There’s really not a lot to tell, except that I love my dogs and I abhor the conditions in which I have seen dogs bred in some so-called commercial kennels (A USDA license is NOT a badge of honor!!!!) and the conditions under which I have watched dogs auctioned to the highest bidder.
I remember clearly an auction where a 14-year-old Yorkie female was being sold. Still producing, said the auctioneer. Good, profitable years left in her. Even many of the puppy millers were disgusted. One wizened older man, who had been busily buying up breeder stock, muttered under his breath that they had to be kidding. He tried to buy her to take her into his home as a gift for his granddaughter, but the bidding went too high.
Memories like this sear into my soul, as do the eyes of the dogs we could not help. Some of those eyes will haunt me the rest of my life.
To help balance those scars are the friendships of many with whom I have worked to save as many dogs as we could, and the joy of the adopting families and of the dogs who finally came to know love and home and safety.
And most importantly, my own dogs – they provide strength and support and laughter and simple, unadulterated joy. They are none of them perfect specimens, but they are miracles of survival and redemption.
To all who work for the well-being of the dogs and those who love them, my thanks.