finding homes for goldens in need

Sam Shelton was concerned that her black lab, “Daisy”, who is not a fan of other dogs would not like a new puppy. Looks like Mooch fits right into the Shelton household after a few short months.

Thank you to Jim and Cynthia for the donation you gave at the beach blast. We don’t have your contact info and would like to send you a “thank you” note and add you to our email distribution list. Please contact us at contact@goldenretrieverrescueofsouthernmaryland.org.

They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie,
>as I looked at him lying in his pen.. The shelter was
>clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly.
>I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere
>I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open
Everyone waves when you pass them on
>the
>street.
>
>But something was still missing as I attempted to
>settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog
>couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to.
>And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local
>news. The shelter said they had received numerous
>calls right after, but they said the people who had come
>down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab
>people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve
>thought I did.
>
>But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me
>in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad,
bag of toys almost all of which were
>brand new tennis
>balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous
>owner. See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off
>when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is
>how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his
>new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to
>adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.
>
>For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis
>balls — he wouldn’t go anywhere without two stuffed in
>his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked
>boxes. I guess I didn’t really think he’d need
>all his old stuff, that I’d get him new things once he
>settled in. But it became pretty clear pretty soon
>that he wasn’t going to.
>
>I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he
>knew, ones like “sit” and “stay” and
>”come” and “heel,” and he’d follow
>them – when he felt like it. He never really seemed to
>listen when I called his name — sure, he’d look in my
>direction after the fourth or fifth time I said it, but then
>he’d just go back to doing whatever. When I’d
>ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly
>obey.
>
>This just wasn’t going to work. He chewed a
>couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little
>too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell.
>The friction got so bad that I couldn’t wait for the two
>weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search
>mode for my cell phone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I
>remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest
>room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the
>”damn dog probably hid it on me.”
>
>Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the
>shelter’s number, I also found his pad and other toys
>from the shelter…I tossed the pad in Reggie’s
>direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most
>enthusiasm I’d seen since bringing him home. But
>then I called, “Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come
>here and I’ll give you a treat.” Instead, he
>sort of glanced in my direction — maybe “glared”
>is more accurate — and then gave a discontented sigh and
>flopped down. With his back to me.
>
>Well, that’s not going to do it either, I
>thought. And I punched the shelter phone number.
>
>But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I
>had completely forgotten about that, too. “Okay,
>Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if
>your previous owner has any advice.”…. …..
>
>____________ _________ _________ _________
>
>
>To
>Whoever Gets My Dog:
>Well, I can’t say that I’m
>happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter
>could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner.
>I’m not even happy writing it. If you’re
>reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride
>with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He
>knew something was different. I have packed up his pad
>and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip,
>but this time… it’s like he knew something was
>wrong. And something is wrong…which is why I have
>to go to try to make it right.
>
>So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it
>will help you bond with him and he with
>you.
>
>First, he loves tennis balls.
>The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part
>squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always
>has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in
>there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t
>matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after it, so be
>careful – really don’t do it by any roads.. I made
>that mistake once, and it almost cost him
>dearly.
>
>Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff
>already told you, but I’ll go over them
>again: Reggie knows the obvious ones —
>”sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”
>He knows hand signals:
>”back” to turn around and go back when you put
>your hand straight up; and “over” if you put your
>hand out right or left. “Shake” for shaking
>water off, and “paw” for a high-five. He
>does “down” when he feels like lying down — I bet
>you could work on that with him some more. He knows
>”ball” and “food” and “bone”
>and “treat” like nobody’s
>business.
>
>I trained Reggie with small food
>treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces
>of hot dog.
>
>Feeding schedule: twice a day,
>once about seven in the morning, and again at six in
>the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter
>has the brand.
>
>He’s up on his shots.
>Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with
>yours; they’ll make sure to send you reminders for when
>he’s due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the
>vet. Good luck getting him in the car — I don’t
>know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but
>he knows.
>
>Finally, give him some time.
>I’ve never been married, so it’s only been Reggie
>and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere
>with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if
>you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he
>doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be
>around people, and me most especially.
>
>Which means that this transition is
>going to be hard, with him going to live with someone
>new.
>
>And that’s why I need to share
>one more bit of info with you…..
>
>His name’s not
>Reggie.
>
>I don’t know what made me do it, but
>when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them
>his name was Reggie.
>He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it
>and will respond to it, of that I have no
>doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his
>real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that
>handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting
>that I’d never see him again. And if I end up
>coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it
>means everything’s fine. But if someone else is
>reading it, well …. well it means that his new owner should
>know his real name. It’ll help you bond with
>him. Who knows, maybe you’ll even notice a change
>in his demeanor if he’s been giving you
>problems.
>
>His real name is “Tank”.
>
>Because that is what I
>drive.
>
>Again, if you’re reading this
>and you’re from the area, maybe my name has been on the
>news. I told the shelter that they couldn’t make
>”Reggie” available for adoption until they
>received word from my company commander. See, my
>parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve
>left Tank with … and it was my only real request of the
>Army upon my deployment to Iraq , that they make one phone…
>call the shelter … in the “event” … to tell
>them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily,
>my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon
>was headed. He said he’d do it
>personally. And if you’re reading this, then
>he made good on his word.
>
>Well, this letter is getting downright depressing,
>even though, frankly, I’m just
>writing it for my dog. I couldn’t imagine if I was
>writing it for a wife and kids and family … but still,
>Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as
>long as the Army has been my family.
>
>And now I hope and pray that you
>make him part of your family and that he will adjust and
>come to love you the same way he loved me.
>
>That unconditional love from a dog
>is what I take with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do
>something selfless, to protect innocent people from those
>who would do terrible things … and to keep those terrible
>people from coming over here. If I have to give up Tank
>in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He is
>my example of service and of love. I hope I honored
>him by my service to my country and comrades.
>
>All right, that’s enough.
>I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at
>the shelter. I don’t think I’ll say another
>good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first
>time. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he
>finally got that third tennis ball in his
>mouth.
>
>Good luck with Tank. Give him
>a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight – every
>night – from me.
>
>Thank you, Paul
>Mallory
>
>____________ _________ _________ _______
>
>
>I folded
>the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I
>had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even
>new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few
>months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he
>gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at
>half-mast all summer.
>
>I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on
>my knees, staring at the dog.
>
>”Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.
>
>The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his
>eyes bright.
>
>”C’mere boy.”
>
>He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on
>the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head
>tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months.
>
>”Tank,” I whispered.
>
>His tail swished.
>
>I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each
>time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture
>relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood
>him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried
>my face into his scruff and hugged him.
>
>”It’s me now, Tank, just you and me.
>Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and
>licked my cheek. “So whatdaya say we play some
>ball?” His ears perked again.
>”Yeah? Ball? You like that?
>Ball?” Tank tore from my hands and
>disappeared in the next room.
>
>And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in
>his mouth.

What will it be like to spend Labor Day Weekend with 400 golden retrievers and their families? Joe and I and three of our goldens will find out next week as we trek up to Northern PA to sleep in a cabin, frolic in a lake, dine with our dogs, and staff a table for the rescue.

Dogs can spend most of the weekend off leash which should be heaven for them. Our trip north includes stopping at three dog parks along the way.

There’s still room for you and your golden!

For more info go to Goldstock .

Cheyenne, who was loved by Norm and Gail Bleakley, was helped over the bridge today. She had a wonderful last year of life after being given up by her owners when she was 10. 5 years old.

At her initial vet appt she was not making red blood cells and the vet said she had only a couple of weeks to live, but she defied the odds and spent her last year travelin to the beach, taking long walks with her foster dad and loving her foster mom.

Thank you all for your financial donations that allow us to provide care for our foster dogs and for our foster families who provide the love.

Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….

Tony’s Bella rests after frolicking at the beach.

The rain held off and goldens gathered and enjoyed the beach. Thank you to Stephanie for hosting us. Here are some photos taken by Joanne Klein.

Lots of folks are afraid to trim their dog’s nails, but it really isn’t that hard. Start slowly by simply handling your dog’s paws.

Trim just a wee bit off the tip of a nail. Say “good boy (or girl) and offer a treat. That may be all you can do the first time.

Then try again later. At our house we trim a paw, get a treat. With Holly, our golden who doesn’t like to have her nails trimed, one of us pets her head or massages her shoulders as a distraction and often just trim the longest nails. Of course, she gets a treat and praise.

Here’s a slide show of how to trim nails. Since many vets charge at least $10 to trim nails, with the $120 you save each year you can buy a treat for yourself to reward your hard labor:) Nail Trim

I wanted to add this photo of Nena so that you can all see just how lovely she is . . . especially in contrast to Mark’s barn and yard-work pants. She is not only beautiful, but also flawlessly well-behaved and sweet. And she seems right at home already! We adore her!

Nena, who was born in Santa Domingo, is a not quite two year old golden girl whose family gave her up due to their allergies. Joanne and Mark are fostering to adopt her.

She’ll likely be at the beach blast tomorrow (Sunday at 1 p.m.) Call Stephanie at 301.994.0061 for directions to her Piney Point Home.