How It All Started
I've been asked several times how I started my journey in the world of animal rescue. There was never a plan or a formulated process for how or why I decided to get involved, it's just something that happened. Something I was meant to be a part of.
Growing up we always had dogs. At first our family purchased puppies from a breeder in PA. Ugh, that word. Looking back now I know the "breeder" my parents used to purchase Jojo, our family boxer, was nothing more than an over run, unkempt, disgusting backyard breeder. I'll never forget my mother asking to use the bathroom only to open the door and be greeted by the wet snout of a very pregnant momma to be. Or the sheer number of dogs that were kenneled or otherwise kept on the property. This should have been indication enough that things just weren't "right" with this breeder, but inexperience and lack of research are vital enemies of unsuspecting persons.
Though Jojo lived well into her glory years, Justice our next purchase from the same breeder, was not as lucky. He was only four when he was carried out of the house on a piece of plywood. He couldn’t move let alone walk and the paralysis had set in quickly and abruptly. He hadn't been sick, not even a sniffle. In fact, other than being lengthy and tall he hadn’t had a single health issue in his four years of existence. He never made it home after that night. He was the result of inbreeding. A breeder’s greed for money had resulted in blood lines that were too close.
From that point on the only dogs that graced the Sears house were rescues. They came from ugly backgrounds whether they were strays that ate their babies in New Jersey or dogs that were misplaced by hurricane Katrina. They found solace in the Sears house and we found a new and unconditional kind of love from them.
We learned how to be patient; we avoided raising our voices, avoided slamming a door simply because we were mad. We learned how the sound of running water could instill the fear of god into a dog who had survived a flood and how the simplest and softest of noises could wake a slumbering rescue from the depths of dream land faster and more abruptly than the fog horn could wake a ship lost at sea. Through my parent’s decision to rescue, I learned how to be a more compassionate and caring person. I learned how to pick up the pieces that others so carelessly tossed away and arrange them in such a way that the completed soul was more beautiful than before. I learned how to be human.
Since we began this journey of fulfillment (that's what I like to refer to it as...my husband may have a few less motivating words to describe it) I have wanted to keep a journal of sorts. To note each dogs personalities, their names and most importantly their stories. This is what this page will be dedicated to.
I've been asked several times how I started my journey in the world of animal rescue. There was never a plan or a formulated process for how or why I decided to get involved, it's just something that happened. Something I was meant to be a part of.
Growing up we always had dogs. At first our family purchased puppies from a breeder in PA. Ugh, that word. Looking back now I know the "breeder" my parents used to purchase Jojo, our family boxer, was nothing more than an over run, unkempt, disgusting backyard breeder. I'll never forget my mother asking to use the bathroom only to open the door and be greeted by the wet snout of a very pregnant momma to be. Or the sheer number of dogs that were kenneled or otherwise kept on the property. This should have been indication enough that things just weren't "right" with this breeder, but inexperience and lack of research are vital enemies of unsuspecting persons.
Though Jojo lived well into her glory years, Justice our next purchase from the same breeder, was not as lucky. He was only four when he was carried out of the house on a piece of plywood. He couldn’t move let alone walk and the paralysis had set in quickly and abruptly. He hadn't been sick, not even a sniffle. In fact, other than being lengthy and tall he hadn’t had a single health issue in his four years of existence. He never made it home after that night. He was the result of inbreeding. A breeder’s greed for money had resulted in blood lines that were too close.
From that point on the only dogs that graced the Sears house were rescues. They came from ugly backgrounds whether they were strays that ate their babies in New Jersey or dogs that were misplaced by hurricane Katrina. They found solace in the Sears house and we found a new and unconditional kind of love from them.
We learned how to be patient; we avoided raising our voices, avoided slamming a door simply because we were mad. We learned how the sound of running water could instill the fear of god into a dog who had survived a flood and how the simplest and softest of noises could wake a slumbering rescue from the depths of dream land faster and more abruptly than the fog horn could wake a ship lost at sea. Through my parent’s decision to rescue, I learned how to be a more compassionate and caring person. I learned how to pick up the pieces that others so carelessly tossed away and arrange them in such a way that the completed soul was more beautiful than before. I learned how to be human.
Since we began this journey of fulfillment (that's what I like to refer to it as...my husband may have a few less motivating words to describe it) I have wanted to keep a journal of sorts. To note each dogs personalities, their names and most importantly their stories. This is what this page will be dedicated to.
Fosters- Just passing through
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