Rock Solid Memories

By Cathy Scott 
Reprinted courtesy of Best Friends Animal Society 

Glance at a painting of a dog named Mia, and her eyes appear to be looking back at you, glistening. Mia is one of the animals now memorialized on painted rocks. Walk around Angels Rest memorial park at Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, and you will see a sampling of those painted rocks.

They’re the work of volunteer Linda David, who has painted more than 1,300 rocks for Best Friends. As Mary Pat Dutton, who worked at Angels Rest until recently, said, “She does it as a hobby that has turned into a labor of love.” 

Mia was my dog, rescued from four feet of water by a Best Friends team in the Gulf following Hurricane Katrina. She passed away from heart disease in 2009 and is buried at Angels Overlook on the Sanctuary grounds. Now, thanks to the generous artistry of Linda, when I look at Mia’s rock, her brown eyes appear to look back at me, her face has that same pouty look she often wore, and it’s like a piece of her is with me again. She was an old soul, and that too was captured in Linda’s portrait. 

“That is my favorite part to paint--the eyes--and I have to put them in near the beginning, and then they start to come alive to me,” she says. “When I see a picture of an animal, I know instantly if I want to paint it. Usually the eyes speak to me, and with a story such as Mia's, I always hope it will find its way to someone who will cherish it."
 
Cherish it, I do, as do others who cared for pets who are now memorialized on stones.

When she finished the latest paintings of animals, Linda suggested they be offered to the employees for whom these animals were extra-special, which is how I was given Mia’s rock. The others were placed at the head of their graves, complimenting the atmosphere at Angels Rest, where, as you walk around to view the graves and the rocks, you hear the sound of 900 chimes in the wind. 

The comments Linda gets back about her paintings is what makes it all worthwhile. “It is so nice to hear from people and to know how much they are enjoying the rocks,” she says. “That is why I do it.” 

She’s also done paintings of some of the animals who are still with us, like Georgia. Her story particularly touched Linda, which is why she chose to paint her image. “Georgia is one of the Victory dogs who have gone through so much and can still have so much love in their hearts. That is so amazing to me. They have such inspiring stories that we can all learn from,” she says. 

She also paints a variety of portraits as well as rocks with just the names of the dogs, cats, rabbits, potbellied pigs, horses -- you name it. “Some are the portraits of specific animals, some breeds, and some have things such as hearts and butterflies and names on them,” she says. 

Linda, who had a grooming career for many years, has always loved animals. Once she retired, she was a pet sitter for a few years. “Now I am enjoying painting the rocks, which I started about 10 years ago. I had watercolor lessons many years ago, and my teacher was very inspiring,” she says.  

In exchange for her artistry, it’s the response from the people who cared about the pets that is payment enough for her artwork. “One of the biggest compliments I've ever gotten was from a man who lost his dog, Lobo,” Linda says. He said if his house was ever on fire, his Lobo rock would be the first thing he would save. That's all the thanks I need.”

Photos by Molly Wald

Nosey and Me

Nosey, in a doll stroller, with Cathy (or is that Cordelia?)

By Cathy Scott

One of my earliest memories is the day our family got a dog. We named her Nosey because she sniffed all around the yard and house when she first came home. She was a pound puppy, and she was loyal. 

My twin sister Cordelia and I were 3 years old. I remember one Saturday morning running outside to the front yard and standing there in anticipation as our father pulled up to the curb. He had left that morning for the county pound, but we didn't know it. All we were told was he was coming home with a surprise. At the time, we lived in the Valencia Park community of San Diego, and our street was loaded with kids. Some were there with us, waiting.

Dad walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. I've never forgotten it. Nosey practically fell out of the car, but I'm sure my Dad had carried her down. She didn't have a leash on, but she didn't go anywhere. All five of us -- my brothers and sisters -- started fawning over her. She was the cutest, sweetest little short, black-and-white puppy with floppy ears, part beagle, part Basset hound. I've loved short dogs ever since. 

When we moved to La Mesa, a suburb of San Diego, we lived on a cul-de-sac, and Nosey was always outside with us. When we played softball in the traffic circle, she'd stay on the sidewalk as we played. I remember hanging out at our friends' house (Vickie and Sharon, who lived down the street), and Nosey would sit on the lawn in their front yard, waiting for us to come out.

When I was 7, our father won a trip to a convention in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We drove there, stayed a week, and then went for another week to Missouri, where my father grew up. We left Nosey with family friends, who lived 10 miles away. A couple days into it, Nosey got out and ran away. They looked everywhere and couldn't find her. The father decided to check our house. Sure enough, Nosey had made it home and was hiding in a corner of our basement. He left her at our house and went back each day to check on her and feed her. Nosey had never before been to their house, so it amazed us all that she had found her way home. She was there to greet us when we returned. 

When Nosey contracted hepatitis shortly after we moved to La Mesa, when we were still in grade school, the five of us, without our parents, took her to the vet. My brother Michael, the oldest and probably 17 at the time, carried her across the canyon behind our house that led us straight to the nearest veterinary clinic. The vet gave us medicine and said she had to stay there, because she was too sick to go home. He wasn't sure she'd make it. All of us said no, that she was coming home with us. We instinctually knew she had a much better chance at home. And we were right.

Once home, we laid her down on the living room floor on a blanket, where she stayed for about a week, barely moving except to eat some and go outside. I remember that first day, laying my head on the carpeted floor next to her, petting her, and Nosey growling. She wanted to be left alone. So that's what we all did; we gave her space. Within a week, she appeared to be well on the road to recovery. In no time at all, she was back to herself. That illness was probably the only time she ever growled at any of us.

Nosey passed away at 15 years old after suffering a couple of years with arthritis. Even back then, our mother used a natural remedy for arthritis, but at the time we didn't know it was holistic. She had read somewhere that cod liver oil eased the swelling in joints, so she put it on Nosey's food. Nosey was then able to walk up the porch steps for the first time in a long while. It helped for a time until she could no longer move around easily. And she was loaded with either tumors or fatty deposits. To combat California fleas, we regularly put flea powder on her coat, which, back then, was in the form of diatomaceous earth, also natural. And every Sunday, Mother would cook a pot roast, and Nosey would get the bone afterward. Nosey would stand in the kitchen waiting for the bone, along with some carrots and potatoes thrown in for good measure.

Seeing Nosey as a puppy again in this photo brought back memories. Our mother always called her "the doggie in the window," so she must have been at a window when our father first saw her at the pound (much smaller facilities back then). No wonder all of us kids became animal lovers. Our dad made sure of that when he gave us a puppy -- and, later, Guinea pigs, a parakeet, hamsters, rabbits, fish, a cat, and a horse named Star. Nosey was a member of our family. I still miss her.

Loss of a Friend

By Cathy Scott

I lost a friend over the weekend--a canine friend named Lizzie. She was my dog Molly's sibling. They were adopted separately at a Best Friends Animal Society event at PetsMart.

They were born in Orem, Utah, in the spring of 2000, in a back yard. The father dog was a red heeler and the mother, a basset hound. Eight dogs were in the litter; one was stillborn, three were adopted out by the people who had the mother dog, and the other four went to Best Friends.

I had gone to PetsMart that Sunday afternoon to buy cat food for my elderly cat, Tiki. I went home with a puppy, whose name at Best Friends was Princess Anne (whom I later named Molly). Lizzie was named Queen Elizabeth. Madison (adopted by Denise and Tony Meeker) was there too, as was King Charles (called "Chuck" by his adopter). Lizzy (with her blue-heeler coat, above, on a hike) was adopted by Patty Beard and her daughter Stephanie. (Yes, the dogs' original names had a British theme, because their caregiver, who was interning at the time at Best Friends' sanctuary, was from England.) 

Later, the adopters got in touch with each other, so the puppies could play together. When Lizzie and Molly saw each other for the first time after weeks of being apart, their first reaction was to growl at each other -- puppies showing dominance, was all. After that, they were inseparable. They had play dates and sleepovers and hikes together. And they played at the dog park with their friend Sierra, also a puppy the same age, and Eddie, Angel and Bella too. They all grew up together. The littermates even had a first-year birthday party, where all four siblings and some of their canine friends got together to play and eat treats.

Once, when Molly and Rosy (my other heeler-basset mix) had a sleepover at Lizzie's, Patty and her husband had set out frozen beef in three large packages, so it could thaw on the kitchen counter. It was for a family back-yard barbecue, with beef strips, they were having the next day, on Memorial Day. Somehow, these three short dogs were able to jump up and retrieve the packages from the counter. By the time Patty arrived home a few hours later, the meat had been eaten and all that was left -- scattered around the kitchen and living room -- was the packaging, as well as three dogs who looked quite proud of themselves.

On Saturday, August 14, Lizzie, at 10 years old. passed away, possibly from the same thing as Molly two years earlier -- hemangiosarcoma, the silent killer, which goes undetected until it's too late. Lizzie had a mass too. And the symptoms came on suddenly, just as with Molly.

I've always said that Molly (with Lizzie, left) was a heeler trapped in a basset body. But Lizzie was smaller and in better proportion than Molly. And although Lizzie was short like Molly, she was more like a midget heeler, and a fast one. Most of all, she was very sweet and affectionate -- and smart to boot.

The last time we saw Lizzie was three years ago, right before Patty and her husband moved her to Missouri. We met at a dog park to say goodbye, and when Lizzie saw Molly, she started barking her loooong basset bark, practically howling with glee. She and Molly ran and wrestled and chased each other until they dropped on the grass from exhaustion. I had a sense that it would be the last time they'd see each other, but I thought it would only be because of the physical distance between them, not because of a disease or illness that would take them both away.

In Missouri, Lizzie had a new sister, a Corgi pup named Spankee. There, Lizzie loved running free on her large property with Spankee. Lizzie had a favorite tree where she lived, and she liked to sit under and rest there. Now, Spankee sits under that tree.

When Patty said her goodbyes to Lizzie on Saturday, she talked to her and told her she loved her, and that Spankee loved her too. And she also said, "Now you'll be able to run and play and be with Molly again."

Theirs was a lengthy friendship between sibling dogs who didn't live in the same house. But Molly and Lizzie truly loved each other, and it was a genuine bond. Wouldn't that be a hoot if they were together again, chasing each other on grass, trying to wrestle away a tennis ball from the other?

You Can Go Home Again

"How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. You can never go home again." 

--James Agee

By Cathy Scott

My friend Barb Davis, a photographer in her spare time, shot this beautiful photo of Mia (above) that I just had to share.

The photo was taken in New Orleans when Barb, Carol Guzy and I were there for Best Friends Animal Society's participation in the annual Barkus Parade (a part of Mardi Gras).

It was on that same trip that we took Mia to her previous home, to the American Can Co., a Mid City apartment complex converted from a factory and from where Mia had been rescued.

No one had come forward to claim her, even though her face and her story were on the Internet pretty much everywhere. She was listed on Petfinder as well.

When we pulled into a small parking lot at the front of American Can Apartments on Orleans Avenue, Mia sat up and looked out the window, her head darting in every direction. She looked up at the building, then looked back at me. I lifted her out of the car and she wiggled to be put on the ground. When I did, she practically dragged me on her leash up the steps to the main door. It was locked. She stood there looking up at it, wagging her tail, then looking back at me to open it.

It was quite a moment. Barb was right behind Mia as she pulled me toward the door. "It was so sweet," Barb said. "It was like she wanted to show you where she had lived."

We walked around the large complex of buildings to the back, from where Mia had been rescued on the swimming pool deck from four feet of water. It wasn't until the second rescue day at American Can that the rapid response team members Ethan Gurney and Jeff Popowich could get her and one other Chihuahua from a small corner of dry concrete they'd huddled on. The day before, Mia and two other Chihuahuas swam away from the rescuers.

Once we walked onto the patio deck, Mia wanted to be held. It was obvious she remembered what had gone down there, and her demeanor changed dramatically. She jumped up on my leg to be picked up, so I carried her the rest of the time. We returned to the front of the complex.

We didn't know at the time that Mia had just a little more than a year left to live. Reflecting back now, it was a fitting reunion for her, and a trip to the American Can I'm thankful we made. It was as if Mia had gone full circle, like visiting an old friend. She was home again, and she knew it.

As the five-year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina approaches, rescuers are having their own reunion in New Orleans. And Best Friends, to remember, is posting two stories a week on its Web site, beginning June 1, until the August 30 anniversary.

Who says you can never go home again? On a February day in New Orleans, Louisiana, Mia went home again. And she was happy for it.

My book, Pawprints of Katrina (above), covers Mia's and other stories about the tremendous animal rescue efforts, the largest ever in U.S. history. Read it here.

Photos by Barb Davis. Book cover by Clay Myers.

News About My Canine Family

Here are some new photos of my dog family. And I want to share the latest medical news about Rosy (my heeler/basset mix diagnosed 2-1/2 years ago with melanoma) and Gypsy (rescued from a Midwest puppy mill last November).

Gypsy and Rosy just had medical exams. First Gypsy (above). Her patellas -- knee caps -- both luxate. But because her femurs are  bent (a genetic defect), she's not a candidate for surgery.

So, the vet recommended I keep Gypsy exercised and at a good weight for the rest of her life so she doesn't have extra stress on her knees. Gyps conks out sometimes on walks, so the vet also suggested I build her up slowly, push her a little bit more each time until her little legs are more muscular and can take it.

 Now for Rosy (above, running). She has two new moles, one on her bottom and the other on the back of a rear leg. The one on her leg is growing fast, but it's a bright pink and the vet thinks it's a cyst. She wants to remove it anyway, because of Rosy's history. The other is new and in an awkward place, so it's a delicate surgery. I'm still giving Rosy Vitalzym every day, and I just doubled her dose. The vet said she was incredibly healthy for a 10-year-old dog diagnosed more than two years ago with melanoma. She shows no signs of having cancer, so I'm optimistic.

Then there's Joey, my shih tzu (above, left). He just had his teeth cleaned, and no extractions were needed! He's a little trooper and did well. He didn't feel very well, however, that first afternoon and evening. He whimpered a little and sat on my lap. Finally, he fell asleep. When he woke up the next morning, he was a new little man!

Finally, life is good for my big boy, Hollywood, right now, who turned 10 in January. Nothing medical is going on with him! He's lost some weight from all the walks we take -- and watching his food -- and does really well on two-mile runs with me. I think he could go on forever!

Natural Treatment for a Dog's Sniffles

My shih-tzu Joey's right eye is swollen again and he's congested; he has a rattle when he breathes, and his nose is congested and drippy. His eye was swollen when he was rescued more than a year ago, and it comes and goes.

So, I thought I'd try Vitalzym on him this time. I give it daily to Rosy, my basset-heeler mix, who has malignant dermal melanoma (and two-and-a-half years after diagnosis appears strong and healthy).

Vitalzym is loaded with systemic enzymes that -- as one Web site put it -- "act like little Pac-Mans that go around 'munching' mucus, inflammation, fibrin, viruses and scar tissue in the body."

I'm hoping it will work as an anti-inflammatory for congestion too. We'll see. Joey's been under the weather all day, so it might be allergies. The weather here in the Mojave Desert is up and down right now temperature-wise, plus it's been really windy. Fingers and paws crossed it helps. Will keep you posted!

Zoe Means Life

Reprinted from Best Friends Animal Society


By Cathy Scott

It’s a new day for a wire-haired fox terrier named Zoe.

Life was scary at first for this former puppy mill dog. After all, Zoe, who was originally named Cilantro, was born inside a Midwest puppy mill. For the next six-and-a-half years, she was used as a breeder. So, adjusting to life outside a cage was a lengthy process.

It wasn’t always smooth sailing for her adopters, Pamela Clifford and Lorrie Webb, either. In fact, they moved from a condominium to a house because of complaints from neighbors about Zoe and her bark. In a nutshell, adopting Zoe “uprooted our entire life.” But they’re not the kind of people to give up, especially on a dog.

Zoe and Kallie

It was late May 2009 when Zoe and more than 200 dogs - unwanted, used-up breeders - were rescued and transported to shelters on the East Coast where there’s a high demand for purebred dogs. Around 30, including Zoe, within that group went to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary.

Once at the sanctuary, shy Zoe was diagnosed with mid-level dental disease and her ears were inflamed and dirty. Around that time, Lorrie and her friend Patricia were at the sanctuary attending a workshop. One day at the sanctuary, they spotted Zoe and a cocker spaniel in a run together. They stopped to visit.

“We just had to have her,” Pamela said. A short time later, they returned to the sanctuary to finalize the adoption, and then headed south to La Jolla, Calif., where Zoe went to live with Kallie, a rescued shelter dog, and a cat named Little Girl.

Never having lived in a home, Zoe couldn’t seem to get the hang of housetraining. And, she was frightfully skittish.

That first week, Pamela took time off from work to be with Zoe. “She slept every day,” Pamela said. “Any movement terrified her. She would freeze in her spot. Every time I turned around, she’d freeze.”

Then Zoe was diagnosed with pancreatitis, an inflammation or infection of the pancreas. “We thought we were going to lose her. We went to emergency. We put her on antibiotics and changed her food to high-end dehydrated,” she said.

Also, Pam said, “She was a special-needs dog. I had no idea that it would be the amount of work it was and the patience it would take.”

The first time Zoe was groomed was an experience for everybody involved. “Who would have ever thought a small dog could take down three grown women?” Pamela said. “Oh, those nails she had.”

Next, “Our little Zoe started to bark” - so much so, they unfortunately learned, that when Pamela and Lorrie were at work, she barked nonstop. A few months later, they decided to move into a house in nearby Pont Loma, a coastal community in San Diego.

Life's a beach

With hard work, patience and time, Zoe gained confidence - and manners. Ten months later, she now loves to take walks along the tide pools near La Jolla Cove, play with toys and wrestle with Kallie. “She’s not barking,” Pamela said. “We come home and everybody’s quiet and calm.”

She’s still a bit afraid of men but is learning to be bolder. When asked if Zoe had adjusted well to life in a home, Pamela said, “I don’t know if she’s well-adjusted or if we’re just in love with her.”

The love Zoe is getting is exactly what makes it all worthwhile for people like Kelli Ohrtman, a specialist for Best Friends’ Puppies Aren’t Products campaign who organizes and oversees the Pup My Ride program.

“The progress Zoe has made with her new family is what keeps us all going,” Kelli said. “Zoe - and the thousands of other dogs like her - is the reason this work is so important.”

“Until she was rescued through Pup My Ride,” Kelli continued, “her life was very small. She was confined to a small cage with no love, no playtime, no freedom to act like a dog. The transition from that small life to living in a home can be difficult. Even accepting love from humans can be difficult for dogs who haven’t ever been given that. But with time, patience and understanding, these dogs blossom.”

Seeing Zoe today “prance around with her friend, snuggle on the couch and run on the beach is the sort of happy ending that makes this work worth it,” she said.
For Pamela and Lorrie, they believe they’ve learned volumes from Zoe and gotten back more than they’ve given.

“If you’ve never seen resilience, she’s the epitome of it,” Pamela said. “Every day she [had] looked sad. It's remarkable she survived what she’s been through.”

Then, one day, a miracle happened. Zoe wagged her tail.

“The first time her tail wagged,” she said, “we were so ecstatic. We said to each other, ‘Look at that.’ It was like watching a baby take her first steps. Zoe is just amazing.”

Photos courtesy of Pamela Clifford and Lorrie Webb.


To view a video of Zoe and family, click here.

The Crew in the 'Hood

By Cathy Scott

Sunday morning was sunny for about a one-hour window, in between the rain in the Mojave Desert. So I got everybody into their harnesses (above left-right, Rosy, Hollywood and Joey), and we hurried out the door for a walk in the 'burbs.

Gypsy (pictured left) lagged behind a bit, so that's why she's pictured by herself. Once, I tried her on a coupler -- two on one leash -- with Joey, but it was more like Joey was pulling her than she walking at her own speed. So I ended up carrying her most of the way.

She's not up to their level yet. After all, the Gypsy girl is a puppy mill survivor with a back leg that turns in from living in a cramped wire cage for two years. We'll try the coupler again another time. She's a trooper, though, and loves to go on walks. It took just two trips around our neighborhood for her to figure out that it was a really cool thing to do.

Gypsy now gets just excited as my other dogs when the harnesses and leashes come out and it's time to get "dressed."

Passers-by in cars sometimes slow down to look at the small, medium and extra-large dogs I'm basically steering down the sidewalk. Some even make comments like, "Boy, that's a handful." It looks like it, but they're not. They all know the drill, are great on leashes and love their walks -- and I have just as much fun as they do.

Jesse James, Sandra Bullock Reunite with Missing Dog After 3 Weeks

Reprinted from news reports:

Jesse James' dog, Cinnabun, has been returned home.

"The search is over!," James posted on his West Coast Choppers Web site Wednesday, Feb. 17. "We got a call from a gal by the name of Rosaura in Los Angeles today saying she had Cinny."

Rosaura brought Cinnabun--who disappeared from the shop Jan. 25--to the West Coast Choppers office for the reunion, James wrote in his post.

"The car pulls in, the door flings open, and out pops Cinnabun! It's been just over three weeks since we last saw her and were starting to wonder if we'd ever get her back ... and there she was," he wrote.

Cinnabun had reportedly been with the woman then entire time. She wasn't aware who Cinnabun belonged to until she saw a flier, which were posted throughout the Los Angeles area.

Photos of the reunion between the West Coast Choppers owner and his puppy pitbull are posted on the West Coast Choppers Web site.

James wrote that Cinnabun was in good shape, "...maybe a few pounds thinner than when she left. But super happy to be home. We're taking her to the vet to get her all checked out and chipped, and GPS'd, and live-tracked by Google Earth...the works. We don't want to lose this little gal again!!!"

Following Cinnabun's disappearance near Anaheim Street and the Los Angeles River, James posted Twitter messages pleading for help in finding his lost dog.

James and wife, actress Sandra Bullock, also posted a $2,000 reward, then later increased it to $5,000 for Cinnabun's safe return.

"Thanks to everyone who sent us e-mails, calls, and well wishes over the past few weeks," James wrote on the West Coast Choppers Web site, "and a BIG thanks to Rosaura in Los Angeles who found her and brought her back ... and a special thanks from Mr.T who is happy to have his little buddy back.

"Let the barking, wrastlin' and bone chasing begin!"

Pawprints of Katrina Book Launch Revisited

The following is a reprint from Las Vegas freelance writer Terrisa Meeks's blog. She not only attended the Pawprints of Katrina book launch and signing--featuring actress Ali MacGraw, who wrote the book's foreword, photographer Clay Myers, and Cathy, along with Katrina dogs Lois Lane and Mia--but Terrisa wrote about it as well. You'll enjoy who she met along the way.

On July 26, Las Vegas author Cathy Scott held a book launch for her most recent book, Pawprints of Katrina: Pets Saved and Lessons Learned, at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, located just outside Kanab, Utah. The sanctuary’s Visitor’s Center is the beautiful place you see in this picture. Back in Hollywood’s earlier days, this area was an outpost for filmmakers. (According to IMDb, 26 movies were filmed at the Kanab Movie Ranch, which was formerly located here.) Cathy is a journalist with an impressive background, a true reporter who I’ve found has a keen eye and a determination to uncover the facts. She was on the ground in the Gulf after Katrina, working with the dedicated volunteers and staff of Best Friends to help rescue the animals left behind, stranded, and separated from their families—and to document their stories, which she tells us now in Pawprints. The first person who read my copy was my mother-in-law. (Hey, she agreed to babysit overnight, so she got first dibs on the book.) I asked her yesterday what she thought. She told me she’d had no idea how bad it was for the animals after Katrina. “So I take it that means I should read this book with tissue nearby?” I asked her. “Oh yeah,” she said. “But it’s not because all of it’s sad. It’s also touching.” So, animal lovers, you’ve been warned. Pick up an extra box of Puffs next time you’re at the store.

I have to confess that my husband and I were so enchanted with the sanctuary that we didn’t spend much time at the book launch after we bought our copy of Pawprints. Sprocket the potbellied pig (isn't he adorable?) was standing outside, so we hung out with him. We looked at the line for the book signing, and then we wandered back toward the koi pond, a picturesque scene complete with blooming lily pads. The horse corrals beckoned in the distance. An inviting walk

way wound past the front of the Visitor’s Center, where the hummingbird feeders were

attracting more hummingbirds than I have ever seen in one location. Soon, my husband and I were meandering down the walkway, toward the corrals with the goats and horses. What can I say? We didn’t meet Ali McGraw, who wrote Cathy’s foreword, but take a look at photos of some of the beauties we met instead.

Photos courtesy of Terrisa Meeks.

Home for the Holidays: Sissy & Peanut Adopted

The last few months, I fostered two puppies (they were together a few weeks – overlapped). The first one was Sissy, a long-haired Chihuahua rescued from a large commercial breeder in Southern California who was days from being evicted and he unloaded Sissy and some mama dogs. She weighed just a pound when she arrived.

Sissy was adopted by Laurie Ray in Del Mar, who, with her husband, adores her. Sissy -- now named Missy – is never alone because of a live-in housekeeper, plus Laurie takes her just about everywhere she goes. She spent the Christmas holiday with them in Oregon. One compliment they’ve given is how well trained she is for a puppy. One thing I try to do is teach my fosters basic commands – sit, stay, up, down, off, etc. It's nice to hear it paid off.

Then came Peanut, a 3-month-old papillon puppy, who had been confiscated by animal control from a man who was tossing out food to the back yard every three days. An Arizona rescue group, who had no place for her, asked me to take her. I drove to Kingman, Ariz., on a Saturday morning to meet a volunteer at the halfway point. Peanut was the last of her litter to be confiscation, left alone in a yard for three weeks and only being fed every three days. But she wasn’t skiddish, although she was needy.

Peanut found a home with Beth Merayo in Richfield, Utah, with Missy, an older Pomeranian – and range-fed chickens. She’s chasing the chickens but, when one chased her, Peanut ran back to Beth. Hopefully the chickens will train her!

I just got a note from Beth today, along with new photos of Peanut playing in the snow and resting inside. Here’s what Beth said in her e-mail:

"She loves the snow, and I have to make her come in after a short time. She is a love. She sleeps in the bed, sits on my lap and hugs. Missy is doing good with her but gets aggravated with the youngster sometimes. Housetraining is going great. She is still all pup and chews and chases, but we are working on that. I have a friend who is a trainer for agility and we have started training Peanut. She is a very smart girl. She loves everyone who visits and everyone loves her. It is fun to watch her explore new things. She dearly loves her toys and has several in the bed every night. She is a joy and once again I thank you."

I thank both Laurie and Beth for taking in Sissy and Peanut and loving them as much as I do.

Gypsy Rose Lee, a Refugee From a Puppy Mill Comes Home

Meet Gypsy, a tiny survivor from a commercial breeding farm.

In mid November, I went on assignment to the Midwest to cover the rescue of 150 dogs who were scheduled to be killed at puppy mills. They no longer could produce, or they had terrible medical issues, or they were just older, used-up breeders. They're going to leave the puppy mill either feet first or head first, so Best Friends Animal Society's Pup My Ride transport program was there to take them as rescuers pulled them from the commercial breeding farms.

On the first day, we got in around 40 dogs -- every breed you can think of, including two large bull mastiffs, French bulldogs, silkies, Yorkshire terriers, doxies and lots of shih-tzus and King Charles spaniels. Each and every one has his or her own story, and when they come in to a temporary receiving area, literally straight from the puppy mills, their eyes are big and they're just waiting for something bad to happen to them. It's sad, but as each day goes on and they realize that the lives they were forced to live as breeders in wire-bottomed cages, with no air conditioning and no heat, are over, they begin to blossom.

I noticed a 5-1/2-pound long-haired Chihuahua that first day. Her eyes, too, were wide. She wouldn't make eye contact with the volunteers and staff tasked with caring for them, feeding them, cleaning up after them and providing medical exams and vaccinations so they could go out to rescue groups in New York to be adopted out.

Gypsy caught my eye for two reasons: Even though she was just 2 years old, she looked as if she were an old soul; and, secondly, she seemed so sweet, plus absolutely beautiful. I do favor the Chihuahua appleheads. There's just something about them, and, probably, because Mia was an applehead, that's a big reason why I gravitate toward them. They have calm dispositions and are just plain sweet.

I paid attention to which stall -- in a large equestrian barn where we were set up for five days -- the little Chihuahua was assigned to I visited her that evening, after all the vaccinations and med work were done, and went to her large kennel where she was housed with a tiny pomeranian. They had arrived in the same transport crate and came from the same breeder. I took the Chihuahua out of the kennel and held her, but she wiggled and wouldn't look at me. She just wanted to go back and be with her little friend.

The next morning, when we arrived there early, she was still sleeping. I helped clean up the kennels in that stall so I could spend more time with her. She didn't want out of the kennel to walk around. I took her out, though, and she stumbled back in. One of her back legs didn't seem to be working right.

When there was some down time that afternoon, I took her out and sat her on my lap while I wrote an article on my lapstop, wrapping her in a towel so she'd be warm. She was getting more tolerant of me holding her and even started to fall asleep. Progress. Volunteers stopped to pet her. I asked for suggestions on names, and one volunteer said she thought she seemed like a gypsy, because in the mill she was homeless, plus she'd already traveled to our temporary kennels, then she was headed for New York and eventually Las Vegas with me. Gypsy Rose Lee fits her, the volunteer said. So Gypsy it was.

She had a large incision and the breeder told the rescuer that she'd just had three puppies born via C-section a week and a half earlier, that she didn't produce milk and wouldn't take care of her babies. The three puppies were feeding off of another mama dog.

I adopted Gypsy from the rescuer. Then, the next day, three of us -- Kelli Ohrtman, campaign specialist for Best Friends' Puppies Aren't Products, and Best Friends' photographer Gary Kalpakoff -- drove in a mini van following the transport trailer with 164 dogs inside (very nice accomodations in a customized trailer) to New York state, where rescue groups--that had potential adopters who want small breed dogs but want rescued dogs and not puppy store dogs--were waiting. Dr. Sarah Alward with Animal Rescue Fund of the Hamptons was waiting for us too, to help transport animals to her shelter. She examined Gypsy; I was worried about her (she was bleeding). She said her uterus felt firm toward the back and suggested I get her spayed immediately.

I arrived home on a Friday, and the next morning, I took Gypsy into the new Spay and Neuter Center of Southern Nevada. The vet said it looked like this was her second C-section and that it wasn't a very good job. She had pyametra -- an infection in her uterus -- which spaying her solved.

Within a week, Gypsy was feeling well and starting to play with toys! She was awkward at first, but then caught on when I squeaked the toys. She now loves to shake them and carry them all over the house. The first week, she was still shy. Every day she gets braver. I have to be careful not to approach her too quickly because she'll sometimes let out a squeal, like she thinks I'm going to hurt her. She and my shih-tzu Joey are buddies. And she and Rosy, my basset-healer mix, started playing with each other for the first time yesterday. She absolutely loves running out of the dog door, making a run around the yard, then running back inside. Her patellas on both knees are luxated, and one of her legs turns in, but she's getting stronger and stronger. She's still a little scared to ride in the car, but she's getting more used to that too.

She's a funny little dog with a sweet personalit who's a bit awkward, because everything is so new to her. She'll sit and watch TV for 10 minutes at a time, totally entranced. She sleeps against me every night and seems to take comfort in the closeness. She gets so excited when it's time to go to bed, and she crawls under the covers to get warm. I can't imagine what life for this little girl was like for two years in a cold, wire cage. What I do know is she gets a kick out of living in a home. It's amazing watching her. When she tastes something new, like yogurt, for example, she wags her tail and looks up at me, so happy, as if she's saying "thank you," because she can't believe how good it tastes.

I'll give you progress reports as she blossoms and comes out of her shell even more. We're going to my sister's house for Christmas in San Diego and we'll take photos. It's the second time she'll have been there. She was housetrained from the start -- always a surprise to me when a puppy mill dog can be trained so easily and quickly -- so she's no problem as a house guest. She and Joey will be with me, and Rosy is being boarded (only for two days). So stay tuned with reports about Gypsy Rose Lee's new life after a puppy mill! In the meantime, Happy Holidays to all!