Rescue Anniversary

I am terrible about dates. Other than the date of my high school graduation, from which I can deduce the dates of my college and law school graduations, I can't tell you when anything happened in my life. My partner Clay knows more of the salient dates in my life than I do, even those that pre-date our relationship. He can tell you how old he was and in what year various events occurred in his own life. My brain has never worked like that. But, I do remember that it was on St. Patrick's Day that we began rescue work.

The year, I believe, was 2001. We had adopted Cabell from Animal Connections as a pet for Gypsy. He is still the only dog she cares for. Cabell is a St. Bernard mix with an absolutely wonderful disposition. After meeting the folks with Animal Connections I decided it was something I'd like to get involved with. We got word that there was a pregnant female rottweiler at the Louisa County shelter. I headed to Southern States to buy a kennel to attach to our of our sheds, while Clay and his mother headed to the little town of Mineral to look for the shelter and bring home the dog.

Since it was St. Patrick's Day, we called her Maggie. Like all dogs in that shelter, Maggie came with a stench that required an open window drive home. Maggie is a rottweiler and I was interested in saving her because of our own rottie, Jack. Maggie was young, a first time mother with an unplanned, unwanted pregnancy, and she was badly malnourished herself. Maggie was everything you could ask for in a rottweiler. She was friendly, playful, and so very happy to be out of the shelter.

She knew nothing about being a mother and we knew nothing about whelping puppies. In spite of our collective ignorance, nature took its course and Maggie delivered 10 puppies less than a week later. The birth took her by surprise and the first one dropped when she was outside. I thought it had died, but later found him lodged in the kennel fencing trying to get to his mom. When reunited with her inside the shed, he warmed, suckled, and survived.

Maggie wasn't interested in being a mother. She thought her part in the process was done and she just wanted to be my dog. Clay and I took turns staying with them so she would stay with the puppies and let them nurse. Only six survived, but given our experience level, I think that was a minor miracle. We found homes for the puppies and eventually found the best home for Maggie with a physical therapist I had been seeing for my back and her boyfriend, now husband. She now lives in upstate New York where she enjoys a very active life with very active outdoor people and is doted on and spoiled by her grandparents whenever they get the chance to dog sit. They send a christmas card and photo every year. Maggie is now graying and showing some signs of arthritis, which makes me realize how long we've been on this road.

We would have kept Maggie, but Gypsy positively vetoed that, and it's probably a good thing that it happened that way. Giving up your first foster is always the hardest, but it is necessary if you want to continue in rescue. I can't tell you how many dogs have passed through here since Maggie, but they number in the hundreds.

We keep Maggie in our hearts, of course, and we kept a little piece of her corporeally as well because we adopted the last of her pups, Fuzzy Bear, whom we now call Bremo (right).