imbedded in his hind end.
The people at the humane society kept him his allotted seven days and then some because he was friendly, and they figured if someone had once spent the money to have his leg amputated, maybe that person would be looking for him. But no one came.
I met him on his tenth day. I was dropping off a donation of blankets at the humane society and happened to walk by and see him. Looking down through the wire mesh of his cage, I thought he was an appealing little guy, and my heart went out to him. But I really couldn’t take another dog home; I had four already. There has to be a limit, I thought, I can’t save them all.
Driving away from the humane society, I knew the dog would be destroyed if I didn’t take him. I felt so helpless. As I passed a church, the sign announcing this week’s sermon caught my eye. It was right before Christmas and appropriately it read: “Is There Room at the Inn?”
I knew at that moment there was always room for one more, especially one that needed my love.
As soon as the humane society opened the next morning, their phone rang. “I’m coming for that old beat-up dog. Save him for me,” I told them.
I couldn’t get there fast enough. And from the moment I claimed him, he gave his heart to me completely.
In my experience, there is nothing like the feeling of rescuing a dog. Dogs are loving creatures already, but add the element of relief and gratitude, and true devotion flows. It is an immensely satisfying bond that I wouldn’t trade for all the puppies in the world.
I named the dog Tugs, because he had tugged on my heartstrings, and I did all I could to make his life a happy one. In return, Tugs brought new meaning to the term adoration . Wherever I went, he wanted to be there too. He never took his eyes off me and with a simple glance in his direction, his whole body wagged with happiness. Despite his many handicaps and increasingly failing health, his enthusiasm for life was amazing. There was never an evening I came home that Tugs did not meet me at the door, eyes sparkling, his tail wagging excitedly.
We were together for a little over a year. And constantly during that time, I felt a silent current of love from him—strong, steady and deep—unceasingly flowing to me. When it was time for the vet to end his suffering, I held his head in my hands, the tears falling on his old muzzle, and watched as he gently fell asleep. Even in my sadness, I was grateful for the gift of his love.
For someone who has never had this kind of experience with a pet, there are no words to adequately explain it. But if you have loved an animal in this way and been loved so fully in return, nothing more needs to be said. Some people will understand that since Tugs has been gone, my fear of death has lessened—if death means finally joining Tugs, then let it happen when it will.
In the meantime, I continue my work: rescuing abandoned animals and finding them homes where they can taste love and give such happiness in return.
And oftentimes when I look into the sky and see the soft billowy clouds floating there, I find myself sending a little message: I love you, Tugs.
Susan Race
A Different Kind of Angel
Foaling season is a time for dreams. We’d just begun breeding Appaloosas on our Arizona ranch, and I was dreaming of blue ribbons and eager buyers. That first year the blazing coats of nine tiny Appaloosas had already transformed our pastures into a landscape of color. Their faces were bright with stars and blazes, their rumps glittering with patches and spots splashed over them like suds.
As we awaited the birth of our tenth foal, I was sure it would be the most colorful of all. Its father was a white stud with chestnut spots over half his body and a multicolored tail that touched the ground. The mother was covered with thousands of penny-size dots. I already had a name for their unborn offspring: Starburst.
“With horses, what you want and what you get are often two
The people at the humane society kept him his allotted seven days and then some because he was friendly, and they figured if someone had once spent the money to have his leg amputated, maybe that person would be looking for him. But no one came.
I met him on his tenth day. I was dropping off a donation of blankets at the humane society and happened to walk by and see him. Looking down through the wire mesh of his cage, I thought he was an appealing little guy, and my heart went out to him. But I really couldn’t take another dog home; I had four already. There has to be a limit, I thought, I can’t save them all.
Driving away from the humane society, I knew the dog would be destroyed if I didn’t take him. I felt so helpless. As I passed a church, the sign announcing this week’s sermon caught my eye. It was right before Christmas and appropriately it read: “Is There Room at the Inn?”
I knew at that moment there was always room for one more, especially one that needed my love.
As soon as the humane society opened the next morning, their phone rang. “I’m coming for that old beat-up dog. Save him for me,” I told them.
I couldn’t get there fast enough. And from the moment I claimed him, he gave his heart to me completely.
In my experience, there is nothing like the feeling of rescuing a dog. Dogs are loving creatures already, but add the element of relief and gratitude, and true devotion flows. It is an immensely satisfying bond that I wouldn’t trade for all the puppies in the world.
I named the dog Tugs, because he had tugged on my heartstrings, and I did all I could to make his life a happy one. In return, Tugs brought new meaning to the term adoration . Wherever I went, he wanted to be there too. He never took his eyes off me and with a simple glance in his direction, his whole body wagged with happiness. Despite his many handicaps and increasingly failing health, his enthusiasm for life was amazing. There was never an evening I came home that Tugs did not meet me at the door, eyes sparkling, his tail wagging excitedly.
We were together for a little over a year. And constantly during that time, I felt a silent current of love from him—strong, steady and deep—unceasingly flowing to me. When it was time for the vet to end his suffering, I held his head in my hands, the tears falling on his old muzzle, and watched as he gently fell asleep. Even in my sadness, I was grateful for the gift of his love.
For someone who has never had this kind of experience with a pet, there are no words to adequately explain it. But if you have loved an animal in this way and been loved so fully in return, nothing more needs to be said. Some people will understand that since Tugs has been gone, my fear of death has lessened—if death means finally joining Tugs, then let it happen when it will.
In the meantime, I continue my work: rescuing abandoned animals and finding them homes where they can taste love and give such happiness in return.
And oftentimes when I look into the sky and see the soft billowy clouds floating there, I find myself sending a little message: I love you, Tugs.
Susan Race
A Different Kind of Angel
Foaling season is a time for dreams. We’d just begun breeding Appaloosas on our Arizona ranch, and I was dreaming of blue ribbons and eager buyers. That first year the blazing coats of nine tiny Appaloosas had already transformed our pastures into a landscape of color. Their faces were bright with stars and blazes, their rumps glittering with patches and spots splashed over them like suds.
As we awaited the birth of our tenth foal, I was sure it would be the most colorful of all. Its father was a white stud with chestnut spots over half his body and a multicolored tail that touched the ground. The mother was covered with thousands of penny-size dots. I already had a name for their unborn offspring: Starburst.
“With horses, what you want and what you get are often two
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