#emaciated dog rescue

[moonlight26posts-blog]

OTTO HAS RESCUE!! Thank you to everyone who cared, shared and worked to get this boy to safety and a new future. If you would like to honor your pledge, please email rescue@barcs.org with your contact information and amount of your pledge so that it can be forwarded to Otto's rescue! Thanks again everyone!! ONLY HAS TIL TOMORROW!! In Baltimore City, MD: URGENT: Emaciated dog with bullet lodged in ear needs rescue by 6pm on 2/19 - BARCS, Baltimore MD

- URGENT: Rescue needed by 6pm on 2/19-

Otto- 6 years, unaltered male, 35lbs

Poor, sweet Otto was recently picked up by Animal Control after he wandered onto someone's porch and refused to leave; we can only imagine he was begging for help, as it was clear he was in desperate need of medical attention- and fast.

Upon examination at our shelter, our vets noted that Otto was emaciated with a body condition score of just 1/9- his ribs, spine, pelvic bones, and all bony prominences visible from a distance. He was also anemic, covered in pressure sores from the lack of fat and muscle over his bones, had a bullet lodged under the skin of his right ear, and paraphimosis of an unknown duration. Because our vets have been unable to reduce this, a penal amputation and urethrostomy are recommended. In the meantime, he has been started on meds and a strict refeeding plan to help him gain weight safely.

Despite his rough start- despite every justifiable reason for Otto to be less than trusting, friendly, or cooperative- he has been utterly perfect so far in our care. He may be a bit shy at first, understandably, but once he gets to know you, Otto is all about snuggles and cuddles. He has a heart of gold and looks at you with the most engaging eyes, just longing for affection and attention.

Due to the extent of Otto's medical concerns and his need for surgery, he needs rescue placement by close of business (6pm) on 2/19. He will be available for rescue pick-up at 4pm on 2/18.

Please let us know if your organization can help!

Thank you,

The BARCS Rescue Team

Baltimore Animal Rescue & Care Shelter (BARCS) ​New Address! 2490 Giles Rd, Baltimore, MD 21225 rescue@barcs.org| (410) 396-4695

Rescue pick-up hours: Monday-Friday: 10:30 a.m.-6:30 p.m. Saturday and Sunday: 8:30 a.m.-4:30 p.m

Adoption hours: Monday-Friday: 2 p.m.-6 p.m. Saturday and Sunday: 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter, Inc. (BARCS) | 2490 Giles Rd, Baltimore, MD 21225

[theramseyloft]

Is a street pigeon potentially as good as a domestic breed when it comes to being friendly?

Street pigeons are domestic birds. They're mixes of stray racers, rollers, and tumblers, mostly, with a few other breeds thrown in depending on what's bred and flown in that region.

But I do know what you mean, and yes.

The pigeon that inspired the therapy bird project was a feral found emaciated in a parking lot.

That's they day he came in from wildlife rehab with a mourning dove next to him.

He was 5 weeks old in that picture.

Those are fully unsheathed flight feathers.

It took him 6 months to grow in his full set of adult feathers.

And he, of his own volition, became my medical alert bird.

Initially, he alerted for anxiety attacks, which were debilitatingly severe at the time.

By which I mean that, under a certain degree of stress, I could not understand spoken words any more and may not realize I am being addressed.

Pigeons are hard wired to map patterns, and Ankhou could tell when I was about to shut down when I couldn't.

He would go get my husband if he was home (before he got a job where he could work from home) and lead him back to me.

And he eventually figured out how to use my hands and echolalia to bring me back out of it by himself.

He figured out that I was diabetic before I had any idea and it wasn't until I got my blood sugar back under control that I found out he had developed an alert for blood sugar spikes.

Ferals are hands down the most intelligent domestic pigeons because they have had to survive by it.

They are more willing to cooperate than breeds in human care because they depend on their flock mates to help them ensure one more day of life, be it by looking out for predators or remembering where to find good food and water.

Most of them, especially as adults, are extremely flighty and skittish, because they have learned to be and their lives have depended up to that point on paying attention to lessons learned.

And you can pretty much guarantee they come in sick and full of parasites.

But if you can either adopt one from a rescue after they're cleaned out and healthy or get one you save treated and have the patience to work with them, that keen intelligence makes it easier for them to work through a developed fear.

Just keep in mind that like a feral dog or cat born in an alley or under a shed, that feral pigeon probably has very good reasons for being skittish.

And just like a dog or cat born stray, a feral pigeon can come to trust and rely on you like family.

[skellymom]

I lost my sweet ole man last night

Took him to the veterinary ER where I work. Helped put in an IV catheter, got blood, X-rays, and sedate him (he had fluid in his abdomen and heart that needed to be drained for his comfort).

Then they found a tumor on his heart that had burst. No fixing any of it.

All of my coworkers were so incredibly supportive and kind.

I called my family who came in and brought his sister with them to say goodbye.

They had been a bonded pair their whole lives. Hubby and I adopted them 2 years ago from a rescue as a pair of elderly dogs (10 years old). Something happened to the owners and these dogs with the most loving demeanor were left outdoors, starving, and emaciated.

But they came to live with us and they flourished.

His name was Jojo. And now little Chloe is missing her brother.

We miss him too. He was so good.

The house is so quiet now without his big tippy tap stompy stomp feet...

...and his goofy doggy smile.

My heart is so broken y'all.

[goth-oatmilk-latte]

im havin such a hard time with this but we had to buy my dog a bed. he's too old and can't pull himself into my bed and won't use dog stairs 😔

he doesn't look it but he's nearing 12. it's hard for me to accept he's so old now, I've had him for 10 yrs. he's been with me thru engagements, breakups, my first apartment, new houses, he's been on trips with me, hiking for miles, and he always comforts me when I'm having a breakdown or a panic attack.

I had $40 to my name the day I rescued him from some assholes yard and I used 39.76 of it to buy him food, a leash, and a collar. I ended up overdrafting my account bc he needed antibiotics and a ton more food bc he was emaciated when I got him. he's always been my little baby.

he's my little puppy bear. and he's healthy. I know 12 is just entering golden years but id rather him be 2 again.

[fjordfolk]

hmm weird ours are open abt the fact they are importing strays, even with puppies, I think they even use it as a marketing strategy, how they nobly rescue these poor emaciated street dogs that would've been killed otherwise or whatnot. Friends of mine got their dog this way, but they suspect she was an abandoned pet an didn't live as a stray for long bc she was housebroken already, knew basic commands and has basically no behavioural or health issues. castration, rabies vaccine and testing for heartworn and typical southern dog infections (like leishmaniasis) are mandatory here too, the dogs are still cheaper than local shelter dogs

Norway doesn't have a shelter system, so everything was happening through private volunteers. There was no oversight and no real control, and doing it properly would've required more resources and organization than what was there. Despite some semi-scammy fundraisers, I assume most people did everything with the best of intentions, thinking they could save more dogs more efficiently by skimping on vaccines and quarantine.

I do remember ads being honest about the dogs' origins (and for a while there were FB groups devoted to rehoming Spanish and Turkish shelter dogs in Norway) but as vets and regulators started issuing warnings about the risks involved, people became more critical. And instead of getting more organized, they became more secretive. For a while there was this live guessing game about which dogs were southern or easter euro street dogs and if you were part of the dog owning community and conversations you could spot them - but if you were a regular fella just looking for a dog to keep your mum company you probably couldn't. Which is a bad cycle to sit in, you know?

Anyway, after several messes involving lacking antibodies and falsified papers and dogs full of heartworm and echinococcus, MT cracked down and banned importing street dogs and foreign shelter dogs pretty much outright.

[kifu]

“Remy?” Kurt shouted incredulously. Of all the X-Men Kurt didn’t expect to see, Gambit was very high on that list. The man was reclusive at best when he was a part of the team. Kurt figured he’d return to the underground, or whatever it was that he did in his spare time, after the Nation took over and leave the saving to the hero-type. It wasn’t that Kurt didn’t think Remy had good in him, it was that he thought Remy received too much malice for his good intentions and it turned him bitter. The two men didn’t have a whole lot for heart-to-heart before the fall of the world, so Kurt was speculating more than anything. If Ororo was so close to him, he couldn’t have been that bad.

            Remy’s expression, which was unreadable at first, instantly fell once he caught sight of Kurt. Kurt stepped forward from the crowd, concerned more than anything. Here he was with clothing on top of clothing to cover his appearance, despite the warm weather, but Remy was standing in plain sight, like he wanted to be seen. “Kurt, I wish I hadn’t seen you,” he said quietly. His voice almost growled. Something was wrong. Kurt could sense that, but not from where the uneasy feeling originated.

            “What do you mean?” Kurt pressed. He stopped within Remy’s arm length and dropped his stance just in case he had to flee. “Is it not good that we, as old allies, are meeting? Does this not make us stronger?”

            “Au contraire,” Remy replied. His voice was so cold. Angry. “Da more people I see, da weaker I am.” He dropped his stoic stance to face Kurt. His facial expressions were much easier to read now than they were a year and a half ago. Now he appeared less angry, more pained. Kurt unwittingly took a step backwards, his arms coming up over his chest. Something was very, very wrong. This was Remy, but he wasn’t acting of his own accord.

            “What have they done to you?” Kurt asked, so quietly so that only Remy should have been able to hear him.

            “Dey know, Kurt,” Remy hissed back. “Dey know where e’reyone is, but dey only take me as –” He stopped short, straightened up, and released a barking laugh. “Mon dieu, if history weren’t ta repeat itself. Dey got my hands tied in a way I can’t unknot ‘em, mon ami. Dis time, it ain’t a debt to da devil, it an allegiance to my friends an’ a history o’ bad doin’.”

            “Everyone?” Kurt asked. He took another step back, but in vain. Remy attacked with such speed, Kurt was caught off guard. In one, swooping motion, Remy turned their positions so that Kurt was suddenly against the wall, pinned under Remy’s arm. He pressed enough to keep Kurt in place, but not hard enough to cause him pain.

            Something flashed behind Remy’s eyes, too quickly for Kurt to catch it, before he leaned in to Kurt’s ear. “Far as I know, jus’ da group I was runnin’ wit’. Dey been doomed from da start. Rogue’s a part o’ dem, Kurt. You stay away from her … an’ me. I see you still fightin’. Find someone else to follow. Heard Captain America escaped a couple months ago an’ already has a followin’. Find him, an’ for da love o’ God, take dese fuckers down. Don’ let me, or anyone else, get in da way.” He shoved against Kurt’s rib cage to occupy him long enough to backhand him across the face. Kurt ducked the second blow Remy was preparing, grabbing on to the wall with his adhesive advantage to aim a kick at Remy’s midsection.

            Kurt noticed two things in this brief skirmish. First, Remy was completely avoiding use of his right arm. He kept it tucked close to him, barely moving it. Second, Remy was fast, completely in shape, and in apparent health. He was the pampered show dog compared to Kurt’s emaciated rescue mutt after being on the run for so long. If Remy was currently working for the Nation, as he implied, they were taking care of him and felt assured enough that Remy wouldn’t defect to save his previous team of resistance. Did that mean they perceived Gambit as more of a threat than Rogue? Who else was on that team?

            Remy took a quick step back to avoid Kurt’s kick, watching from a low, alert stance as Kurt followed through. When his feet touched the brick of the wall, Kurt barely had time to teleport out of the way from Remy’s next attack. He reappeared behind Remy, but before his feet could touch the ground, Remy had turned to take another swing at him. Somehow, some when, Remy had pulled out his staff from who knows where. Still, he only used one arm.

            “You can still teleport,” Remy observed, though very quietly. His voice dropped even lower so that Kurt could barely hear him. “Why don’t you jus’ leave? Make it easier on all’a us, non?”

            Kurt took on the defensive, backing up further and further into the market place to avoid Remy’s attacks. People scattered, very afraid but not in the way of harm.

            “They are listening?” Kurt asked.

            “’s possible,” Remy replied. He added a charge to his staff and Kurt could feel the unwelcome spike of fear. Remy already had the advantage. If that staff connected with Kurt, he was done for. All of the good he had managed up until this point would add up to exactly nothing. Despite how hard Kurt tried, all of his fixes were temporary. They needed a complete Nation eradication to completely turn things around.

            “They are watching?” Kurt guessed again. With the next step back, Kurt hurled himself in the air, toward the trajectory of Remy’s staff. Before it touched him and had the chance to do damage, Kurt disappeared. He reappeared behind Remy again, throwing his weight downwards and sending a kick against Remy’s back to use his momentum against him. Kurt executed a showy somersault, whereas Remy fell forward, dropping his staff so that his left hand could catch him in a roll to his feet. When Remy spun around to meet Kurt’s next attack, he already had a handful of cards, glowing with the potential energy of his mutant powers.

            “Always,” Remy said while his cards left his fingers. Kurt dodged the throw, praying that the rogue mini-bombs didn’t hit anyone or anything important behind him. Before Remy could grab more ammunition, Kurt was close enough that he could capture his left hand. Remy was stronger, that much was obvious right away, but Kurt still had enough power to hold him off for a few more words. “Lower level guys,” Remy grunted. “Dey don’t interfere wit’ me, but dey got connections to my boss wit’ da word to take out da Resistance.”

            Remy snapped his hand away from Kurt’s grasp, throwing him off-balance long enough to kick him to the ground. Kurt landed in a heap, but instead of jumping to his feet, he only sat up to look at his ally-turned-enemy. “What happened to your other arm?”

            “It’s as good as dead,” Remy said. These words were louder than before, filled with anger and pain. “How you t’ink dey got me, huh? Wit’out a fight? She severed da nerves right t’rough.” He leaned forward to grab Kurt off the ground, and Kurt let him.

            “I never insinuated you were a coward,” Kurt reasoned as quietly as before. “I am trying to learn enough so that I may help you.”

            “You can’t help me,” Remy spat. “I seriously suggest you ‘port away, ‘Crawler, an’ leave me. I’m tryin’ ta be nice, I can see you had better days, but you makin’ it hard.” Remy shoved Kurt forward enough so that he could get his foot underneath his staff. Quickly letting go of Kurt’s clothing, he launched the staff up in the air, caught it, and swung out at Kurt, aiming for maximum damage. If Remy was holding back, Kurt was in more trouble than he thought. The X-Men had learned how effective Remy was with both hands, but even with just one hand at a time, Remy was completely ambidextrous. Perhaps his Nation attacker thought taking out the right arm would render him useless to take him captive. Maybe it was just a thing that was spur of the moment.

            Kurt took the hit, moving both his arms upwards to protect his head. He was thrown backwards and could instantly feel the stinging pain up both arms. It was a mistake, but he could only hope that Remy hadn’t broken anything. Kurt had broken a leg once long before the rise of the Nation, and that was bother enough.

            “Dey’ll want you alive, at least from me,” Remy all but growled. He took an advancing step and picked up Kurt from the front of his shirt again. “You know what you makin’ me do? Dey’ll keep you drugged so you can’t get away.”

            Kurt reached up to grab Remy’s arm, and utilizing all of his concentration, teleported them to the top of the nearest building. Remy let go and fell to his knees, but he wasn’t out. Even Kurt was able to feel the effects of the jump a little, and he was supposed to be the one conditioned to it.

            Still on his knees, not making a move to attack any longer, Remy continued talking. “Dey won’t know where we are for a li’l bit if we’re lucky. You’ll get me in trouble, which would be fine if I di’n’t have dozens of lives in my hands. Kurt, s’il te plâit.” He sounded less angry up on the roof, and resorted to begging. “Leave me, find a group, an’ work on takin’ down da Nation. Gettin’ caught, or messin’ wit’ me, ain’t gonna do Jack.” He paused, watching Kurt as he looked over and poked his forearms to assess the damage. “Dey know how I fight, mon ami. I can’ hold back. If I hurt you, I’m sorry.” Taken aback, Kurt pulled his attention away from his arms. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard Remy apologize before.

            Slowly getting into a crouched position, Kurt reached forward to place a hand on Remy’s shoulder. “It is I who is sorry, Remy,” he said. “I wish I could do something for you.”

            “Go.”

            “Es tut mir Leid,” Kurt repeated, “und viel Glück.”

            In a flash, the scenery had completely changed. Kurt teleported to an area half a mile away from the direction he had come earlier. He remembered the area being relatively empty and free of people, which still held true.

            It didn’t feel like Remy had broken his bones, but he no doubt left some painful bruises Kurt would have to remember him by for a long while.

[sholiofic]

A Biggles prompt- Biggles & co. are searching the base of whatever gang they're up against on their latest case and in addition to the plans/photographs/documents they were after they find a left behind prisoner... who turns out to be a wounded and distrustful EvS. And they (Biggles) can't just *leave* him there...

"Down here, there's just the cellars to check, and then we can be out of this bally--" Bertie's voice faltered, and he called in a very different tone, "Biggles!"

Biggles was down the stairs in three leaps, gun in hand. "What've you found?" he asked, catching himself on a crate.

"Something a bit different from the usual, old boy," Bertie said in a distracted tone. He was struggling with the lock on a barred corner of the cellar, forcing it with an iron rod and a single-minded focus unlike him.

Biggles came up behind him. He expected from Bertie's intensity that the creature being rescued was some small animal, a dog or a trapped exotic pet. He was unprepared, with a full-body shock, for a human being, rolling off a nest of burlap at the center of the cell's concrete floor. Blinking in the lights, the prisoner tried to pick himself up and then half-fell, but struggled defiantly to rise and confront them.

"Von Stalhein," Biggles breathed.

Von Stalhein scrabbled until he was sitting up, squinting against the light and crouched in a defiant posture that was somehow desperate. Biggles stepped back, partly to give Bertie room to work on the lock but also in genuine shock. There was a bucket of water in the cell, nearly empty, and nothing else except a heap of burlap sacks in which von Stalhein had evidently been sleeping. He was unshaven, several days' growth of beard peppered with grey. The ragged linen shirt he wore was plastered with dark, stiff patches that Biggles knew were blood.

Bertie finally wrenched the door free with a ringing clang. Von Stalhein half-fell to sit on his burlap pallet and glared at them with a defiant anger that was made somehow poignant by the fact that it was clear he could barely see in the sudden bright light. He flinched back when Biggles stepped forward, and Biggles stopped instantly.

"It's only me," he said.

"Of course it's you," von Stalhein spat, his voice rasping. He scrabbled back, working with one arm while the other hung stiffly at his side, and managed to find the mortared stone wall and use it to get, clumsily and painfully, to his feet. "Here to lecture me on my life choices, I'm sure," he snarled. 

Biggles had a brief thought of a scene from his childhood: an abandoned trap meant to catch a wild antelope that had instead caught a tiger. When the village men had found it, the creature was weak and emaciated, pierced with spears from the trap but still crouched and snarling, lashing out at everyone who had tried to set it free.

"No, I-- we did not know you were here. Your associates have all left." He nodded to Bertie, who stepped back. Biggles became aware that the gun was still in his hand (lowered in shock, half forgotten) and hastily put it away. "Come with us, we have food and medical supplies upstairs."

He stepped forward, into the reeking cell. When he reached out an arm, von Stalhein recoiled as if from a snake, but Biggles stood his ground and offered an arm. Von Stalhein took a shaky step forward, and Biggles wrapped his arm around the narrow waist. At that, von Stalhein all but fell forward, and Biggles caught him, supporting him. Von Stalhein's head fell on Biggles's shoulder, and he gasped a little, grasping at Biggles's sleeve with his good hand. His fingertips were clotted with blood, as if he had clawed at the door-- a thought best not considered just at the moment. Biggles helped him out of the cell, and he seemed to relax a little when he was out, straightening slightly and trying to take more of his own weight.

"Step up, carefully," Biggles said, pausing so they could navigate the stairs. "We have a camp just outside the base -- we'll have something to eat, take a look at your shoulder. The swine who were here have gone, and good riddance. Here, watch the step."

He didn't ask if von Stalhein knew anything about where they might have gone. And the hand gripping his arm tightly, the head resting on his shoulder as they climbed up into daylight, even the way that von Stalhein flinched back a little but seemed to trust Biggles as a bulwark at his back as he did, let Biggles know that he had chosen rightly. He helped von Stalhein to sit on a folded blanket beside their campfire, and von Stalhein took a flask of soup that Ginger offered, and sat quietly when Bertie brought the first aid kit. 

[dreadfutures]

Loving LUMO: 2018 to Present :)

Just up in my feelings about my dog today. He's doing great! I love my dog! I just wanna talk about him. A lot. :) Like this is looooong.

I got my dog at the end of my senior year of undergrad, after I knew I got into a PhD program. I knew I couldn't make it through alone so I wanted a dog.

When I was young, I wanted a wolf! I wanted big fluffy scary looking dogs. Then I wanted a pretty, fluffy, exotic dog. But as I grew older and actually MET dogs (I didn't have a lot of them in my life before), I realized that those weren't the dog breeds for me. I wanted a dog that fit my lifestyle, but also a dog that NEEDED a home, and love. And I wanted to make an impact, rescuing a breed that was often found in overflowing shelters in the US.

Why coonhounds? **mentions of animal abuse, skip to the next section

In California, shelters are primarily full of huskies, chihuahuas, german shepherds, and pitbulls. Since I didn't know where I was going to live or what the ordinances would be, I reluctantly decided I couldn't get a pitty. Many of the chihuahuas, huskues, and GSDs in shelters have serious health problems, probably coming from puppy mills and unethical breeding situations. I knew that any dog could develop an expensive health condition (foreshadowing) but I wanted to find a breed where that was less likely to happen.

I had read that the less "pretty" working dogs are usually better bred. They're smart, learn quickly, and (many hunting dogs) are content with long lazy seasons on the couch. I also learned that hunting dogs are abused and abandoned after hunting season, especially when people get "hunting breeds" and assume all the complex training of hunting is instinctive--it's not, it must be trained. But these "Defective"/"Failed" hunting dogs are let go to freeze and starve, and shelters can't take all of them. Someone called them the chihuahua of the south lol.

“It is sad when they treat these dogs as ‘tools’ they can throw away, instead of treating them like family members.”

Whether dumped or lost, these hunting dogs end up in local shelters, if they’re lucky. Many times they end up shot, hit by cars, or die of starvation or disease.

Believe me I read up on all the downsides of adopting a rescue vs. getting a purebred puppy from a breeder. I read up on all the downsides of hunting breeds. And even so I knew this was probably going to be a good fit.

I also found Maddie on instagram, who is a gorgeous redtick coonhound and possibly the most well-trained dog in the world. I was convinced and turned to a national Coonhound Rescue that takes coonhounds from the south and moves them across the country to be loved in places where they're not so common.

Finding Lu

I originally did want a female redtick that looked like Maddie, so I put in an application for one. The rescue called me and said they had another dog in mind for me and my lifestyle, "But he has a lot of skin! That means he drools A LOT."

His name was Dallas.

Dallas is a handsome 2 year old American English Coonhound being fostered in [city]. He enjoys the simple life and loves nothing more than a warm, comfy place to sleep. He is housetrained, cratetrained and leashtrained; also good in the car. He would do well in a home with slightly older children and would make an excellent companion. This boy wants a loving and consistent family or person to show him how great his life can be. He weighs about 55 lbs and also does well with cats and other dogs.

This is the photo I was sent. :) I fell in love. This was going to be my dog! MY DOG. My first dog. Mine.

I was told he had been found on the streets, emaciated and sick, and that he had become an absolute counter surfer and couch potato in his foster home. And he could climb 10 ft fences if he saw a cat lol. They said he had "anxiety," but as I learned it was severe, severe PTSD from abuse.

I was originally going to name him Mo. For "Mopey." He had the saddest brown eyes and emo eyeliner, it seemed to fit. But "Mo" sounds a lot like "No!" and I soon realized they weren't kidding about hounds being independent and strong-willed. I still wanted "Mo" to be part of his name, but decided on LUMO as a chemistry reference since it was very relevant to my subfield I was going into. So he became "Lu."

The very first day I took him home, he had explosive diarrhea all over the car and there were no dog bathing places taking walk ins, so I had to haul his 35 pounds of skin and bones into the bath. Intense bonding experience to be sure.

He was so, so skinny. You can see in the photos how knobby his tail is, and how you can count his spine, and how all his ribs and his hips stick out. People would come up to me at restaurants and YELL at me "don't you FEED YOUR DOG?????? how can you be so cruel?" as if there wasn't a possibility that I was rescuing an emaciated and abused dog?

I thought he was skinny because of his past on the streets, and I think that was part of it for sure. But what I learned was that he wasn't just having digestive issues because he was "adjusting to his kibble" -- he's actually allergic to chicken, and he was on a chicken diet.

He was losing a lot of weight from the diarrhea, and he was SO itchy, and he had constant infections in those big, soft ears. We did a lot of elimination to figure out his allergies and he's actually allergic to a lot of things, but chicken is by far the worst.

As soon as I switched him to salmon, he started gaining weight really well, shooting up to a healthy 50 pounds. He also stopped getting constant ear infections!

The trauma

So the thing about Lu is that he isn't just "anxious." Anxious doesn't describe him:

He was terrified of blond men with sunglasses. Like just wanted to melt into the ground and phase through walls levels of terrified. My best friend and room mate was a blond man who wore sunglasses all the time. Fortunately he had grown up on an Estate with a whole bunch of working dogs and was so good at helping me get him over his fear. He was afraid of strangers in general, but none as much as blond and bald guys.

He was GREAT on leash from the start! But randomly, he would just...stop. Freeze, plant his feet, stare glassy-eyed into the distance at nothing at all. Nothing in particular triggered it. Not sounds, not anything I could identify in common. Just sometimes...he'd just freeze and shut down. I had to carry him sometimes as far as a football field to get home. Often it was right in the middle of the street. :( After ten or so minutes of staring, he would come-to, and he would sit down and look around all disoriented.

Also I had been warned about how some dogs "pull" on leash. It turns out that most people are talking about pulling...ahead. And training a dog who pulls ahead is WAY different than a dog who tries to pull backwards. Lu was so skinny that he could slip out of his harness, no matter what size of his harness. I quickly learned there was no tying him off and going into restaurants by myself, because he could EASILY chew through any leash in a few seconds, and he could slip right out of his harness and just DIP. But even on walks, during his PTSD flashback moments, he could pull back so hard his arms would come up by his head and he'd just noodle out of his harness.

He was terrified of stairs. Going up and down. My bedroom was on the second floor. The beach was down a steep flight of stairs.

He had no idea how to play with other dogs at all.

He was scared of grass. It was as if he had never stepped on grass before and thought it was lava. I'm suspicious that he might have been trapped in a concrete outdoor dog run or kennel for most of his young life.

He had persistent UTIs... and he counter surfed and ate a whole stick of butter, and went into acute pancreatic failure.

He had some sort of paw trauma. it was impossible to touch his paws, let alone clip his nails. No matter how skinny and weak he was, it took more than 5 people to hold him down long enough to clip his nails. He was terrible at the groomers. Dremels weren't any betters.

Pretty early on I had to settle for "progress" over "perfect."

We took baby steps together. From May to August, he became so much more outgoing. He fell in love with my two tall blond sunglasses guy friends. He started learning to get excited about toys. And we developed a routine so he wouldn't destroy my room when I left him alone.

I had to respect that he definitely, 100%, always knew what I wanted him to do when I gave him commands. And when he refused and said "No," there was no food, no toy, no incentive I could give him to get him to do it. At least not that time.

When I first moved to grad school that September, I had a lot of people in my cohort come over to my apartment. Lu hid under my bed the whole time and wouldn't take any treats to coax him out. We lay a whole pack of turkey in front of him and he wouldn't come out. :(

But within a few months, he had a growing circle of human friends that he was comfortable with. And honestly even by October of that year, if a new stranger came to the apartment, all they had to do was get up on the couch and offer him a Merrick toothbrush treat and he'd be in their lap.

Here he is with his companion cube in early 2019. He loved that suede couch lol.

Health issues :(

So because he ate a whole stick of butter and went into acute pancreatitis, we started monitoring his blood levels. They got better after treatment--but never back to "normal." They remained at the "hmm this looks like renal failure, Cirrhosis, or hepatopathy" levels, which was weird, because he was constantly getting happier and acting healthier every day!!

Eventually a vet suggested we see an internal medicine specialist. Turns out.... Lu's liver is like. Tiny. Like puppy sized. He has had this disease since he was a baby, which is why he's never known he was sick lol.

After about 9k of imaging and stains and biopsies, we learned:

He has copper hepatopathy, which today my new vet's jaw dropped as a like "WOW we HEARD about this in vet school but I've NEVER actually seen it! It's so rare!"

His liver is tiny, full of fibrosis, cirrhotic, tons of remodeling (in the bad way). His liver is ORANGE from how much copper is in it. The damage is completely irreversible. I have a copy of the biopsy & lab results and I can just imagine the scientist at the research institute they sent the samples off to, their voice as they wrote this report. It screams "HOW IS THIS DOG ALIVE?"

I just find it so funny, as another analytical scientist.

The other funny thing is that they prescribed him chelation therapy to help him get better (it didn't help and he doesn't get worse without it, so we have since stopped that; it was expensive). My PhD thesis is in metal chelation lolololol of Ni, Co, Cu. lololol

So that was an expensive process. He has to have a prescription low-copper diet, which has stopped most of his symptoms of this disease, and we have to do expensive blood tests to make sure he doesn't get worse.

And then he became a sock eater.

He passed the first few. Then he got sick. With the vet's help, he was able to pass it without surgery. And then the next time, it was life or death.

The vet I went to was so unethical and immoral but it was my only fucking option. I wouldn't have my dog here if my best friend at the time hadn't been wealthy enough to give me the 13k I needed on the spot, in cash, to save my dog's life with surgery.

In the hospital, the fucking awful vets:

claimed to use dissolving stitches. I don't think they did; I still feel them! 4 years later!!!

let him get a skin infection all over his body that made his paws swell up and bleed, and his paw pads fall off and bleed. It was terrifying. And cost me more money of course. It was so evil. He still has scarring all over his legs from it where fur hasn't grown back :(

He has bad teeth but according to the vet "not the worst! :)"

He expresses his glands in his sleep sometimes. UGHHHH they don't tell you that about dogs lol.

He still is terrible for claws. It's been worse and worse lately, to the point where I worry about how long his nails are and whether it will be bad for his joints. But it's the only thing he's really ever been aggressive for. :( I really worry about him. I have trained him to scratch a board of sandpaper to file them down, but they get sharp that way too lol.

Progress, not perfect. He lets me give him paw massages and check his nails and manhandle him, but just. Not clippers or dremel. :( Not there yet.

Anyway, he has been super healthy for many years now. He's got lumps and bumps and skin tags. The vet thinks he's about 9 years old, and definitely a senior. ;_; <3

Things I Love about LUMO

His ears are, I'm not kidding, the softest material in the world. And so warm. He loves it when I stick my finger in his ear and tickle his brain. He loves an armpit scratch. His tail used to be like, stuck, in such a sad position and I never thought he'd wag his tail and now it waves high all the time.

They told me he would probably never be a dog who plays. But when I got him, within a few weeks, I found the puppy inside of him. He runs like a silly rocking horse, completely uncoordinated and flopsy. He'll do fetch. He loves surgically disemboweling stuffed animals. He throws around his XTREME CHEW PLASTIC ANTLER and plays fetch with it with me.

He has several "spots" where I can get his leg thumping when I scratch him. He loves to be wrapped up in a burrito of blankets and sit in a sunbeam.

He leans on me and looks up at me with those big brown eyes and there's no fear or sadness in them anymore it's just sweetness and silliness.

He is so smart. He's attended a bunch of PhD level classes, and he's developed his own language. He's so smart. He knows how to tell me what he wants, he knows the rules and knows how to push them right up to the limit. He loves his sweaters. He will tell me what he wants by tapping on things with his paw. He knows that if I hold out my left hand it's to hold his paw and do a shake. If I hold out my right hand it means wait. He knows that the camera I have can see him and he'll knock it over so he can do mischief.

He loves his velvet chaise lounge. He loves his memory foam ultrasoft velvet bed. He loves his goose down comforter. He loves to sit on my pillow and fart. He basks in sunbeams and curls up in a tiny tiny little ball and he shrimps and sucks on his toes. He's basically a cat. He doesn't really want to go on walks, he pulls me back inside as soon as he's done his business. Except for when we have company--he loves walking with a pack of people.

When he talks to me, like just having a conversation, he sounds like a seal. Like a tortured seal. Or like a crying baby. He's never really figured out how to be a dog or sound like a real dog but we understand each other that's what matters.

He absolutely takes advantage of this to complain when I am not giving him what he wants. He'll roll over on the ground like a drama queen and wail and cry like I'm abusing him and it's because I'm across the room holding a pork chop that's just for me.

Today in the car he was WAILING like a seal, which usually means "LET ME OUT I NEED TO POOP" but after 3 or 4 tries to walk him, he made it clear that what he ACTUALLY meant was "PEDAL TO THE METAL GIRLS LET'S GO WHY AREN'T WE MOVING WHY IS THERE NO WIND ON MY FACE OR FLAPPING IN MY EARS MOOOOOOOOOVE."

For a while he was 69 pounds (NICE) but he's back to 64 lol. He stays between 63-70 pretty much depending on how active he is.

Anyway I have been reminiscing a lot because I figured it was time to add him to the "happy endings" page on the rescue website and I was going down memory lane.

Looking at the photo I took on the day I brought him home, and a photo I took last month, you can see his white face is spreading.

The defined white bit on his nose that whispers between his eyes has now spread to both his eyebrows, and his cheeks are getting quite white. But his eyes are bright and his ears are perked up and he is safe and warm and loved and stinky and soft. He gets fresh treats all the time (he loooooves celery, and pears, and sometimes carrots and sweet potatoes. and tortilla chips. and salmon oil.). He loves his prescription kibble and our routine. He has lovely friends and lovely car rides and he is just the best dog I could have asked for in my life when I got him and every day.

I've had to be so patient and calm and kind even when I was scared and angry, with his stress and his ptsd and his destructiveness and messiness. All he deserves and needs is love and he knows what's wrong and what isn't, sometimes he just can't help himself, and we move on together. He made sure I had a reason to come home and not sleep in lab during my PhD. He made sure I had a reason to get out of bed during my PhD.

And now we're just living our best lives together. :)

[affinitystoryblog]

More doodles of Agitha and her poodle

rly enjoying drawing animals in cute situations like this!! also the dogs name is Princess Pootie

pootie came into agitha's life as a rescue when agitha was a freshman in high school. she found a emaciated puppy and took it to her father and was like daddy we have to save it and daddy has all the money and loves his little girl so hes like bet and so she adopted pootie uvu

princess pootie is 4 going on 5 now so she's pretty middle aged, but she is agitha's pride and joy, her little babygirl, her princess baby butter cup poo...they're very close and i cant wait to explore the bond they have

[asikubi-soda]

There were three other cats, but the larger black cat died the other day🐈‍⬛ He has been a good father to three other cats (four of them are rescue cats).🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈🐈

The big black cat was emaciated and was wandering around, so I took care of it.🐈‍⬛

The brown cat is the last remaining shy brother among the brothers who protected him.🐈

The skinny black cat was bullied at the previous owner's house and was about to be thrown away because it was so unruly that it was protected.🐈‍⬛

My child is the half-brother of a brown cat.🐈 was abandoned by her mother and was thin, so I protected.

They are all male.

have a dog. She's the only girl, recently joined the new family. A black cat who was bullied in her previous house is willing to babysit.🐕

[ms-cellanies]

Abandoned, emaciated dog rescued off the streets. Now he's been adopted by a family & he has a Husky friend as well.

@russalex @angreav @iamthebadwolf85 @catedevalois @maneth985   @ogtumble @amatasera @fuckdumblr  @ladyoftheteaandblood @sirrah22 @stripedsilverfeline @larouau12 @ughseriously @usearki @ladytuarach @glendathegoodone @cricketcat9 @aregrettablehullabaloo @micaleann @toasty-hancock @hellcatblues  @middleagedandoutoftouch @sabbykatt3 @cursethedarkness @gretchenk0720  @aliceliddellsmirror @inkededucatednnerdy @notpedeka @photoboybg69  @contemplatingoutlander @nildespirandum @izhunny @ladytigrane @wolfsmom1 @phoenix-maat @writernotwaiting  @glitterypeanutmugnickel  @captain-krazy @bitchycatwizard @paulfe  @mishlady @dorcascristyforever @beerboy100 @ultimatenutshackfangirl  @lokilickedme @bakufuhakutaku  @a-sundry-bag @prettyhatemachine01 @texmexdarling @oshea52  @posttexasstressdisorder  @evieplease @queen-of-cats @catchester  @jimbr549  @ladygreytea76 @azusalover​ 

[moonlight26posts-blog]

In Baltimore County, MD: Sweet, Skinny Cardi Seeking Rescue

Baltimore County Animal Services is seeking rescue placement for Cardi, a 3 year old, 46 pound girl whose body condition score is a 2/9, making her emaciated and not cleared for adoption through the shelter at this time. Cardi has shown social and friendly behavior here with people, but has ignored other dogs. Before turning her into the shelter, Cardi’s finder had her around their kid, cats, and small dogs. They reported Cardi did well with their kid, but not with their cats or small dogs. Cardi is currently too underweight to be spayed, but is up to date on vaccines. If you are interested in pulling Cardi, or have any questions, please let us know!

Thank you,

Megan Phillabaum

Rescue Coordinator

Baltimore County Animal Services

13800 Manor Road

Baldwin, MD 21013

410-887-7297

mphillabaum@baltimorecountymd.gov

To see other animals in need of rescue, visit here: https://www.baltimorecountymd.gov/departments/animal-services/rescue-partners

Baltimorecountymd.gov/animalservices

[beansnpeets]

I know this has been talked about on petblr before, but I see it online a lot and it drives me nuts, but when people adopt an animal from a shelter and say they "rescued" it 🙄

And I don't mean this in a "I think I'm better than you because my pets are REAL rescues", it's more just annoying to see this saviour complex so often, people brag about it like they're some big hero because of it.

Hardy is a rescue. We literally found her on the street and brought her home. Oscar is a rescue. He was dumped out in the country (or wandered off the reserve, we aren't sure which) and we brought him home, picked the ticks off of him and put some weight on his emaciated little body. Lucky is a rescue. She was left abandoned in a house, alone and without food, for a month. She earned her name. I have also rescued multiple other dogs and cats and gotten them rehomed or into a shelter.

Puter came from a shelter. I don't call him a rescue. I adopted him. He was surrendered by his previous family and I adopted him.

Sprocket is the only one I've paid money for (I adopted Puter on their free cat day promo).

But like if you adopt a pet from a shelter you did not rescue it. If the critter was a stray and someone picked it up and brought it to the shelter it was rescued, but the adopter still did not rescue it. And a critter that was surrendered and adopted out is certainly not a rescue unless the situation they came from was bad, but chances are they didn't come from some horrendous hoarding situation if they were surrendered (but I mean depending on where, probably, there is more nuance than that).

I know it's probably something silly to be worked up about, but idk it just bothers me that there's this hero complex behind it. People think they're better because "they" "rescued" their pet instead of buying from a breeder. I avoid talking about where Sprocket came from with most people because I don't know who is #ad*ptdontsh*p and who isnt and I don't feel like having an argument with some rando about it. I don't have to justify why I wanted a well bred purebred to some guy with a hole in his ass.

I have adopted, I have rescued and I have shopped. All fine options for whoever wants to. But none of those is better than another. There is no black and white here. They can all be good and they can all be bad in different ways. It's annoying to still be seeing so much of this mindset that rescue is the ultimate and anything else is despicable.

Reblogs turned off because these kinds of posts are the only ones of mine that break containment and I'm not in the mood today.

[itsadragonaesthetic]

Tell me I'm not the only person who hates animal rescue videos not only because it's often done out of ignorance (the animal was actually fine, or it was someone taking food from a predator because they value the life of the prey more than the "evil" predator) but also even if it is a true rescue video (a dog or cat being rescued from the streets or abuse) it boils my blood to think that they saw this animal in dire need and their first instinct was to take out their phone and shove it in their face.

Just think about it from a 3rd person perspective. A dog is sitting there bleeding, emaciated, what have you, and you just see someone with their phone in its face and trying to make themselves look like a hero. It makes me irrationally angry. I hate most animal rescue videos.

[mariacallous]

Gregory Winter, 54, was arrested in September 2022, after posting an outraged social-media comment about the Russian army’s atrocities in Bucha and Irpin. “Everything we already knew about from Afghanistan, Chechnya, and Syria has been repeated in Ukraine,” Winter wrote. “This is the end of ‘the Russian civilization.’ No one is ever going to fall for Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. Everybody will know that this is just a cover for Aleppo, Grozny, and Bucha.” Winter is now on trial for spreading “fake news” about the Russian military. His lawyers think he has a high chance of being sent to a prison colony, but Winter, who is diabetic, doesn’t think he would survive in those conditions. To prepare for the worst, he is trying to find new homes for the nine cats he has rescued from the streets over the years. Here’s the story of Gregory Winter and his cats, as told by the independent Russian media The New Tab.

Gregory Winter is a human rights activist from Cherepovets, a city in the Vologda region of northern Russia. Formerly the head of a local branch of the NGO For Human Rights, Winter is known for his outspoken, sometimes provocative presence in the local media. He is used to the wrath of the Russian authorities, too, having been jailed in the past, and threatened with physical violence for campaigning to preserve his region’s forests from logging.

Gregory also has a passion for animal welfare. He grew up with parents who were constantly bringing home cats and dogs from the street, caring for sick animals, and trying to get them back on their feet. When he found himself living alone as an adult, Gregory started doing the same. About 20 years ago, he already had 12 cats living in his apartment. “You can’t just walk past a cat who’s been tormented by sadists and lies dying in the street,” he told The New Tab. “So the number of my animals rarely got smaller. It would only happen when a sick animal had to be euthanized.”

Winter only adopts new animals if he is sure that they won’t make it without human help. This is what happened with his cat Vasya, who had been dropped off at a dog shelter in a plastic bag. For six months, Gregory spoon-fed the emaciated cat. When Vasya got back on his feet, he unexpectedly turned into a fierce “godfather” to the rest of Winter’s gang of felines.

Another cat, named Susu, had her hind leg torn off by someone who then left her to die in the foyer of an apartment building. By some miracle, the vets managed to reattach her limb, but the traumatized cat spent three years hiding under Winter’s desk, without ever coming near him.

Susu might never have become attached to Winter if the Russian authorities didn’t arrest him and put him in jail. In 2020, he was charged with spreading misinformation about COVID-19. (The human rights organization Agora has pointed out that the new Russian law against COVID-related misinformation was frequently instrumentalized to persecute the government’s critics.) In jail, Winter was brutally beaten. Meanwhile, his friends were caring for his cats.

The cats proved to be so attached to Winter that two of them died: one before he was released, and the other not long afterwards.

In September 2022, Winter became a criminal suspect once again, this time for a social-media comment about the Russian army’s atrocities in Ukraine. After some time in custody, Winter was put under house arrest. He is certain, however, that this will only last for a couple of months — until the next court hearing, to be precise. His lawyers think his chance of getting a prison sentence very high.

Winter has no close family members in the area. His adult son lives abroad, and because he is subject to being drafted into the Russian army, Winter would never even think of asking him to come to Russia for his cats. He is also pessimistic about his own chances of surviving in prison: “I have a complicated form of diabetes,” Winter says, “and if they put me in prison, I’ll never get out. They don’t have any medications there. One way or another, I must figure out the fate of my cats.”

The cat named Susu has already been adopted by a family from Yaroslavl, but Gregory’s other cats don’t seem to interest anyone in Cherepovets. Their owner hopes that Russians from other regions might come forward to adopt them. “There are only nine cats at the moment,” he says,

and all of them are sweet, well-trained, and unfussy with food. I’m asking people who love animals to help me. My friends will bring the cats to Moscow, St. Petersburg, or to other cities in Central Russia. Some of the cats can do well in a suburban home. My cat Baldie is an excellent mouser. Vasya can be an excellent working cat, he has just the right temper for guarding a house.

If you can help with an adoption of one or more of Gregory Winter’s cats, please send a message to The New Tab on Telegram.

[foreverdreamsds]

MATCHING FUNDS FUNDRAISING CHALLENGE! RAISE $5,000 AND IT WILL BE MATCHED = $10,000 FOR FOREVER DREAM SENIOR DOG SANCTUARY AND THE SENIOR PUPS WE RESCUE! READ MORE... Each year one of our generous supporters gives us a fundraising challenge in memory of one they have lost to help us raise funds for the senior pups we rescue! Their challenge this year is in memory of a dog many of you know and remember -- our very own super ambassador pup Mr. Minute! He was a hard working tiny guy so full of personality. In fact we imagine if Mr. Minute were here today, he would be so proud to know that his legacy was raising funds for more to be helped just like he was! Here is the tribute of Mr. Minute: when Mr. Minute came to us he was 10 years and three months old. Let me say this little senior pup was a mess, barely any teeth, a slightly crooked mouth, tongue hanging out, extremely emaciated, patchy fur, and lethargic. Mr. Minute was a tiny thing, less than 3 pounds, and he was a trip. He pretty much made the rules, and we obeyed. For all of his quirkiness, he was a total love. Affectionate, cuddly, funny as Hell, appreciative, adaptable, and sweet. He lived every single day with joy. Nothing got him down. Frankly, as a person who has struggled with having only one kidney all of my life, I learned so much from him. To Mr Minute, yesterday was gone, tomorrow doesn’t matter, it was all about today. And he lived every single day fully and gratefully. We used to joke that he was like the Energizer bunny, constantly moving, and that some day, his batteries would simply run out. One afternoon, at the ripe old age of 16 years and eight months (to the day), he left us as quietly and quickly as he’d come into our lives. No pain, no suffering, no decision to make; just here and then gone. We think he knew that we couldn’t handle losing him any other way. Mr. Minute was living proof that no dog is ever too old to love or to have a good life. And every single dog has something to teach us if we’d only listen. We’ll forever be grateful to the person who reached out to us about him. But most of all, we’re grateful to Mr. Minute.❤️ (at Forever Dream Senior Dog Sanctuary) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmriUotLrSE/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=