Kennel Names!

You can always tell people who are not rescuers, that do not have to deal with the shit we do on a daily basis. How? you may ask, well it is because they do not understand our humour, and the small things that help us get through the day. We see the most awful things, and have to deal with horrible situations day in day out. so forgive me if I have a warped sense of humor.

We have pet names for the dogs, names that we use in the kennels, often these are not actually their names, but names that make us smile. Are the dogs offended by the names, no not at all, but it seems idiots are. Yet again a good old FB attack because I called a dog mincer, why did I call her that because Cervantes was too long, her leg looked like it had been through a mincer, and she didn't care what I called her as long as she got cared for and fed.

I have a dog here at the moment that bit me, he is called "sharkbite" another that is called "dumdum and I have a puppy called "Cruella" Well in fact she is actually chipped as "Miss Cruella de Ville" and we have had numerous other names, including "expensive" "Jaws" and my favourite .. puppy 1 puppy 2 puppy 3 etc....

Does it make their care any less nope, does it upset the dogs nope, but it puts a smile on my face calling dumdum or sharkbite. So yet again if this makes me a bad person, or an eveil person then so be it. What I would actually say to the idiots posting how evil I am is get a grip, its only a name. .... and Miss Cruella De Ville actually loves her name!

Canarian Logic and Engineering!

Back in February when we had the really bad storms, one of the main access roads to our mountain collapsed into someones drive. Overnight the route to and from us, and other finca's was cut off, resulting in either a 30 minute diversion, or a very bumpy, annoying drive though a barranco. The road closure cut off a whole village, therefore, we all presumed the repairs would be done quickly. OH! how wrong we were....

Initially everyone passed each other in the barranco with a cheery wave, and a smile, but recently the expressions were of anger, and annoyance. Everyone was fed up, the cars were dirty, dusty, and would soon need repairs from the 10 minute journey along basically a very old dirt track. The locals would stop to chat blocking the whole thing, and tempers begun to fray.

Then we heard a rumour, the digger arrived, we were all filled with hope, and the Chinese whispers begun that the road was being fixed. Workmen appeared, and phones lit up with news that the road was repaired.... praise the lord..... however, repaired is not quite true, they have in fact dug into the mountain, made the road wider, put barriers up on the broken bit and opened the road.

I cannot work out if it is genius, or pure madness, but either way I don't care, there is road, a real road, with no rocks, and no extra time added to my journey. So long live the Canarian logic and engineering! 

I Wasn't Ready To Say Goodbye!

She came into my life nearly eight years ago, I cannot remember the exact date, but she was found in a barranco, with a broken tail. She was a tiny kitten, with the biggest eyes, and she soon became my shadow. Midget as she was christened, was an accident prone cat and she had many accidents, but always bounced back.

Over the years on top of the broken tail, she was hit by a car which resulted in broken hips, was poisoned, attacked by a dog, and fell numerous times. Every trip to the vet was met with a comment of she may not pull through but she did.

Midget was never too far away, she would end up in my car, and follow me everywhere, she would sneak under the covers at night and ensure she had the best place in the bed.

 We all joked how her lives were running out, but I didn't expect them to run out just yet. Last week she was hit by a car on the road outside our property, broken hips again, and emergency surgery was performed. The op was a success, however, she had changed, she seemed to not recognise me, or the fact the legs belonged to her. She refused to move, and had developed a twitch. 

The vets told me what I dreaded that the car had hit her head as well, and she had swelling on the brain. He said there was little hope for improvement, but as I clung to my cat in the vets I asked him to try, I wasnt ready to say goodbye. 

 He packed me off home with meds, and told me to try, I had faith that she could get better, she had every other time. As I lay on the sofa with her, she had given up, she would not even lift her head, or acknowledge I was there. I still wanted to try, I googled treatments, and told her that she could fight this, and be a unique cat. 

That night I placed her in her bed, kissed her goodnight... little did I know that would be the last time I did that. An hour later I went to check on her, she had gone... she had decided that she didn't want to fight..... I picked her up wrapped in her blanket, and sat with her. I didn't want to admit she was gone, I couldn't believe my beautiful cat had given up..... 

 Goodbye my crazy friend <3

Not The Easiest To Live With!

Not only am I a woman, but I am a Gemini, Irish, and rescue animals, therefore, my husband deserves a medal for staying married to me! Living with and loving an animal rescuer is a challenge for so many reasons. I am married to an amazing man, who puts up with so much, so this is a guide to falling in love with a rescuer.

To love a rescuer, you must love all of her, the scars that have been inflicted by scared animals, and the emotional ones caused by humans. You must love the broken heart, and be there every time it needs more time to heal. You must love the determination, the pure grit to carry on, and be supportive when she doesn't win every war.

To love a rescuer you need to be there to comfort, when she blames herself even for things that she could never have seen coming. You need to understand the anger that she feels at the world, and that the anger is driven by the passion to save animals. You need to allow space for her to cry, and mourn the losses of the animals that she could not save.

To love a rescuer you must understand that the desire to save animals is in her soul, it is not a choice, it is a calling. Patience is needed, and you will need to accept that there are many times when the animals will come first. She will cancel dinner dates, be late for appointments, and there will be many times when sleep, food, and life are pushed aside.

To love a rescuer, you need to be strong, you have to be the support network, and accept everything that you love about her warts and all. You need to understand that you fell in love with a rescuer, and although the journey may have many bumps, it is one hell of a ride. Most of all you must never ask her to choose, because you may not like the answer you hear.

Dog Killer

I have covered the subject of putting dogs to sleep before, and it has come up again this week, as the villagers are out with their pitchforks screaming dog killer. As always they have half the facts, a very small brain, and simply want to beat me over the head with something. So, here are the facts regarding the dog that was euthanized at my vets last week.

The dog in question was in my kennels for a breed specific group that "took him under their wing" therefore, they had committed to everything relating to this dog. The dog was 10 years old, uncastrated a PPP (dangerous breed) and had been kept on a roof terrace for six years. The dog displayed aggression on entry, was allowed a few days to settle, and be assessed.

On day two he begun to headbutt the wall in temper, and refused to eat or drink, he would not allow anyone into his kennels, and if approached would lunge and go into attack mode. Day four he begun to eat his own leg, and would charge at the kennel door if anyone or another dog approached. He also begun to expel blood from both ends due to refusing to eat or drink.

Videos were taken and shown to the group, other rescues and our vet. Everyone except the group considered him to be highly aggressive, and beyond help. Although I am not a "qualified" dog behaviourist, I have been doing this a long time, work with nervous and aggressive dogs on a daily basis, and do know fear aggression from attack aggression.

We contacted the ex owners, as he was still legally microchipped to her, as we had not processed the paperwork yet, and explained the situation. She stated she did not want him back. We contacted her nephew who had the dog previously, and he explained his aunt had not been entirely truthful, and that the dog had always been aggressive.

Day five, as I watched this dog beat his head against the wall, and rip at his leg, I knew I could not watch him suffer, this is no life for any living animal, regardless of how you feel about euthanasia.  We convinced the owner to collect the dog, and spoke to the group, who still refused to make a decision. He was boxed and driven to our vets, where the owner failed to turn up, so she was called again, and told to attend, or the police would be called.

The owner turned up, agreed the best thing for the dog was to stop his suffering, and she signed the consent forms as his legal owner. The vets asked if I wanted to leave as he was not my dog, I said no I would stay and sit with him until he died, I owed him that as everyone else had turned their backs on him. I will not go into details, but sadly he fought the sedation, and it took a long, hard 90 minutes to have him calm enough so that the vet could handle him to euthanize him.

I had been at the vets 4 hours in total, I had left my son sitting waiting for me for 2 hours, I had watched an owner walk away without even turning to say goodbye to her dog. I had chosen to stay with him until the end, and as with every decision like this it is heartbreaking. I messaged the group..... and what I got back stopped me in my tracks.

Not once did they say thank you, or sorry, or even asked how I was, what I got was denial, and lies claiming they had no idea what was happening. That they did not agree, and would not being paying the bill for the dog they "had under their wing" So needless to say it is another bill for me to pay. All they cared about was how to protect their group, and not admit that this was the right decision.

Needless to say the lies that have come out since Tuesday have stretched from the stupid to the quite bizarre, with fungus claiming I killed a dog on Thursday with my own bare hands, no vets involved! The group decided last night to launch a public attack calling me a dog murderer, which go ahead. They stated the dog was killed because "I could not be bothered to care for him" Yet another one of their dogs I have had here several months, who needs 24 hour care..... if that is their philosophy, why have I not put him to sleep. Oh yes maybe because you are talking rubbish.

They seem to have forgotten the only reason that dog was in my kennels was due to their group, that  the dog was not legally chipped to me, therefore, not my decision to make. Yet I was the one that sat with their dog, sorted out their mess, and paid their bill....... and yet as always I'm the bad one!

Let's Clear Something Up!

Over the last week I have received messages and seen comments regarding my Blog, and I want to clear a few things up. This is my blog, my little piece of the internet, where to be honest, I can say what I want, about what or who I want. If you want to do the same, setting up a blog is incredibly easy, and might be better for you than writing me pointless messages.

My aim with the blog was never to attack people, but I will defend myself, and to show the real side of rescue. The shit, and the pain, and the daily hassle I receive for rescuing animals, and making a difference. This also means that basically I get to write what I want, this may not want to be what you want to read, which is no problem at all.

Part of the joy of blogging is that you are able to write what comes into your head, and not censoring it on the way out. It is like walking into a room, and suddenly speaking about random stuff, and seeing who will hang around to listen. I am not going to stop, or apologise for the blog, and if you stumbled upon me please feel free to leave.

If you cannot cope with my views, opinions, or what I write, please feel free to exit, and gently close the door on your way out. Again if you do nothing but slag me off, read the blog to repost and attack me, the exits are clearly marked. Contrary to popular belief I have no issue with people having a different opinion to mine, however, this is my blog not yours.

So simply put this is my blog, my thoughts, my feelings, and opinions, which means the style and content of the blog are not going to change anytime soon. If you like the blog, then welcome, and enjoy the ride. However, if you find that you are regularly losing your shit, and getting upset by what I write, then I would advise using the exits 

                                            here ⬆️, here ➡️, here ⬅️, here ⬇️ and here ↗️

I Wouldn't Consider It to be Brave!

A lady said to me the other day "you must be so brave" now I know what I do is stressful, and a challenge, however, it is not that scary. I soon discovered she was in fact referring to living abroad, which made me chuckle, as to be honest, what am I actually risking. I never understand why people consider moving abroad to be so scary, surely it is the same as moving anywhere.

Don't get me wrong living abroad provides numerous amusing ways to mess up on a daily basis, and any dignity you may have built up over the years will vanish. The social and linguistic pitfalls of daily life can be a challenge. The language here is filled with many sneaky ways to ensure that you are humiliated regularly.

Just one example of me standing being laughed at is the word "huevoes" which literally translates to eggs, however, this is often how Canarians describe their testicles. So, standing at the farmers market asking if they have eggs will be met with a huge smile, and a reply of "yes, two large ones" The amusement will be clear, but you will have no idea why, and I have found the best way to deal with this is to nod and smile.

There are problems and issues wherever you move to regardless of where in the world, and to be honest GC is actually an incredibly safe place to live. There are no flesh eating zombies, and it is not an active war zone, therefore, I don't think I need to be brave. What this lady considered to be terrifying, is simply life, and I deal with this every day.

I once asked a Canarian if he had ever been to the USA, this was met with shock, as he could think of nothing worse, due to the laws regarding drinking in the street. Everywhere has its challenges, and different things scare different people, but living abroad, piece of cake!

Of Course I talk To Them!

Someone was surprised the other day that I talk to my animals, and I am not just talking about the cats and dogs, you can often find me chatting away to the ducks, and ferrets. To me there is nothing strange in having a conversation with the animals, and before you lock me away, I am well aware they will not answer me... (or do they )

As I spend a huge majority of the day with my animals, I find it normal that I chat away telling them about my day, and what I am doing next. Most people do in fact speak to their pets, as they consider them to be part of the family, and short, simple sentences are usual. However, I of course take this to the next level, and ask open ended questions. 

I will often ask the horses how their day was, expecting them to look up and reply " great day thanks, ate some hay, drank some water, life is good" Up until now I can clarify that no animal has replied, but you never know one day maybe! There have been many studies done on why we speak to animals, and it has been proven that you are in fact more intelligent if you chat to your pet. 

There has also been evidence to show that we chat to our animals when we feel the need to "create" a human to hang out with, a bit like an imaginary friend. This is for those people that have little real human interaction, and need to socialise more. Well that would be me then, however, I would rather have a conversation with a duck than over 80% of the human race.

I also do believe that my animals do in fact answer me..... hold off with the padded cell for a moment, not in the actual sense of answering me, but they respond. All animals have things they do to show they are listening, or that they understand and are happy, or not. Therefore, wouldn't it be rude for me not to speak to them?

So, next time you are sat at home, start a conversation with the cat, or dog you may be surprised how much you enjoying chatting to someone that won't argue, and the worst they can do is walk off when bored. Me, I'm going off to chat to the chickens, and ask how the sheep slept last night..... crazy much, but hey you have to be! 

Accidents Happen!

Mornings here are hectic as every animal wants feeding at exactly the same time, which results in a lot of barking, door kicking, and tripping over animals. When it is feed delivery day it is even more chaos. In the morning I am joined by one of my Yorkies, he runs around, and is like my shadow, which is not usually a problem. Over the years he has begun to slow down, and now he is nearing 10 he moves and responds slower.

So, the feed arrived, the guys begin unloading, shouting at the dog to move over and over, as small dogs always have the ability to trip you up. the last thing off the lorry are always the bales, as these are between 400-600KG and need to come off in one swift motion.

Now over the years we have found the most effective way to do this is allow the guys to drive up the property, reserve at high speed and slam on the brakes. This causes the bale to come flying off the back and usually falls exactly where we want. As the lorry went up the property this day my husband started shouting at the dog to move, something distracted him, he stopped for a second, just as the bale impacted the ground.

All we could hear was the muffled sounds of my dog, being crushed by a huge bale, the guys ran and managed to move the bale off which had trapped him against the wall. I picked him up and knew straight away that he had broken his hip, so off I rushed to the vets. He was lucky to be alive, and I was sure he must have more damaged than just his hip.

The xrays showed a broken hip, which we hoped was an easy fix, but sadly the first attempt didn't work, and I made the decision to put him under major surgery. As with all surgery there is a risk, however, my vet is the best at what he does, and my dog needed his quality of life back. Yesterday was a day of worry, but he came through the surgery, and now has a bionic leg. Let the healing process begin, so I can be joined by him again in the mornings, as he is my shadow, and I am missing him.

What A Waste of A Day!

Yesterday started so well, then one of the idiots posted on one of these many "warning sites" which are in fact simply platforms for drama queens to get attention. I stupidly responded, thinking that there must be some intelligent, sensible people on there, sadly after 5 hours of my life being sucked out of me, I realised they were after one thing drama!

The worst thing with these sites is how draining they are as you feel like you are speaking to a wall, as no matter how many times you say something, they ask the question again. The usual crap was written "I profit from the rescue" "I abuse dogs" "I kill dogs" yet when these idiots are asked for proof, they simply repeat the questions.

Of course fungus was there primed and ready, unemployed, sat on her sofa, spouting her complete BS for her friends to applaud. Yesterdays one was that she claims, I only save the dogs no one else will so I can put their photos on my blog, and get loads of money. She also claims that I leave all the healthy dogs in the pounds to die.

The laughable point to this is, I cannot win, if I take the healthy, I am leaving the sick, If I take the sick I am profiting, and getting healthy dogs killed. Maybe her answer is for me to take them ALL.... then I would be the pound, and the pound would not be the pound. She also claimed I was running away when I had animals to feed.... sorry fungus some of us have things to do, other than adjust yourself on the sofa, and charge the phone for more abuse.

So, today I will be doing what I do, which is working, running my rescue, and looking after Jellybean, three very satisfying things. I wonder what fungus will be doing other than being bitter, twisted, unemployed, lazy and slightly unhinged.

As A Child it All Seems So Magical

I grew up in the country, where having animals was the norm, everyone had something whether it was sheep, cows, or horses. There were many shit things with my childhood, however, the animals were the constant. They were my "friends" and I would feed them and care for them, providing hours of entertainment, and happiness.

I learnt to ride at an early age, and I was very good, I had no fear, and would take on the biggest jump, the hardest pony, and the toughest challenges. I made sure that I became friends with the girls whose families were rich, so that I could spend hours around their ponies. I hunted these girls out, and shamelessly pretended to like them, when in fact all I wanted was the opportunity to ride.

I loved every moment of being at the stables, the smells, the sounds, the magical world that it had opened up to me. When your childhood is not the best, you immerse yourself in other worlds, and mine was horses, and animals. Everything came together, and the scruffy kid who everyone thought was weird, got the opportunity of a lifetime.

This time of my life was care free, I bonded with the ponies I was privileged to ride, and they were my best friends. I told them everything, all my secrets, my dreams, and of course my problems, and to this day they were the best listeners. Sadly, I hit a bump in the road, and went off the rails, giving up on my dreams, and moved on with life.

Boyfriends, college, and life took over, and I left my care free world behind, and plunged face first into adulthood. Over the next few years the memories were there, and I always vowed that one day I would have my own horses, this dream was shelved for later, much later so it turned out. One day I found myself middle aged up a mountain, back in the middle of no where, but with the finances, and facilities to fulfil that dream.

The child in me was delighted, everything was in place, all the goodies were bought that as a child I would lust over, nose pressed against the glass of the tack shop. Of course I wanted to rescue a horse, not buy one, so the day Magic was offered to me, I burst with excitement. You would think everything was perfect now, however, it wasn't.

I soon discovered keeping horses as an adult is hard work, everything is tougher, and a huge challenge. Older bones are stiffer in the morning, and the spring in my step was more of a dawdle. I wanted to go back to the place I remember, the 5am starts full of enthusiasm, and excitements, where nothing mattered, just me and the ponies.

Sadly, it was impossible to reach, it had gone, and the magical world was now a grown up one, still with amazing horses, but an older me. The fearless child had been replaced with a cautious adult, who didn't want her feet stamped on, or her bones broken if she fell. I apologised to the teenage girl inside me, and realised I would not get back in the saddle, the reality was I would not bounce like I once had if I fall.

Horses had not changed, but I had lived a whole life, and become aware of my mortality. I realised that day that life changes us, and no matter how much you want to capture that dream, memories have to be enough. When I close my eyes I can see that teenage girl, galloping at full pelt across a field, with no riding hat on, and no cares in the world. I consider myself to have been lucky to be that girl, and lucky that I can watch my horses from the ground, thriving and enjoying life.

It Is Me That Picks Up The Pieces

We get asked  a lot for the history of the dogs in our care, and the reality is this is something we rarely have. People drop off their dogs to the pounds, or discard them on the streets without a second thought. If you do manage to speak to the owner they tend to lie, and this is not only pointless, but can be dangerous.

When we collect a dog we know nothing, all we know is that the dog in front of us is usually terrified. They either pee themselves and stand so still in fear of what might happen, or they lunge, teeth showing, in an attempt to get us to go away. Is the dog aggressive, 90% of the time no, they are simply terrified.

Every dog I collect I have to treat as potentially dangerous for the safety of everyone, some come around quickly, others take time. Some dogs have to be left for days to adjust to their new "life" As I walk past their kennel they get the "speech" the life is shit, and I am sorry, and I am going to make sure life gets better speech.

Some dogs are simply hysterical, they want to tear me apart, as they see me as the person who has taken them from their owner, not that their wonderful arsehole owner was the one that dumped them. To these dogs their whole world has been turned upside down, and all they want is to go home. Sadly, that isn't possible, so we have to suck it up, and get on with moving forward.

To the owner who walked their dog into the pound, I want to say:

Thank you for being a total arsehole, I know nothing about your dog, and they could potentially be destroyed as their behaviour is a concern. We do not know if it is fear, or they are actually aggressive. Your dog has been so emotionally scarred that I cannot even enter the kennel to feed them without help, as they throw themselves at me in an attempt to get me to leave.

Don't worry though I won't give up like you did, I will pick up the pieces, and repair your dogs broken heart. I wont stop loving your dog like you did, and I will do everything in my power to help them overcome their fears, and move forward with their life. As you move on without a care in the world, all I ask is that you never get another dog to do the same again.