Puppy Tales

This is a rescue story. Let's call it Part One of the Great 8!

Eight you say? Yes, eight pointer puppies, approximately 16 weeks old were dumped in a Menard's parking lot. Eight puppies who had probably only known the confines of a kennel with a cement floor. Dumped like trash in the summer heat. That's where it started. Thankfully people stepped in. Two of the puppies were picked up by good Samaritans. The other six were rescued by Noah's Hope Animal Rescue. The first two were also turned over to Noah's Hope. So, all eight indeed had hope going for them. The local rescue reached out to Great Plains Pointer Rescue for assistance. Eight puppies are a lot. But this is what we do, and we do it with open hearts and willing foster homes. 

Now, let me also say I don't foster puppies as a general rule. I have a thing for gnarly old seniors. But rules are made to be broken. The call went out for fosters, and volunteers stepped up. All the puppies, who now have names and a safe place to land, came into the fold. Dolly & Dixon, George, Pearl, Slick, Keeper, Doug, and Ansell began their new life.

 

It includes many things they'd never encountered before. New noises, rules, leashes and collars, things to chew and not to chew. Crates, even going potty in the grass. It also includes cuddles and loving, treats, vet care, kisses and snuggles, toys to play with. All of this while we wait for Part Two to begin.

Part Two begins when they find their forever home. Until then they are growing, learning, playing, pooping and thriving in their foster homes. Well, hopefully not pooping "in" the foster home. All because they got lucky the day they were dumped. Because people stepped up to the plate for them. Because rescue programs exist. And yes, ultimately because people choose to adopt, not shop. 

Carry on you Great 8, with your puppy shenanigans, wiggle butts and velvet ears. We've got you and will see that you get only the best. 

 

What Needs Tending?

What's your garden like? I see some well landscaped, meticulously planted Gardenscapes. They look professional, almost too perfect. Don't get me wrong, they are well appointed, they are color coordinated. They have sprinkler systems. They don't appear to have anyone putzing around checking for bugs, buds, blossoms, weeds. Someone must tend them, but who invests the love and interest? We all need love and interest. We flounder without it.

I've been trying to find the balance between floundering and flourishing for some time now. Owning it is the first step. There are days I nail it. There are days I wonder where am I going, what am I doing? And why? Seriously why? I have a greater appreciation for the days I sailed right through. As well as a deeper understanding of the days that were an uphill battle. I look back trying to put life in perspective. To take responsibility for my stuff. We all have stuff you know. 

Now "garden" could be my actual garden, or an analogy that life resembles a garden. There are parts of my "garden" that I never tend. Never speak of. I do it because of shame sometimes. Because I feel like I've failed. Because I'm afraid of judgement. Because I'm afraid of trying again. Perhaps because it's easier, theoretically, to have weeds, than to weed them out. Weeds are a known entity. Weeds are consistent. We like consistent.

Those parts of my life are uncomfortable and take up precious energy. Energy better spent in releasing what didn't or doesn't work and planting anew. It's not easy. In fact, it's very hard. I think though, much like forgiveness, it's necessary. So, I ask what needs weeding, what's blooming, what needs forgiving, what needs nurturing?