Joan Fremo, PyrAngel – I Want to Quit

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Joan wrote this in 2001. We lost her in 2003

I want to quit!
I spend hours and hours emailing about dogs. There may be 500 messages when I start—and at 4 AM, when I finally shut down the computer, there are still 500 emails to be read.

I want to quit!
Gosh, I haven’t the time left to email my friends. I can’t remember the last book I read, and I gave up my subscription to my local newspaper—I used to enjoy reading it, cover to cover, but now it often ends up in the bottom of the squirrel’s cage—unread.

I want to quit!
I’ve spent days emailing what seems like everyone—trying to find a foster home, help for a dog languishing in a shelter—but his time has run out, and the shelter has had to euthanize to make room for the next sad soul.

I want to quit!
I swear, I walk away from my computer to stretch my legs—let the dogs out—and come back to find another dog in desperate need. There are times I really dread checking my email. How will I find the funds, the help, to save yet another dog?

I want to quit!
I save one dog, and two more take its place. Now an owner who doesn’t want his dog—it won’t stay in his unfenced yard. An intact male wanders… This bitch got pregnant by a stray… This 3-month-old pup killed baby chicks… The dog got too big… This person’s moving and needs to give up his pet. I ask you, friends—what town, what city,what state doesn’t allow you to
own a pet?

I want to quit!
I just received another picture, another sad soul with tormented eyes that peer out of a malnourished body. I hear whimpering in my sleep,have nightmares for days…

I want to quit!
Many of the “Breed People” don’t seem to want to hear about these dogs. Breeders either don’t realize, or just don’t care, how many dogs of their breed are dying in shelters.

I want to quit!
I just got off the phone. “Are you Pyr Rescue? We want to adopt a male to breed to our female.” How many times do I have to explain? I have tried to explain about genetics, about health and pedigrees. I explain that rescue NEUTERS! I usually end up sobbing, as I explain about the vast numbers of animals dying in shelters across the country, as I describe the condition many of these animals are found in. I wonder if they really heard me…

I want to quit!
It is not like I don’t have enough rescues of my own to worry —but others have placed dogs improperly and aren’t there to advise the new owners.

I want to quit!
There ARE some unscrupulous rescues out there—hoarders, collectors,and folks who will short change the care of the animals to make a dollar. They save them all, regardless of temperament, putting fellow rescuers and adopters at risk, but not being truthful.

I want to quit!
I have trusted the wrong people— had faith and my heart broken…

I want to quit!
AND THEN…My dog, Magnus, lays his head in my lap, he comforts me with his gentle presence—and the thought of his cousins suffering stirs my heart.

I want to quit!
AND THEN…One of those 500 emails is from an adopter. They are thanking me for the most wonderful dog on earth—they cannot imagine life without their friend—their life is changed, and they are so grateful.

I want to quit!
AND THEN…One of my adopted Rescues has visited a nursing home. A patient that has spent the last few years unable to communicate, not connecting—lifts his hand to pat the huge head in his lap, softly speaks his first words in ages— to this gentle furchild.

I want to quit!
AND THEN…A Good Samaritan has found and vetted a lost baby, “I can’t keep him,but I’ll take care of him until you find his forever home.”

I want to quit!
AND THEN…”Jamie took his first steps holding on to our Pyr.” “Joan, you should see this dog nursing this hurt kitten!” “I was so sick, Joan, and he never left my side…”

I want to quit!
AND THEN…I get an email from a fellow rescuer, “Haven’t heard from you in awhile—you OK? You know I think of you…”

I want to quit!
AND THEN…A dozen rescuers step up to help, to transport, to pull, and to offer encouragement. I have friends I have never seen, but we share tears, joys, and everything in between. I am not alone. I am blest with family of the heart, my fellow Rescuers. Just days ago it was a friend who shared her wit and wisdom, whose late night email lifted my heart. Sometimes it is friends who only have time to forward you a smile. Often, it is my friends who forward me the notices of dogs in need.There are Rescuers who see a flailing transport and do everything they can do to find folks to pull it together for you. Rescuers who’ll overnight or foster your Dog while you seek transport. There are Rescuers not used to or comfortable with your breed, but who put aside their discomfort to help. There are Rescuers whose words play the music of our hearts. Foster homes that love your Rescue, and help to make them whole again—body and spirit. Foster homes that fit your baby in, though it may not be their breed. Rescuers whose talents and determination give us tools to help us. Rescuers we call on for help in a thousand ways, who answer us, who hear our pleas. Rescuers who are our family, our strength, our comrades in battle. I know I cannot save every Pyr in need. I know my efforts are a mere drop in a sea. I know that if I take on just one more—those I have will suffer.

I want to quit!
But I won’t. When I feel overwhelmed, I’ll stroke my Magnus’s head while reading my fellow Rescuers’ emails. I’ll cry with them, I’ll laugh with them— and they will help me find the strength to go on.

I want to quit!
But not today. There’s another email, another dog needing Rescue.

 

 

http://www.heroswaggintrain.com/pyrangel.htm

January 25th, 2003

Family, friends and many furkids said a sad farewell to Joan Fremo.

Thank you Joan, for your contribution to rescue and all the grateful animals you have helped along the way.

Joan was one of the great ‘characters’ of dog rescue. She was one of the most unselfish people that walked this earth. She was the Angel that rescued Great Pyrenees, made them well, gave them love, rehabilitated them and then gave them courage to go on — on, to forever homes to live out their lives in comfort. But many stayed.

Joan didn’t quit. She kept on keeping on. Joan had the respect of many and mentored more than a few. She would want us to keep this in mind when we feel the burnout coming, the strain of long hours of worry, the many trips to the vet, and the empty wallets we have all experienced. She would want us to keep this in mind when we are wondering where the next donation will come from, or how we can possibly help “just one more” dog.

Humility

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We could all use a little more of it.

And my dogs make sure I have opportunities to drown in it.

I usually think I know my dogs pretty well, and I do. But making assumptions about a dog’s behavior when that behavior has not been proofed for a while, well, there in lies the rub. And the bruises. To both skin and ego.

I have fostered a few dogs in my time, I’ve taken in some of the most petrified, broken dogs I have ever met and brought them back to finding joy in life and trust in people. My dogs have helped in the process.

What I haven’t done is bring in an adult, self-assured, happy dog. Till this past weekend.

The older dogs were fine with her. Curious, a little pushy, but fine.

Hagar wanted blood. Hagar and this lovely girl took an instant and intense dislike towards one another, the kind that only escalates with time.

Did I screw up the introductions? Probably. I hadn’t been expecting to bring her home with me right away and I really hadn’t prepared. But I don’t think it would have made much difference to Hagar. If she hadn’t been so darned happy and self-assured, he might have been just fine. If I hadn’t brought her home in the crate that he probably considers his property… lots of ifs.

The bottom line is that I cannot currently trust Hagar with any ‘new’ dog in the house. That’s okay, at least for now. I’ll work with him to try to find out whether this was a one-off or an ingrained attitude. And I know who to ask about how to work through the problem.

But in the meantime, I am reminded that they are independent minds who will occasionally surprise me. And keep me from making too many assumptions.

I hope all of my mistakes will be bloodless.

Fur therapy

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I’ve gotten back to being more hands-on with the dogs the past couple of weeks.

I hadn’t been ignoring them, but I hadn’t been as relaxed and close with them, either.

I could blame it on the cold and wearing gloves and being all bundled up while they played in the snow, but that wasn’t it. I could claim fatigue or being too busy and a half a dozen other things – none of which would be accurate.

I realized as I was brushing dogs the other day that the last time I had done that calmly and peacefully was while I was trying to convince my Pyr that it was okay for her to quit struggling to take care of me. I spent what seemed like several lifetimes gently massaging her shoulders, running my hands through her thinning fur, drinking in the smell and the feel of her coat, absorbing every moment’s memory knowing that there would be no more moments to treasure with her.

I hadn’t realized how much that tactile exercise was intertwined with my grief.

My other dogs still got hugs and scratches and belly rubs – but it was different. I was holding back, afraid of diluting the memories, or maybe of moving on.

It’s almost spring, and bits of green are starting to struggle through the dirt and dead vegetation. I guess I am ready for renewal. too. Brushing the dogs out in the yard, sending fur flying all directions, getting back in the habit of those quiet massages.

Life happens.

Beginnings 2014

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It’s hard to grasp the concept of new beginnings with three dogs older than ten years and the “baby” turning five years in two weeks.
I’m still caught in that oh-so-human trap of remembering too much and planning and anticipating even more.
My dogs keep trying to teach me to live in the now. The past is over, it had some useful lessons to teach but it is gone and cannot be changed. The future hasn’t happened and may never happen and wouldn’t it be silly to ignore the joy right in front of my nose!
I’m working on it, really I am.
And I enter the new year with the hope that I will get better at living each day with as much joy as I can muster.
The dogs will help me, I know they will.

They’re much smarter than I am about these things.

Little memories

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Faith no longer rests at the front door when I leave in the morning. The sense of the house being protected, of my world being safe, is gone. She no longer comes to the entry of the kitchen when I come home, her tail wagging and her whole body wiggling with anticipation.

Sophia no longer curls up in the chair next to my bed, close enough to touch, watch and be whispered to, apart enough to keep her dreams separate from mine. Never far from me, often seeming to be inside my head. I had so many conversations with her, and she seemed to understand what I told her.

Mascot no longer waits on the end of my bed, knowing that her insulin is routine and inevitable. Knowing, too, that she could rub that certain point right behind her ear against my thumb for as long as she wants. Her purr is both a statement and a beacon – I could locate her almost anywhere in the house when she purred, and half the dogs never could figure out whether they should enjoy her purring or fear it.

Bandit no longer beats me to the door, any door, in or out, to be sure she isn’t left behind. I have never before nor since had a dog so comfortable – and determined – about riding in the car. Nor one who did such a good job of letting me know exactly what she wanted or needed.

There have been other dogs and cats before these, their loss just as painful, their lives just as enriching, but most of them came before I was fully formed. There was so much I just didn’t get when I was younger.

There are so many little things I appreciate now – Domino trying to burrow the top of his head into my thigh, Hagar always prepared for take-off, Duffy always checking in to make sure I’m still okay. And Minco, sweet, goofy Minco, standing for a hug that he wants but won’t ask for, always being sure to do a breath check first thing in the morning, making sure, especially since Faith is gone, to keep me in his sight so that I will be safe. I can tell that he’s not convinced he should let me leave in the morning, though at lunchtime he’s ready to shoo me out so he can nap.

I have now, and I have had, some truly amazing dogs and cats in my life. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I know that I am and there are days when my heart is full of wonder at the love and joy embodied in these animals. If I get really lucky, perhaps someday I will learn to be like them.

Grief

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Some stages of grief are predictable and fairly universal.

But our styles and methods of grieving are as unique as we ourselves. Expecting someone else to grieve the same way that you do is a recipe for additional pain.

Many of us rail at the gods and try to bargain for signs or something, anything, that will bring our lost loved one closer/back to us/whatever.

Many (most?) of us wonder what we could have or should have done differently that might have changed the outcome. A moot point, since the outcome has already been, but we still do it. I don’t know whether it’s a guilt complex, shouldering of blame, or just a need to better understand what happened and can we prevent another similar event.

Since my loss of my Pyr, Faith, last week, at least a half dozen people I know have also lost dogs or cats. I can tell them I sympathize with their pain, I can remind them there was little, if anything, they could have done differently or better or faster. I can validate their loss, their grief, let them know that what they are feeling is normal and doesn’t follow a schedule or a highlighted map.

Some of us feel the strong presence of those animals we have lost. Knowing how tightly woven they are into our hearts and souls, we carry them with us and take comfort in not just the memories, but the strong bonds that will never be broken. But those who are new to this kind of grief may struggle with that concept.

Their grief is theirs and they need to find the path that is right for them. Sometimes all that another person can do is tell them “I am here for you if you need me, and I am so sorry that you have to walk this path.”

Particularly when the grief is raw, no one can do what the grieving person wants more than anything in the world – give them back the physical presence of their beloved companion.

A Fare-Thee-Well

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Yesterday evening I had to say good-bye to my 11 1/2 year-old Pyr, Faith.

faithfulShe helped more than a few dogs in her day, whether in transport or foster. Though she was the least likely to play of any of my dogs, it was to her that one special Berner boy made his first play bow, when we didn’t know at first whether we would ever be able to draw him out of his shell of fear.

Faith came to me from the local shelter, intended as a companion for my BARC Beauty Sophia. They quickly became fast friends, and they made sure that all other dogs coming to their house knew the rules. She was true to her breed, keeping me and our property safe from all manner of trucks, buses, birds and planes. We NEVER had a plane land in our driveway!

Age and years of property management caught up with her, she spent the past few years on monthly Adaquon shots and Salmon oil seemed to ease some of her cognitive issues, but a recent infection recurred and may have had an impact on her liver and gall bladder. X-rays indicated that her hips and knees were failing, making the option for gall bladder surgery more problematic.

She refused to tell me that it was time for her to go. To the end, she was trying to protect me at her own expense. But I told her that I would do what was right for her, and I know that was what I did.

Three of my dogs are fine, but my ASD/Pyr mix, who was her closest companion after we lost Sophia, is taking it hard. But I know he will help me keep my promise to Faith tonight that I would be fine. He’s sneakiy that way, making sure that I don’t have time to wallow. He will keep me grounded, Berner Hagar will keep me laughing and Duffy and Domino will make sure that I PAY ATTENTION!!!

Run and spin with abandon, dear Faith. You were greatly loved all eleven years I got to share with you, and I will carry you in my heart until we meet again.