One Year With Aurora

April 17th marked one year since Aurora came to live with us, and what a year it has been. Aurora looked so sad and lonely at Petsmart, and now she rules the roost!

I love white cats, and I always wanted a white princess cat. Aurora is not only a princess, she is an absolute diva. She loves cuddling and being held, she loves to play, and she especially loves Alan. When Alan gets home from work, Aurora marks her territory by rubbing up against his laptop bag and eagerly waits for his attention. When she gets it, she stretches out her neck and looks up into the air, happy as can be.

Aurora has a feisty streak and likes to pick on Piper here and there, but every once in awhile they will be sleeping just a couple feet from each other. I'm hoping that with time they become more friendly. Rhoda, on the other hand, loves Aurora and they especially love causing trouble together!

Having a deaf cat has been a learning experience. Aurora responds to hand signals well, which makes it easier. Since she loves to be outside and tries to escape, I have to keep a close watch on the doors. She does get outside time though, and even walks well on a leash. I'm also happy to report that she hasn't had any flare-ups with her luxating patellas (floating kneecaps) since the first time it happened!

Even though getting Aurora was totally unexpected, we are in love with her, and her vibrant personality shines a little more each day.

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Walter: One Year Later

Dear Walter,

Today is the eve of your observed birthday, marking one year since picked you up from that dog pound in southern Ohio. It's hard to believe you were headed to a gas chamber, especially when I look at you now. The days leading up to your rescue were emotionally exhausting, due to not thinking clearly, longing for another 'velcro' dog, and trying to make Alan understand that I wanted another dog not to replace Wembley, but to make something good come out of her passing. Then I saw your face five days before I met you, on Dogs in Danger. I emailed golden retriever rescues about you, trying to get you out, but nobody got in touch with me, and now I'm so happy they didn't. I know now that Wembley picked you out just for us.


I will always remember that drive, leaving in the middle of the night with Molly, my heart racing and pounding with adrenaline and worry that you might already be disposed of on accident by the time I got there. Molly and I trembled as we entered the windowless pound where they were hosing your cage down. In a silent gesture we held out our hands to show each other how much we were shaking, how anxious we were to grab you and Ava and get out of there, far away from such a sad place.

While Molly met Ava, I met you. You were so eager to be loved and held, and you were a mess: dirty, matted, and sporting a big eye tumor and an eye infection. Doubt crossed my mind if I had what it takes to rehabilitate someone with so many special needs, but I kept going, because I knew the moment I saw your photo that we had to be together.


Now it's a year later, and you have overcome an abundance of challenges that crossed your path:

Scared of men
Scared of going out in public
Scared of the bed
Scared of most people in general
Going up and down flights of steps
Crippling shyness
Confining yourself to the dog bed when scared

Sometimes I wonder what happened to your leg, and what happened to you to make you so terrified, but we both know it's better left a mystery. What really matters is the bond we share and the trust you have in me. Sometimes I can't believe how much I love you. It's often overwhelming in the best way. I think about people who passed you up, including pound volunteers who commented on your sweetness. You were so special to them that they put an ad for you in the newspaper, yet nobody came around or stepped up to take you home, and now I know this is because you were waiting for me. You're lucky, but I'm even luckier because I get to love you and take care of you for the rest of your life.

I love you, Walter. Happy Birthday!

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They Choose Us

I've been doing some thinking about breeds, types of dogs and cats, and preferences that people keep, myself and Alan included. Saying that we love Golden Retrievers is an understatement. Clearly, we are Golden Retriever fanatics. We also love the Great Pyrenees, Newfs, St. Bernards, Chow Chows, pits, and the list goes on. Last fall, we decided a Newfoundland would be our next dog. Two dogs later, we do not have a Newf, and that's because sometimes they choose us.

Alan said, "No dog for at least another year," and this was last fall before we got Quincy. I had a feeling we were going to fall in love at the pet expo, but Alan insisted this was not true. He never looks at shelter dogs or adoptables, because he feels bad for them and doesn't want to fall in love with one. When we saw Quincy's litter at the BFF rescue at the expo, we did think they were Newf mixes upon first sight. We weren't the only ones, either. Even our vet thought we had a Newf mix on our hands! I picked up Quincy, and she nuzzled her head into the crook under my chin. She gave me some puppy kisses and held on for life. We stood there for ten minutes until Alan gave in and admitted he was already attached too. Even though the rescue said she was a Border Collie mixed with "anything," at that point Quincy had already picked us as her people.
I have never been into Border Collies, and would never have thought of myself as a BC mama, but here I am with one.

After Wembley passed away, the pain was unbearable, especially for me. I lost my sidekick. We decided to wait until spring to find a Newf puppy or rescue for our family. That seemed like it was months away. I casually browsed rescues, looking at the same breeds I always look at: Goldens, Chows, and Newfs. There were many cute dogs, but in my grief I was not feeling much. I just wanted another sidekick, knowing full well it would not a princess girl like my Wembley. Then I found Walter, a lost soul, unwanted and sad. Our "Newf puppy" ended up being a disabled senior Chow/Golden mix. I never thought I would have a boy dog either, and here we are with the best boy in the whole world.

The same thing applies to the cats. We didn't think we would have any cats, much less three! Now we have this perfect pack of six, and we are incredibly blessed to have this mish-mash of personalities.

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Walter: Six Months Later

It's hard to believe Walter has been here for six months tomorrow, August 18th. It's a bittersweet day. Wembley passed away on January 18th. Just typing that out makes my eyes brim with tears. I avoid saying those words. Because of this, Walter is incredibly special to me. Even though we still had Reagan and Quincy during the first month of Wembley's absence, my heart was unbearably empty. Wembley was always by my side, in my lap, pawing at me, laying on me, snuggling with me, and sleeping nose to nose with me. She was my best friend. And this shy golden chow boy popped up on Dogs in Danger.

I never thought I would have a boy dog, but when I saw Walter's face, the thought of him dying alone, disabled and without a family, just destroyed me. By adopting Walter, there would be some sort of silver lining to the tragedy of Wembley.

Now, the odd part of this story is Walter's name. At the pound, his name was "Pops". In January, when Wembley was still alive, my sister took a cat home from work that nobody wanted. She was trying to find a home for the cat, and was taking name suggestions. It was a boy cat, so I told her to name him Walter. The cat ended up being called Guido, but I still had the name Walter bouncing around in my head for some reason.

Flash forward to the 14-hour round trip drive my sister and I made to the dog pound, and we were thinking of names. I tried calling Walter a bunch of typical dog names, like Max, Rusty, and so on, but he didn't respond to any of them. That's when I realized the reason the name Walter was floating in my head for over a month, and it stuck.He was terrified of people, but wanted affection. He had a nasty accident in the car because he was so scared, only a block away from the dog pound, and later repeated this in the bathtub. Walter was scared to eat, but hungry, and shyly ate the heaping bowl of tasty wet dog food I set down in front of him. He was so scared of everything that Alan and I had to actually carry him everywhere for the first night. I took him to the vet the next day, and even then I had to carry him out of the house and into the car, which he hated. On the drive there, I cried and cried, not sure if Walter was even going to make it. The vet concluded he was in excellent health, and just being a stubborn Chow Chow.

Slowly, Walter began being rehabilitated. I don't know if he was ever potty trained, because he had several accidents in the house in the first months, but with a strict schedule and crate training, he is now fully housebroken and crate trained. He is still a little timid with certain things, and carries that dominant Chow Chow trait of not liking a change in his schedule. Walter doesn't like new men, but warms up to them when he knows they're nice. He loves children, and he no longer tries to hide in the dog beds or toy bins when we take him to the pet store.


I hope he is having the best time of his life. We may have saved Walter, but I'll never be able to repay him for what he has done for me. Walter is my therapy dog in this nightmare of losing Wembley. He is loyal and kind, sits by me, snuggles with me, and just loves me the way that only a dog can do: unconditionally. He may have been a reject at the dog pound, but in this house he is a royalty. Our silver lining, and so much more.

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Taking a Chance on an Undesirable

I've been anticipating the premiere of "Last Chance Highway" on Animal Planet ever since I saw previews for it. Before the show aired, I watched this clip: "Rescue From Death's Door."

While it is a wonderful and beautiful thing that these people devote their spare time and money to saving dogs in danger, I couldn't help but be struck pretty hard by a concept in the video, that being the idea of picking out the most adoptable dogs. Yellow dogs are the most popular, and of course so are puppies. The dogs with most adoption potential were plucked out of the pound and rescued.

Alan finally said the words we were both thinking: "Walter would have been left there."

Being a lover (which puts it mildly) of golden retrievers, I am sure many people would point their own fingers at me for loving yellow dogs. I do love yellow dogs, but I love black dogs, white dogs, red dogs, brown dogs, and multi-colored dogs too. It all boils down to the DOG itself. I NEVER thought I would have a boy dog, and I thought our next dog would be a giant Newfoundland. Walter is a boy and definitely not a Newfoundland, but I fell in love with him.

Most people who know of Walter know his story and how he was a death row dog, but my sister is the only one who really understands what terrible condition he was in upon arrival, and how terrifying the dog pound was for those pups.

Walter's photo on Dogs in Danger did not reflect his poor condition whatsoever. His undercoat was so matted that the groomer said it had to be shaved off in one huge chunk. He had a huge eye tumor, his eye was all goopy and crusty, his ears were dirty, and his coat filthy. He had a nasty accident on the seat in the car on the way home due to being scared, and another accident in the bathtub that same night. Walter was so terrified of everything that he refused to walk, and we had to carry him to get him to go anywhere. The vet even had to load him into my car.

Knowing just the basics of a dog pound pup, Walter was an old man, crippled with a bad paw. He was a mess. An undesirable. And as Alan said, he would have been left there because so many seniors are, not to mention the crippled ones. Despite all of this, I just fell in love with him. The day after I rescued him we drove to the vet, and tears filled my eyes with the thought that he might need to be put down, not knowing if this old boy had cancer or some other terrible disease. I had only known him for one day, but I loved him as if he had been mine forever. In the end, I knew that if it was time, dying with a family who loved him was much better than dying on the cement floor of a dog pound, unloved and scared.

Luckily, that was not the case. This "undesirable" is a well-adjusted dog now. Walter has really come out of his shell in the last month or so. He gets excited about eating, which before he just seemed shocked that someone gave him a bowl. He snuggles with Alan after being scared of him (just for being a man) for quite awhile. Walter runs and hops around the yard, plays with stuffed animals, enjoys all of the attention he gets at Petsmart, and doesn't try to hide in the dog beds there anymore. He even climbs up onto our bed and waits for me to get ready in the morning.

While we took a chance on him, Walter has given us something we can never repay him for, and that is helping us heal from the loss of Wembley. He won't take her place (nobody will), and that is not what we expected, but he makes our life feel full again. Seeing every new step he takes toward becoming a well-adjusted dog makes us happy and grateful for him. Walter is our lifesaver.

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