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This is ' Faith '
This dog was born on Christmas Eve in the year 2002. He was born with 3 legs- 2 healthy hind legs and 1 abnormal front leg which needed to be amputated. He of course could not walk when he was born. Even his mother did not want him.
His first owner also did not think that he could survive. therefore, he was thinking of ' putting him to sleep'.By this time, his present owner, Jude Stringfellow, met him and wanted to take care of him. She was determined to teach and train this dog to walk by himself. Therefore she named him'Faith'.
In the beginning, she put Faith on a surfing board to let him feel the movements. Later she used peanut butter on a spoon as a lure and reward for him to stand up and jump around! Even the other dog at home also helped to encourage him to walk. Amazingly, only after 6 months, like a miracle, Faith learned to balance on his 2 hind legs and jumped to move forward.
After further training in the snow, he now can walk like a human being. Faith loves to walk around now. No matter where he goes, he just attracts all the people around him.
He is now becoming famous on the international scene. He has appeared on various newspapers and TV shows. There is even one book entitled' With a Little Faith' being published about him. He was even considered in one of the Harry Potter movies.
His present owner Jude Stringfellow has given up her teaching post and plans to take him around the world to preach that even without a perfect body, one can have a perfect soul.
In life there are always undersirable things. Perhaps one will feel better if one changes the point of view from another direction. I hope this message will bring fresh new ways of thinking to everyone and that everyone can appreciate and be thankful for each beautiful day that follows.
Fath is the continual demonstration of the Strength of Life.
sent in by Lee.
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By Bryan Cummins
Illustrations by Nick Craine
Taken from: Dogs in Canada Annual 2005
From the Atlantic to the Pacific and from the Great Lakes to the Arctic Ocean, dogs played an important role in First Nations cultures. In addition to being hunters, draught animals, sentries and sometimes a food item, they were central characters in myths and legends.
The Netsilik ( Netsilingmiut - " people of the seal ") are Central Inuit whose traditional territory lies to the northwest of Hudson Bay. Nuliajuk is a major deity in Netsilik religion and is considered the mother of all animals and the mistress of both land and sea.
There are two stories that account for the origin of Nuliajuk, both of which include a dog. In the more common version, people long ago left their home and, as they would be crossing the water, they made a large raft of several kayaks that were tied together. As the very crowded rafts were pulling away, a little girl named Nuliajuk jumped onto the raft along with the other children. But she had no family so nobody cared about her. The children threw her off the raft and as she tried to climb back on, they chopped her fingers off. As she sank to the bottom of the sea, the stumps of her figers became alive as they bobbed about in the water like seals. In this way, seals came into existence.
Nuliajuk herself sank to the bottom of the sea where she became the sea spirit and the mother of all sea beasts. And, she became mistress of everything else that lives, including land beasts, which people need to hunt. Because of the way she was treated, she has no affection for people and given that she is the most powerful spirit, she exerts considerable control over the destinies of people and is thus the most feared of all spirits. She lives in a house on the bed of the sea. Along the passageway of the house, there is a big black dog that keeps watch. Nobody can get past him except for the most powerful shamans, of whom he is afraid.
The dog-husband story is fairly common through-out much of North America and, in fact, is found in Asia, as well. There is a Netsilik version of the myth that explains not only the origin of Nuliajuk, but the origins of First Nations and Europeans and, intriguingly perhaps, Netsilik perceptions of them. Of course, the inclusion of references to Europeans indicates that this is a post-contact story, suggesting the dynamism of Netsilik culture.
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To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door - nose height.
Dear Dogs and Cats;
The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.
the stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottem is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and Cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.
For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years -- canine or feline attendance is not required.
The proper order is kiss me,then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!
To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door: To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Like to Complain About Our Pets:
1. They live here.You don't.
2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the the furniture. ( That's why they call it 'fur'niture.)
3. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.
Dogs and cats are better than kids because they:
1. Eat less
2. Don't ask for money all the time.
3. Are easier to train.
4. Normally come when called.
5. Never ask to drive the car.
6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends.
7. Don't smoke or drink.
8. Don't have to buy the lastest fashions.
9. Don't want to wear your clothes.
10. Don't need a gazillion dollars for college, .... and<>11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children
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Guess who came home for dinner ?
<>This fawn followed this Beagle home, right through the doggie door, in the Bittinger,MD. area recently. The owner came home to find the visitor had made himself right to home. This hit the 6 o'clock news big time.<> Sent in by Rachal
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It had been two weeks since I visited the local dog pound and its denizen. the story, not surprisingly, had attracted a lot of attention from rescue groups in the area. They were pleased someone from the city paper had taken the time to write a story on why dogs end up in the pound. It was hoped it might raise some awareness.
I found my mind wandering back to that sad place time and again. I wondered how feisty little Patsy was, and if she had been adopted yet. I also worried for Popper, the young Border Collie. I was deeply troubled in my spirit.
As I sat staring blankly at my computor screen, trying to concentrate on another story, I felt the familiar warmth of a little chin resting on my knee.
" Hi Sweetie." I stroked the soft fur of my own dog, Sophie. She always knew when I was upset. They all seem to just know. There was then a gentle nudge of my arm on the opposite side as my other dog, Banner, veid for my affections. Border Collies, both of them.
" I have to go back, " I said, looking into Sophie's intelligent eyes. " I have to know."
Return to the Pound
Once again, I found myself in that foul smelling kennel area. No matter how many times you clean a place like this, the stench is always there. It must be hell for dogs, having such a keen sense of smell.
Pete's old kennel had a new tenant, some sort of Labrador mix. She was black with small white markings on her chest and paws. There was a food dish in the corner, the kibble untouched by the look of it. She lay on her side, whining. I could see she had recently had pups by the swollen teats. Poor girl.
I moved past the Lab, to Spartan's old kennel. Empty. Good! I held my breath as I approached Popper's kennel, hoping beyond hope that he had been adopted. I was not prepared for what I saw. This once proud, handsome young Border Collie was now a quivering mass in the corner of his kennel. He glanced up at me briefly, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, then he begun to cough violently. His tail was tucked tightly between his shaking legs.
" Oh Popper!" I cried. " What has happened to you?" Popper simply cowered into the corner, shrinking away from my voice.
" It's his breed," a familiar voice spoke from behind. " they're too sensitive. The noise and smells drive them crazy. Intelligent fellows like him can't take the long hours of boredom and lack of companionship." I turned around to see my little friend Patsy, the Jack Russell Terrier. I peered through her kennel gate.
" Ah Patsy," I shook my head. " I had hoped you would have found a nice home."
" I did," Patsy replied. " Well, at least I thought I did. The day you came here, someone came in and chose me. It turned out the same ... another person who wanted a cut little dog, but not the work it takes to keep them happy. She brought me back just three days later, tired of my constant playing and running about, bouncing off the furniture." Patsy stood on her hind legs, resting her little paws on the gate." But guess what? A man and a little girl came here yesterday, they smelled VERY good too! They petted me, and played with me. Then they threw a ball for me. I brought it right back to them like a good dog!" Patsy was becoming very excited. Her stubby little tail wagged rapidly back and forth, making me grin. " They kept talking about something called flyball ! The man said they were going to go talk to someone named Mom, and maybe they would come back."
I smiled. Maybe they would come back. In the meantime, I had some questions for Patsy. " What has happened in here since my last visit?" She dropped back down onto her haunches, and became sullen.
" I hate this place," she said. " That Lab down there?" I nodded. " Well, she came in with ten puppies. Someone just dumped them all like garbage at the front door. That was last week. Five days ago, some of her young became very, very ill. I remember smelling the sickness ... the smell of blood. The workers came in, they called the sickness Parvo. They were very agitated. Six of her young died, the other four went behind the steel door." Patsy shuddered. " She has been mourning since, and will not eat."
" Lord have mercy," I whispered.
" That's not all," she said. " the disease has run through the kennel, and others have gone behind the steel door. I suppose I was lucky, I was vaccinated. So was Popper, but he has The Cough." As if on cue, Popper once again was seized by a coughing fit behind us.
" I have to get out of here," Patsy wailed. " I am so frightened!" Once again I was questioning the logic of my return to this God forsaken olace.
" Oh Patsy," I opened the door to here kennel and picked her up in my arms, cuddling her close. I could feel her trembling.
" You smell different," she said suddenly stopping and sniffing me. " You ...smell...like one of ...THEM."
" Them?" I asked.
" A Rescuer!" She sniffed me once more, her little tail wagging rapidly. Just then, the door to the kennel room opened, and a pound worker and a man with a little girl came in. The little girl rushed toward Patsy's kennel, but stopped abruptly when she saw me holding her.
" Oh no!" she wailed. " You aren't taking my dog are you?" I quickly put Patsy into her waiting arms, and said " No young lady, she is all yours! But take very good care of her, she is one special little dog."
" Yay! Daddy look!" she squealed as Patsy planted little dog kisses all over her cheeks.
" Daddy, is she really mine?"
" Yes Honey, she is really yours," her father beamed. The worker instructed them to be sure to bleach the bottoms of their shoes as they left, and I saw a brilliant sparkle in Patsy's eyes as she looked at me over the shoulder of her new little master. This time, I was certain, it would be okay ... at least for this one little dog.
As I left the building, and the many sad and despairing dogs it held, I could not help but wonder how anyone with a heart could abandon their beloved and devoted pet. Ignorance and selfishness are the cause of so much grief. These amazing animals give humans their whole hearts. They serve them, protect them, and give themunconditional love regardless of how they are treated. Their capacity for forgiveness is something I will never comprehend ..and yet they are so often treated like trash by the very ones they trust. Their loyalty is repaid with blind indifference.
Opening the door to my car, I wiped a tear from my cheek, and looked down. " Patsy isn't the only dog who will find out what flyball is, right Popper?" Popper looked up at me, a glimmer of hope returning to his glazed eyes, his tail wagging slightly between his legs. I knelt down, cupped his sweet little face in my hands, and looked him in the eyes. " It's off to the vet with you, and then when you are well, you are going to meet your new brother and sister."
This is a work of fiction, and as such, I have chosen to end it on a happy note. I truly wish all pound stories ended in such a manner, but sadly, this is not the case. For most animals, the story ends quite differently. According to the Humane Society in the USA, THIRTY EIGHT ANIMALS PER MINUTE are put to death for no other reason than THEY EXIST. Responsibility begins with YOU.
Copyright Sally Hull 2006
Please contact for permission to post or print this story.
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