Pearl, A Fine & Rare Treasure

Previously written June 27, 2008

Help!!! We are at a loss!!! We recently adopted a new doggy-girl (white poodle) who had been living in a puppy mill for several years. She'd been bred since she had her first heat-cycle and as a result had been going into "false pregnancies" each time she went into season and was no longer producing puppies. I'd seen her alone on the streets for a couple of months and one particular night I was driving home from the market and saw her out by the street again. She was in front of the same house I'd seen her at before, so I stopped my car and this is where the journey began.
The girl who answered the door when I knocked said, "Yes, that was their dog and I could have it if I wanted it." When her mother came to the door, she explained in Spanish (the girl) that I as asking about the dog and she'd said I could take her. "You said you didn't want her anymore...", the girl told her.
The woman said yes I could and that the dog bit them anyway, so I was free to take her home if I'd wanted. She also added that I should have seen the puppies she'd just sold.
Next day, I decide I want the dog. Called the groomer and begged them to stay late on a Saturday afternoon. Picked up the matted, mystery breed from the filthy backyard holding pen where they kept her and several others looking every bit as sad as she did.
Incidentally, the dog never bit me as I held her while my husband drove us to the groomers. Later at the groomers we picked her up, she (groomer) announced she (dog) was indeed a Poodle.
We brought her home. She continued to be very cautious and wary around me (a woman) but completely at ease with my husband. We had her spayed a week ago and since then she's been really nervous and she has begun to urinate all over the house. Gone are the constant trips out the doggy door like she did the first week we had her. She seemed to pick up potty etiquette quite well until she had her little surgery.
Anyhow, we have an appointment with the vet tomorrow, hope they can shed some light on this new development in our lives with Pearly.
Yes we sometimes long for the easy, pee-free days when Johnny was the only game in town; but Pearly is precious and she just needs a lot of love. She's never known that and she deserves it. Pray for us and I'll soon post pix of our Pearly. Just as soon as her surgery scar heals and I can bathe her that is. Rose
P.S. You should see my husband's sleepy and cranky imitation of Pearly making licking noises and whining sounds as she tries to wake him up. He's a saint! He's never said, "I told you so," even though he did!
Update: It's been nearly a year since this blog was written and I am thrilled to say my Pearly has flourished on a steady diet of hugs, kisses, and compliments from her momma and daddy. She is fully potty trained, her body is healthy and no longer bears signs of the ravages of abuse and over breeding. She one of the sweetest parts of my day; and the happy, confident, playful little girl she was always meant to be.

A Dog's Plea

Treat me kindly, my beloved friend, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me.
Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I should lick your hand between blows, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me to learn.
Speak to me often, for your voice is the world's sweetest music, as you must know the by fierce wagging of my tail when your footstep falls upon my waiting ear.
Please take me inside when it is cold and wet, for I am a domesticated animal, no longer accustomed to bitter elements. I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth. Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst.
Feed me clean food that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding. To walk by your side and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life, should your life be in danger.
And my friend, when I am very old, and I no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight, do not make heroic efforts to keep me going. I am not having any fun. Please see that my trusting life is taken gently. I shall leave this earth knowing with the last breath I draw that my fate was always safest in your hands.
-Author Unknown

Loving Johnny Lee

Previously written June 28, 2008


When I first saw him he was emaciated. His tiny back was turned toward me and I could see all his ribs poking out through his dirty grey fur. I stuck my finger through the wire of the run he shared with a whacked-out rat terrier and he turned slightly to his left and gave it a tiny, little, tentative lick. When he stood I noticed his sucked-in stomach and a thick, 3-inch wide collar fastened, tightly, around his throat. The computer print-out taped to the wire between us said his name was "Butch" and he was a 3-year-old male. "A stray at large" from Dinuba, it said, and that he'd been in custody for three weeks. Also, he'd been neutered the previous Friday and this was Monday, August 7th. His fur had been clipped mainly to give him an "adoptable" appearance, but it still looked rather matted and dull.
I told the young volunteer that I'd like to see the dog outside of the run and he gladly brought out a cheap nylon leash that he somehow hooked to the little dog's neck. He then told me where to take the dog. "We have a grassy area you can walk him in," he said and we headed out to get acquainted.
I can tell you I wasn't much impressed because he kept peeing every couple of seconds. Also, there was a large pot-bellied pig penned in the same area and it seemed to drive the dog crazy. The "lick-preventive" collar he wore had a long red cord attached to it that was wound around his right leg and then back through the collar at the neck again. It irritated me to think someone couldn't have done a neater more comfortable job about it.
I'd already filled out the long adoption application, but I thought I'd better think about it first. When I took the dog back, I told the people at the front desk that I'd have to make a phone call first. They said OK and I stepped out front of the facility to call my husband. My husband, knowing I'd recently been dealt a huge blow when the sweet little dog of my sister's I'd baby-sat daily was run over by a car at their home, said I should follow my heart and if I truly wanted this dog I should, "write the check!"
After hanging up with him, I said to myself, "I don't want to make a mistake and what if this dog is a wreck? I'll just sleep on it tonight and if I still want him I'll come back tomorrow."
I went inside and told the girls I'd wait to talk it over with my husband some more and they were great. They said they'd hold my application for me and if I decided I still wanted him, he'd be there in the morning.
As I turned to go, I had a thought! Why don't I take a picture of the dog with my camera phone so my husband can see what he looks like.
I told the front desk what I was doing and they said OK. I went back in to the holding area for the adoptable dogs and asked a volunteer boy, about 11 years old , if I could get the dog I was looking at and take a picture of him. He said he'd let me in and we found "Butch" at the back room of the run where I'd seen him before. I knew I hadn't noticed him on my first pass through the facility and this was reason why. There was a pass-through cut out in each run for an indoor area and outdoor area and this little dog preferred to stay back here alone because as I said before, his cell-mate was out of control.
The boy let me in and I took out the phone. Just then the little guy started looking a little scared, sort of crouching. The boy asked me if I was going to take him and I said I'd think about it, but right now I just wanted a picture to show my husband.
"He's a real nice little dog," the boy said. "You're familiar with him?" I asked. "Yeah, he just needs a lot of good food and some love and I know he'll be a great pet."
"What am I doing?" I thought, "I could be passing on my dog!!!" I told the kid to take him out, he was going home with me.
When I led the dog out to the front desk and told the girls I was taking him home, they all cheered and congratulated me.
This was one hot afternoon remember, August! I led him to my car a ways down from the office and when I opened the door, he jumped right in to the passenger seat. I got in the car, turned on the air conditioner, and started home with my new friend.
As we drove together down a long service road that leads to the main highway from the SPCA, I looked over at him and then it happened. Something so amazing, if I wasn't there, I might not believe it.
The grubby, skinny, little guy looked deep into my eyes with his huge, round, brown ones; and he sighed loudly! What happened next took my breath away - I had to stop the car!!! He propped his little front paws up on the console between us and buried his head deeply into my shoulder. I, as I'm doing now, wept and held him close. "You're with your momma now, do you understand?" I sobbed, " You never have to be afraid again!"
We drove home from that place in the road, both blissfully knowing, we'd found what we'd been searching for; for a long time.
I still don't know how he made it alone for those three years without me to care for him. By the looks of his body, he'd never had much to eat - remember he'd been fed regularly for three weeks at the SPCA!!
At first I couldn't shake the thoughts of him wandering alone, cold and hungry on the mean streets of Dinuba. I'll never know where he started. How adorable and sweet a puppy he was. Or how God protected him until He could lead him to my arms.
I do know his life was hard. I know the first two nights in our home he was frightened and still. As he slept, his head shook with tremors, and when awake the kennel cough made him miserable.
Dale and I vowed his life from that point on would be comfortable and happy. We fed him the best food money can buy, bought him all kinds of toys to play with.
I held his stinky little body close against me (I couldn't bathe him until his neuter suture healed) and told him how much we loved him and how smart and handsome he was. He was road worn and desperate for love. Though by the time we got to his first check-up at the vet's, the cough was all but gone and he'd already started to gain weight.
Today he doesn't even remember the life he lived before that hot August day when we met. All he knows is each morning, Daddy is going to fill his and his "Sissy's" dishes up with their favorite "Chickie Mix" (Bil Jac, Costco roast chicken) and pour good, fresh water into their bowl. Then Momma will get up to spend some good "Mommy & Baby-time" with them too.
Now he loves going for long walks on his leash. He runs like a "gazelle", we always remark, after gophers and squirrels at the cemetery and park. He has a favorite stuffed toy we all call "Baby" which he fetches and seeks out each night to bring to bed with him. If Momma stays up late, he refuses to go in with Daddy and Sissy. Instead, he snoozes in the guest room until he hears me turn off certain lights in the house. Then he bounds out of the bedroom and walks ahead of me to our room where I tuck him into Daddy's shoulder and he curls up for another night in which he'll never again have to waken to hunger, cold, loneliness and uncertainty.
Oh how we love you Johnny Lee! -Momma'

Rescued Right Back

Since my blog will consist of many stories and anecdotes about my little brood I thought you should meet them. So without further adieu:

This is Johnny Lee Rains. He is a Lhasa-Apso/Poodle mix rescued from the Tulare County SPCA in Visalia, CA. We will be celebrating his 4th birthday August 7th, the day he came to live with us and also the day he moved into my heart forever. His loyalty and love is incredible. He never goes to bed without his momma. Daddy is an early to bed, early to rise fellow, and the our other kids follow suit. But not Johnny. He will snooze on the dog bed in the living room till momma finally hits the hay. I will post a previously written blog about our miraculous meeting very soon.

I'd like to introduce you to our sweet and lovely daughter, Pearly Marie Rains (a.k.a. Sissy-lissy and Princess-ey). I rescued this adorable little girl from a puppy mill where she'd been a breeder for as long as she could whelp. Don't be fooled. Puppy mills are not limited to giant commercial operations in the Midwest run by Amish or Mennonite people. They exist anywhere someone learns they can make a few bucks off the backs of poor innocent animals.
I found my Pearl one day when I was driving home from the grocery store, sitting in a front unkept yard and so matted I couldn't tell what kind of dog she was. The filth she was covered in was evident even from my car. I went home and never forgot the poor "mystery dog" until later one freezing night when I passed the same house and there she was again. Sitting out in the unfenced yard, looking lonely and miserable. I stopped and went to the door and we've lived happily ever after since. Once again there is more to this story which I've already written and will too be posted to this blog soon.

Now we come to Poppy Sue Rains (Below). She too is a puppy mill rescue. I found her when the woman who bred her for sale was walking down the street only blocks from where I found Pearly. She had several dogs of all breeds and sizes trailing after her. Spotting a tiny, hairy mouse-like thing; dragging a piece of garbage three times its size among the pack, I pulled my car over and called out to the woman. She came over and I asked her, "Are those all your dogs?" "Yes," she replied in Spanish. "I sell them." "Well it's not a good idea to have them loose on the street without a leash," I told her. "They could easily get killed by a car."
The woman just stared over past my head and said nothing. "Can I please see that little brown, fuzzy puppy over there?" I asked as I pointed to the pack where the little one still had the giant paper scrap in her teeth.
She went over and picked up the pup, bringing her over to the car so I could see her. I reached out and took the little animal in the arms and saw that it was a little girl puppy. "She's very cute" I said trying not to look too interested.
Just then, someone stopped a car in front of mine, I presumed it was her daughter, and handed the woman a toddler to hold; got back in the car and drove off down the street.
"This is my grand daughter" the woman said.
She then reached in to take the puppy back from me and as I handed it off to her, the baby in the woman's arms made a grab for it.
The pup had obviously been down this road before and began to wail in fear. Being used as a diversion for the babies in the family was something the tiny 1 1/2 pound puppy knew something about.
"You shouldn't let the baby hold the puppy," I said before I could stop myself. "Babies can hurt them." The woman looked a little sad, but defeated and said, "I'll let you have her if you want her." meaning the pup of course.
I paused for a minute, having been forewarned by my husband that we couldn't afford any more dogs with two already at home.
Then I thought of the life the tiny fragile animal would have if I left her behind.
"OK, I'll take her." I said. And with that, Poppy Sue became the fifth member of our family.

Baby Boys & Bee Stings

It finally happened. I always knew he is intelligent, but yesterday morning Johnny Lee, my Lhasa-poo son, showed me just how much a dog can intentionally affect our lives.
Rising rather late from bed, I walked into my bathroom adjacent to the hallway in our house, and the door opened as Johnny walked in. I said, "just a minute, let momma get ready first," and I closed the door leading him out again. I noticed his head was kind of droopy like he looks when I get ready to go somewhere and he realizes he can't come with me, but thought, "He'll be OK."
While in the bathroom, I go through my morning routine, brush teeth, wash face, take meds, change clothes and then I'm ready to face the world.
When I walked into the living room, I noticed Johnny was now sprawled on the doggie bed next to our couch. I called to him and he didn't move, just raised his sad little eyes up to me and lay there like a rag.
Feeling guilty for having kicked him out of bathroom I baby-talked, "Hi baby, are you alright?" Usually he responds with at least an ear twitch, but no, nothing, just more of the same pitiful, listlessness.
I picked him up and again, just like a limp rag, he just hung there in my arms.
Panic struck me now..."Is he sick???" "Did he get hurt???"
Taking him to the chair I cradled him and quickly checked his gums thinking, "if he's sick, his gums will be pale."
No, gums looked good...still limp..."Oh God! what is the matter???"
I'm thinking...why haven't we gotten pet insurance???? No actually, the words were hysterically screeching around in my head.
I call my husband at work and manage to utter, "Some thing's wrong with Johnny! He's limp! He was trying to tell me when he came into the bathroom but I kicked him out!!!" I practically shouted as the guilt and fear rose within me. You can just imagine the primal scream forming in the pit of my gut can't you?
My husband, not picking up on my hysteria at all says, "He stepped on another bee this morning! He was running through the cemetery and started limping so I picked him up and found another stinger in his paw."
Weeellll, as my husband likes to say...you could have bought me for a nickle!!!
All the fear and hysteria suddenly rushed out of me like flood
as I sat there with the academy award hopeful for best actor 2010 in my lap and the previous day's events replaying in my mind.
I'd been sitting in my living room when Johnny came in through the dog door and I noticed he hopped in on only three paws while holding his left front paw curled up tight to his body.
I jumped up, rushing to his aid and picked him up, as my mind began to formulate the inevitable costs of x-rays, surgery, the overnight stay at the vet's....
Johnny is now in the moment with me, crying out in pain when I gently probed his paw for a fracture or the severe laceration he'd surely obtained out in that wood yard he loves to patrol for bad guys.
His cries sent me running to my husband who happened to be in our bedroom where we lay him on our bed amid even more howls. I rushed around trying to take the girls (my other two doggie-kids) out of the room in order to relax my injured little boy.
"Here it is," said Dale cheerfully. "He's been stung by a bee."
Shocked, I walked over to the bed where Dale stood over the pathetic, injured party. Now wild-eyed and sprawled flat on his back and there it was! Right at the tip of one of his toes, what looked like a gooey, wide base of a goat-head sticker. I gently picked it out ensuing even more cries of distress, and it came away effortlessly. Between my fingers was the "painful, menacing" culprit; a tiny little bee stinger.
We cheered like idiots and assured him the awful stinger was out and he seemed to understand that he was indeed going to live after all.
Which leads me to this realization. So traumatic was the first bee sting that being stung again while out with his daddy; the recurrence of the same tragedy on the same paw... the very next day... was more than he could take.
He just had to find a way to let me know that yet again those mean, surly bees had inflicted their painful, stingers into his poor little foot.
When we hung up with daddy and everyone was calm once again; he seemed to forget his great malady and eagerly trotted behind me (no more sign of bee trauma) into the kitchen for a bite of his favorite duck breast treat.
All is right with the world now and Momma now knows to look out for a little drama when it comes to bad bees and smart little doggie-boys.

Love In Fur

They're curly and shaggy, fluffy or slick,

Eager to love, expressed with a lick.

Tiny or giant, their hearts beat the same,

When it comes to true love, this one's no game.

Born to assist, relieve and comply,

No truer companion you'll find in this life.

They're funny, and silly, and live to amuse,

Yet loyal like no other when sometimes you lose.

They come to our world and change everything,

Their time here so fleeting, the most precious thing.

No matter the promise of parting to come,

For a DOG, in my heart, there's forever a home.

-Rose Rains 4/20/09

Brief, but true treasure found along a country road

Just got off the phone with a dear friend in tears over the death of a tiny little life she has for days been nursing in her home. Just a small insignificant life who probably never even got a name. Just some one's garbage...not even worthy of love...a puppy...a girl...and in the end, she did finally get the love she'd otherwise never known.

She was found wandering on the highway by some kids and grabbed up, taken along to a friends house where the teens hung out until it was time to go home. She ate and drank at the friend's house but only later, once at the home of the boy who found her, things took a turn for the worse.

The little one began to tremble uncontrollably, she had some diarrhea and seemed weak and uncomfortable.

My friend, the dear one, tried all she could to make her eat. Sometime in that first night the puppy's symptoms worsened. By the hour she seemed to get sicker, weaker, and louder.
Her wails were unnerving. She seemed to be screaming out in pain. Needless to say, there was no rest for my friend or her family.

The woman did her best to comfort the puppy into the night, stealing an hour or two of sleep throughout the weekend.

Why not take her to the veterinary hospital you might ask? They tell you up front when you call them that it's going to be over $1,000 if they have to hospitalize the animal. And as my friend said, "what if I take her in and she dies anyway?" The hospital still needs their money...veterinary care is not free and it certainly isn't cheap.

Even though many veterinarians make sacrifices on a daily basis at their own expense to provide good animal care, what they've had to pay for their training and education is nothing to compared to the overhead of being in a medical field of any kind today.

Today, I got a text message from my friend it said simply this: "the pup didn't make it...she died at the vet."

She answered my phone call in tears. She kept apologizing and saying she was just overly tired. She went on to explain she'd spent the night with the puppy on her chest and the only time she remembers not seeing the clock (she assumes she slept during that time) was between 1 and 2 a.m. Otherwise the puppy whined softly throughout the night.

She took the puppy in to the vet this morning holding out hope that maybe they could perform a medical miracle for the little thing.

"I prayed over her all night," she cried into the phone. The vet told her to leave the animal with them and they hooked her up to an IV. Some time later they called to tell her the little dog had died. It was distemper...too advanced to for even modern miracles to reverse.

Amid a new swell of tears my friend said, "I never even said goodbye to her. Maybe if I'd stayed she would have kept fighting."

I told her it was obvious that the puppy was a fighter. She fought a long hard battle with the disease and ultimately her little body couldn't rally against the ravages of neglect.

"You gave her the best gift she ever got in her life," I told my friend. "You cared where no one ever had. You held her when she'd never been cuddled...You my friend, gave her the love she might never have known...the love she deserved."

Today, in my eyes, my friend Terese is a hero. She set her enormously busy life aside for a few days to care for and love what is unfortunately a victim of our over consuming society. A small, insignificant life that might have otherwise died in a cold, wasted, heap on the side of a country road. She was fed, watered, bathed, fretted over, and loved...in those short days, that little dog received the only thing that makes a difference in the life of a dog...love.

Dogs are born to love and crave reciprocated love. They were made to be our companions through life and to teach us through their short existence that our hearts are truly made to heal. Thanks to all the courageous heroes in the world today who will take what's left of an unvalued life and give freely to it the love and light it so desperately needs and even if for only the time it takes for them to say goodbye.

Oscar Distraction vs. American Reality

..."He has no genitalia and he carries a sword"
Who said that??? Actually it was Dustin Hoffman at the Oscars when he got one for Kramer vs. Kramer.
I'm wondering if America is truly watching the Oscars en mass. I only caught the final three awards: Best Actress, Best Actor, and Best Film. My picks didn't win.
I wanted Angelina Jolie instead of Kate Winslet, Mickey Rourke (I'm a sucker for the underdog) over Sean Penn and I think I'm happy about Slumdog Millionaire.

Truthfully I just wasn't into the huge commitment of watching Hugh Jackman's Broadway quality performances and Whoopi Goldberg was rumoured to be a presenter so that gave me more reason to watch what little I did see through my fingers.
Each year I say to myself, "I'm going to see all the important movies this year so when the Oscars come around I will truly be an informed viewer."
Frankly some of those new California Milk Association commercials for the Happy California Cow competition make for some terrific entertainment. I think I'll just stick to them for now.

OK, I'm going to be very honest here. 'Seems to me that tonight's big winners were for nudity and liberalism. Hollywood votes for Hollywood standards.
Mine may not be the popular opinion but it's mine and I know I'm not alone in it by a long shot.

By and large, I believe the average carpooling, toast and jam eating American doesn't care about the Oscars. We tolerate the hours of commercial hoopla we endure during our evening news broadcasts and in our newspaper's entertainment section. We really don't care who Rachel Zoe is dressing her stars in. We don't even care how many millions of dollars were raised for the millions of liberal causes at the excessive post Oscar galas.
Oscar night is over...WHEW! Let's get on to the business of seeing our economy through the Greatest Depression.

How 'bout we work hard to make sure we elect representatives who will support our best interests in government. Those who will go to bat for the underprivileged, the exploited and the unimportant!
Let's get some tax dollars flowing to children, animals, and families. Those who have no voice.

I am sick to death of seeing hundreds of millions in "free" grant money being spent to create fantasy lands, (i.e. skate parks, adventure lands) out of crumbling communities that have long lost their heartbeats. When the sons and daughters of the town's stalwart working class have left, never to return, for bigger and better opportunities elsewhere.

We have run out of people, corporations, public officials and politicians to blame for the dire straits we are in. Enough finger pointing. Do your part. Be present in your community. Hold your elected officials accountable for their actions.

This country was the greatest in the world at a time when a man earned less than one dollar per hour. How is it that we have become richer and yet we are the poorest we've ever been?