter instructed me to hold her tight against my body because she would likely react to the injection.  My palms grew sweaty and my heart palpitated as I drew the sweet little trusting dog in closer.  Then he made me hold her front leg up as her pierced the vein.  The precious little trusting canine stiffened up and screamed frantically.  Then she just dropped to the cold stainless steel table that was her deathbed.

            The son-in-law left her there for us to dispose of.  Poor little thing!  After thirteen years of loyalty to that family, she wasn’t even worthy of a decent burial.  I placed the remains in a cardboard box as instructed by Dr. Carter.  We drove that afternoon to his other clinic with the box in the back of his pick-up.  About a week or two later, my coworker, Toni, and I were cleaning out the livestock section at the clinic.  I opened up a box to see what was inside and there was what was left of the pitiful little Chihuahua.  She was all bloated and her teeth were clenched.  I couldn’t believe that sweet little dog’s unfortunate fate at the hands of her trusted family.  

            The little blind Chihuahua was definitely the more fortunate of the two.  If only every pet owner could love the way that old country woman in Fort Payne did, unconditionally, until the very end!      

      

           

Dave (for the kiddies)

He was forced to stay outside

While others lived indoors.

Never loved—alone he cried;

For food, he begged for more.

He was beaten, scared and shy;

Ill treatment he’d received;

He missed his mom, for he was young,

So he lay alone and grieved.

I took the puppy from that place,

His little life to save.

I nursed him back to comfort in my home,

And named him “Dave”.

I didn’t plan to keep him,

But feared he’d meet with doom

If he was placed into a home

Where compassion found no room.

So, anyway, I let him stay—

He seemed to fit right in,

And with Charlie, Dolly, Lucy,

And Bubba Mo made friends.

The biggest paws I ever saw,

And, boy, that mutt could eat!

Quite a giant he’d become

If he grew to match those feet!

And grow, he did—a massive brute!

He plays and sleeps inside.

I take him everywhere I go,

‘Cause Davis loves to ride!

He keeps me safe from strangers,

For he knows that I’m the one

Who rescued him at tender age,

And gave a loving home.

All he needed was a chance

To prove what he can give

To one who offers kindness

And a happy place to live.

Had I not happened by that day,

And heard that puppy’s cries,

I hate to think what might have been—

I expect he would have died.

A friend I found that fateful day;

I feel it in my bones

That angels sent me by that way

To rescue Davis Jones.

Canine Observation #1

Have you ever noticed how dogs always seem to follow you around, eagerly, as if to "beg" for something and when there are several dogs, the begging not only multiplies, but becomes even more intense?

Clockwise from left: The infamous Rudy Baker, Suzie, Brook, and Gracee

My Imagination: Poodles, Doodles, and Noodles (for the kiddies) This is the unpublished sequel to my published book for children, "My Imagination".

The sniffles kept me home from school;

I have a temperature.

I’ll bet my friends miss me today;

I’m missing them for sure!

The rain is pouring down outside,

 As I watch from my bedroom. 

My chin is on the windowsill

And my day is filled with gloom.

Mom’s preparing chicken soup

To soothe my stuffy head.

I’m tired of being cooped indoors

And lying in my bed!

I’ve watched TV, read some books,

Done homework and played with toys;

But, still I’m bored and lonely

And my head is full of noise!

I’m feeling rather down, no doubt,

And my exhausted body aches me;

I thinks it’s time for me to go

Where my imagination takes me.

It’s raining cats and dogs galore

Around my neighborhood.

I’ll bet my imagination

Can make this day seem good!

It’s raining felines everywhere

There are canines by the oodles!

Raindrops turn into kittens

And puddles into poodles!

Poodles are running all about—

Some pink, some orange, and blue;

A lemon yellow Laborador

And red Chihuahuas, too!

Mr. Nelson’s car next door,

Which once was soaked with rain,

Has become a massive brute—

A giant, blue Great Dane!

He frolics up and down the street;

He’s chasing cats and poodles

I think I’ll give this Dane a name…

I’ll call that big boy “Doodles”.

Purple cats are climbing trees

At Mrs. Johnson’s house;

One of them is running from

A little speckled mouse.

Collies, Shepherds, and Bulldogs,

Black ones, white ones, gray;

Puppies raining from the sky

Can brighten any day!

Kittens in all colors,

Sizes, shapes and such;

My imagination

Lets me see so much!

A Greyhound rides Ricky’s bike

                        As Doodles rides mine, too!

                         Daschunds turn into hot dogs

As gray skies change to blue.

There are cats in every color

A few are wearing clothes.

Some pansies turn into Yorkies

With little yellow bows.

As sunshine lights the sky again,

They have a celebration

All the dogs and cats and rainbows

From my imagination!

When mommy brings my chicken soup

The creatures disappear;

She sees the smile across my face;

“What’s going on up here?”

“It’s raining cats and dogs outside!”

“That’s right,” my mother said.

“Now, leave that windowsill, my dear,

And settle into bed.”

She set my cup of soup aside

And helped me into bed;

And then she took my temperature

And kissed my cool forehead.

I told her of the things I’d seen,

As I sipped my chicken noodle;

Of kittens falling from the sky

And the puddles that were poodles.

It was my imagination

That helped me realize

There’s more to rainy days than gloom

And gray and cloudy skies.

The next time that you’re lonely

Or you’re bored, or sick or blue,

USE YOUR IMAGINATION…

Something awesome waits for you!

http://www.amazon.com/My-Imagination-Katrina-Estes-hill/dp/0974571563/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1298745862&sr=1-1 

Rags by Edmund Vance Cooke

We called him "Rags." He was just a cur,
But twice, on the Western Line,
That little old bunch of faithful fur
Had offered his life for mine.

And all that he got was bones and bread,
Or the leavings of soldier grub,
But he'd give his heart for a pat on the head,
Or a friendly tickle and rub

And Rags got home with the regiment,
And then, in the breaking away-
Well, whether they stole him, or whether he went,
I am not prepared to say.

But we mustered out, some to beer and gruel
And some to sherry and shad,
And I went back to the Sawbones School,
Where I still was an undergrad.

One day they took us budding M. D.s
To one of those institutes
Where they demonstrate every new disease
By means of bisected brutes.

They had one animal tacked and tied
And slit like a full-dressed fish,
With his vitals pumping away inside
As pleasant as one might wish.

I stopped to look like the rest, of course,
And the beast's eyes leveled mine;
His short tail thumped with a feeble force,
And he uttered a tender whine.

It was Rags, yes, Rags! who was martyred there,
Who was quartered and crucified,
And he whined that whine which is doggish prayer
And he licked my hand and died.

And I was no better in part nor whole
Than the gang I was found among,
And his innocent blood was on the soul
Which he blessed with his dying tongue.

Well I've seen men go to courageous death
In the air, on sea, on land!
But only a dog would spend his breath
In a kiss for his murderer's hand.

And if there's no heaven for love like that,
For such four-legged fealty-well
If I have any choice, I tell you flat,
I'll take my chance in hell.

Do Pure-Breed Dogs End Up in Shelters? Hmmmmm....

Pedigree, Canine and Human

Mark Derr is the author of “A Dog’s History of America: How Our Best Friend Explored, Conquered and Settled a Continent” and “Dog’s Best Friend: Annals of the Dog-Human Relationship.”
The Westminster Kennel Club Show was interrupted last night by two members of People for the Ethical Treatments of Animals declaiming against purebred dogs in favor of mutts. Theirs is the continuation of long battle.

Rising middle classes in the developing world want “Western” breeds, just as Thorstein Veblen could have predicted.

The development of scientific breeding and “modern breeds” in the late 18th century has transformed the genetic landscape of European and American dogs, creating animals specialized in terms of form and function. Initially an extravagance for the wealthy — Thorstein Veblen had pampered purebred companion dogs in mind when he coined the phrase “objects of conspicuous consumption” — the purebred dog became a mass-produced commodity in the decades following World War II.
By my rough calculations, purebred dogs in general are as numerous, or nearly so, as mutts, or “mixed breeds” among our 77 million dogs.

Associated Press/Westminster Kennel Club A Pyrenean shepherd with a rough coat.

Reports from around the world indicate that when the emerging middle class in developing countries want a dog, they most frequently buy a “Western” breed, while ignoring local street dogs — some of them ancient types — because they want the pedigree. Each year, the American Kennel Club adds new breeds from among the 400 or so in the world today, like the little Pyrenean shepherd dog that made its debut at the Westminster Kennel Club show this year.
This need to find “unspoiled” or rare breeds is tied not only to a desire for the next “hot” dog but also recognition that purebred dogs for all their beauty or uniqueness often have multiple genetic problems that are as much a result of the way they are bred as are their appearance and talents. People aware of these problems may turn to mutts or deliberate crosses between popular breeds — Labradoodles or cockerpoos, for example — in the search for hybrid vigor.
Or they make it a point of saying they obtained their dogs from reputable breeders, not from pet stores or puppy mills, which are major sources of dogs with problems.
PETA and other groups and individuals find virtue in taking an abandoned dog from the shelter. But with purebred dogs accounting for 25 percent of those in shelters and countless more with dedicated breed rescue groups, virtue would appear to lie in giving a dog a home.

Art Contest for Youngsters

Voices for Hope Animal Rescue is a non-profit organization recently formed to help bring awareness to our community about the importance of spaying/neutering our pets, help with the adoption of homeless animals, and rescue and report animal abuse. We are currently holding an art contest for children. The contest will be divided into three groups, grades K-3, 4-6, and 7-9. There will be a winner for each age group, whose art will appear on our fundraiser T-shirts. Entrants may drop artwork off at the Winston County Library or Just Teasin' Boutik. We want colorful pictures of your family pet. If you don’t have a pet, draw a picture of any dog or cat. Get creative! The deadline is March 31. For more information, you may call Katrina @ 803-4400. We also need volunteers. Please come and join us in our efforts to make our community more animal-friendly!

Wally Rose (for the kiddies)

Wally Rose

A little puppy followed me home from school one day;

He acted like he knew me, and wanted me to play.

Black and white– a shaggy coat and button of a nose;

A playful little mutt was he; I named him Wally Rose.

Very soon he fit right in; my family quickly chose

To make a member out of him– the tiny Wally Rose.

He loved to chew on everything from tennis shoes to hose;

Daddy let him fetch his slippers– guess what he did to those!

He chewed them up till they were frayed and ripped around the toes;

Daddy sternly scolded him; I’m glad my mother sews!

He’d chase the ball and bring it back, and wag his stubby tail;

Till someone threw the ball again, his persistence would not fail.

He loved to play with Bows, the cat, who just could not perceive

Why he played so rough like that– she wished that he would leave.

But as time passed, she realized he didn’t mean her harm;

She soon became a friend to him, and with him shared our farm.

He liked to follow Bossie as she grazed around the dell;

He’d bark and fuss, and try to catch her long fly-swatter tail.

“Go and play with someone else– with Franklin or with Bows;

And stop all that annoying me, you naughty Wally Rose!”

Now Franklin didn’t mind one bit when Wally came around,

“Cause he’d wallow in the mud with him– a “piggy of a hound”.

He’d romp and roll, then shake the mud right off his shaggy coat;

He’d say “Good-bye”, and off he’d go to pester Bill, the goat.

Bill would try to hide behind a haystack when he’d see

That pesky nuisance, Wally Rose, approaching friskily.

But Wally Rose would search for Bill until he sniffed him out;

Then crouch and bark and chase the goat until he wore him out.

And then, old Bill would take a rest, and as he’d start to doze,

Nestled close beside him there was a sleepy Wally Rose.

Wally grew and grew each day beneath the country skies;

A puny mutt he was no more, but mature and somewhat wise.

Nowadays, he’s quite a hand to have around the farm;

He brings the chickens in to roost and Bossie to the barn.

He stands tall, a handsome brute– a somewhat pleasing hound,

That’s loyal to his life-long friends, and good to have around.

Now Bill and Bossie, Franklin, and I and even Bows

Can’t imagine life before I brought home Wally Rose!

Katrina Estes Hill

Cotton's Silent World (for the kiddies)

It’s stormy in our neighborhood;

The rain is beating down;

The feline on the windowsill

Doesn’t hear a sound.

He sees the lightening in the sky;

He feels the thunder near;

But his silence isn’t broken,

You see, Cotton cannot hear.

He cannot here the many sounds

We hear from day to day. 

He doesn’t hear the laughter

When the children are at play.

He doesn’t hear the music

That Mom plays as she cooks;

Just sits upon his favorite spot

And out the window looks.

He watches as a butterfly

Upon a flower lands,

And flies away in freedom

Right into Nature’s hands.

He yearns to go outside;

He’d be there if he could,

To chase the butterfly

And run the neighborhood.

He’d climb to meet upon the oak

The frisky little squirrel

That he’d just love to bring into

His silent, playful world.

The cat who lives next door,

Whose name is Bubba Mo,

Jumps upon the windowsill

As if to say “hello”.

He strokes his body to and fro

Across the window pane;

A soft “meow” and noses touch;

His visits aren’t in vain.

Bubba loves his silent friend,

That blue-eyed cotton ball;

He knows it makes him happy

When Bubba pays a call.

A wall of total of silence

Can’t keep these friends apart,

Good friends can communicate

Directly from the heart.

When Cotton’s called to slumber,

His dreams take him away

To the world of hearing sounds

He misses everyday.

He hears the crickets chirping,

And the scurry of a mouse,

The laughter of the children

As they play around the house.

He hears Mom humming melodies

As she cooks his favorite fish,

And hears his own contented purr

As she puts some in his dish.

He hears the Whippoorwill,

The hoots of Mr. Owl,

Bubba Mo’s “hello” meow,

And Sparky’s bark and growl.

His ears twitch as he sleeps;

Upon my lap he’s curled;

I’m glad that I’m a part

Of Cotton’s silent world!

Katrina Estes Hill