THE JOY AND FRILLS OF ADOPTION

We have eight dogs. If money wasn’t an issue, we’d probably have more. So how did we acquire a pure bred Golden Retriever and a pure bred Labrador Retrieve1r? In a way, I’d like to say that God pointed out the clues for us to find them, 100 percent free. The largest of the pack, Luciano “Pav” Pavarotti, our Labrador whose barks send out the highest decibels, was a dog that had to find a new home. Bought from Cartimar by parents of a four-year-old girl, it was only later on that she developed asthma. The “up-for-adoption” message about Pav was posted on Facebook in February by our dog trainer friend and we inquired. Even without a certificate, we were happy to have him a few days later. We were more than thrilled to have a very behaved and disciplined dog in contrast to the rather fierce but loveable and loyal aspin we had adopted earlier.

 

A month after, as a belated birthday gift, my sister who had purchased a female Golden Retriever in April was given a buy-one, take-one surprise and got another Golden Retriever. And the freebie that she got, we later christened with the name “Axl Rose.” At 26 years old and living the carefree life of a bachelorette, it was my sister’s first shot at trying out motherhood. Her Golden Retriever was training for when she would actually become a real mom. One was a handful and having another was a migraine. So she gave him to us. In a way we could see why2. Axl’s temperament is very playful. He grabs whatever attention he can get. Whether from the front or from behind, he always jump on you when the opportunity presents itself.

 

Appropriately during or a day after Valentine’s, we found Pav stuck to Britney Spears, our white slender Pinscher-looking aspin. Two months later, tah-dah! We had five beige babies who have grown to look exactly like their father. Dog food and vaccines are not the only concern we had to consider if we were to raise the babies too. It’s how we were also going to divide the time and energy to walk them, bathe them and clean up after. We may not have shelled out to invest in our dogs, but every dog owned becomes a huge emotional investment. Providing food and shelter are not enough to claim we are responsible dog owners. We have to love them all and shower that love equally. That’s tough if you have eight. So I’d have to retract my statement about having more dogs if money wasn’t an issue. If I had more that would3 be animal hoarding. Just watch Animal Hoarders on the BIO channel!

 

I’ve always loved dogs. My wish list since I was seven was to have a Beagle (because of Snoopy), a Collie (because of Lassie) and then later on I wanted a Labrador and Golden Retriever (they were “the” dogs in many American TV shows). I thought the only way to get them was to save up a lot of money. Thankfully, I was wrong. There’s this wonderful thing called adoption.

 

So now, it’s our turn to pay it forward. We hope to give as much joy in finding the right parents as much as we had in receiving them. Our up-for-adoption sign is now posted.

by: Denise Roco

DAWSON, THE CREEK DOG

It Takes a Village

A community comes together to help a starving stray

For those of us who work with ani-mals on a regular basis– whether as veterinarians, shelter volunteers or animal advocates–seeing an animal in distress, particularly when it’s a result of abuse, cruelty or extreme neglect, is one of the toughest parts of the job. It never gets easier and, over time, it can chip away at your soul. But every now and then, you also get to witness wonderful acts of compassion and generosity that restore your faith in humanity.

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Dawson, the Creek Dog

At first glance, he may not appear very interesting or excep-tionally good look-ing, but to hospital staff and regular vis-itors, Dawson is a very special dog. The only remarkable thing you might say about the medi-um-sized, mixed-breed is the curious stub where a tail should be and the perfectly matching slits at the tips of both his ears. That was not the case, however, when he first arrived at Ma-kati Dog and Cat Hospital last June 28, 2013.

 

Dawson’s story began when a volun-teer of animal welfare group CARA (Compassion and Responsibility for Animals) heard about a stray dog that was trapped in a creek in Makati City. Upon further investigation, she learned from people in the neighbour-hood that the abandoned dog had been there for at least a week, possi-bly longer. We may never know just how long he was trapped in the creek but judging from his physical appearance, he was slowly starv-ing to death. Weigh-ing a little over 13 lbs., the dog was severely emaciated, all skin and bones, with only a few tufts of light brown fur hanging off his skeletal body. He was so weak he could barely stand and his eyes had lost their lustre. He looked like he was at death’s door.

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With the help of the barangay securi-ty officers along with an emergency team from CARA, the dog was res-cued. He was later named “Dawson” in a nod to the eter-nally optimistic eponymous lead character of 90’s TV series

“Dawson’s Creek.”

 

The Road to Recovery 

The road to recovery was slow. Ini-tially, he was fed small amounts of a highly digestible, quality dog food at regular intervals, which was gradual-ly increased. As he put on more weight, he regained his strength, slowly but surely. Throughout it all, the capable team of vets led by Dr. Carlos and Dr. Zaldy closely monitored his progress. It was later discovered that he had a hip injury, most likely due to some type of trauma. But even the lingering limp has not put a damper on sweet-natured Dawson’s friendly, outgoing personality, which blossomed during his stay at Makati Dog and Cat Hospital.

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In the six months that he has been there, he has become a fixture at the hospital, greeting his favourite han-dlers, Miguel and Richard, with play-ful barks and vigorous wags whenever he sees them. He is always genu-inely happy to return to the hospital– a safe place that nurtured him back to health.

 

Perhaps what stands out most about Dawson’s story is how different peo-ple in the community came together to help a starving stray dog get a se-cond lease on life, proving the fa-mous proverb “It takes a village” holds true even when it comes to helping animals.

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By Francesca L. Ortigas

The Man Who Started It All

         Dr. Enrique Carlos   Sixto Almeda Carlos y Nepomuceno was born in Biñan, Laguna. His father with the same name was from Biñan, Laguna and his mother from Binondo, Manila. He established a Dog and Cat Clinic in 1927 and had his family home above the clinic; so much so that he was checking his patient (dogs and cats) as early as 4:00 AM. He was also active as a horse practi-tioner in San Lazaro and later in Sta. Ana. He was a stewart in the horse races. He was also well known by kutseros (calesa or caritella horse drivers) when services for free every Tuesdays. Being a devotee of the Black Nazarene in Quiapo, he reli-giously participated in the procession. He was registered in the government regulating office in the registration with number 057.

In 1918 together with Dr. Victor Abreu Buencamino, he is the first Filipino of-ficer of the PVMA in 1918 to 1919 as treasurer and Dr. Beuncamino as presi-dent while other officers being Ameri-cans.

In 1958, his son Dr. Enrique Rodriguez Carlos took over the Dog and Cat Hospi-tal in the same building in 185 Marquez de Comillas and later renamed 839 Romualdez St. . This was the first dog and cat hospital in Manila.

Dr. Sixto Almeda Carlos was also a Philippine delegate in the 1948 London Olympics. A great grandson, Rodolfo Sebastian S. Carlos was one of the torch bearers from among the 8,000 of the 2012 London Olympics. The Carlos family have been offering services to dog and cat companion animals. Currently, Dr. Sixto Enrique Miguel Alimudin Carlos y Siap-no continues the small animal practice in the Makati Dog and Cat Hospital.

Dr. Enrique T. Carlos

God will watch over you night and day

Have you ever prayed, “The Lord is my Shepherd” from Psalm 23?Image

Photo credit: http://500px.com/photo/38963552

When ancient Jews prayed that special prayer, they’d feel an inner warmth in their hearts. Some would close their eyes and may even shed a tear or two. Because they knew what it meant to be a shepherd. They felt it. They knew the toil, the sacrifice, the hardship of being a shepherd that loves his sheep. If there was dan-ger, he wouldn’t sleep at night or take coffee breaks or read a pocketbook or even text some-one in his cell phone. He’ll just watch and be ready to lay down his life for his sheep.

But when modern Filipinos pray the prayer of Psalm 23, the only reason we’d feel an inner warmth in our hearts is if we had just eaten too much Crispy Pata before we prayed and have heartburn.

We don’t see shepherds, sheep, or lambs a lot. We’re fa-miliar with wool, yes, but the steel wool variety for cleaning pots and pans. The closest thing to sheep we’ve seen are goats, and they’re not very docile creatures. They eat anything in sight, make a lot of noise, and smell bad—reminding us of a drunkard uncle.

So to help people feel what it means to be a shepherd, I ask people to think about their first pet as a kid.

Can you recall yours?

Mine was a chicken. Well, it was first a tiny chick, and then a chicken. Finally, it became fried chicken, but that’s going ahead of the story.

I cared for that chick with my life. The first thing I did upon arriving from school was to visit my pet, feed it with rice, and rock it in my hand.

After a couple of months, my chick grew up and I started play-ing all sorts of games with her: running, jump-ing, pecking… I tried teaching her chess, but I kept getting a chick-mate. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I promise not to give another pun in my entire life, ever.)

But during the day, I went to school. And I guess that’s why one day, I came home and dis-covered my feathered friend in a platter with french fries and cat-sup. I wasn’t there for her when someone became hungry—someone who to this day has re-mained anonymous to me.

I guess I wasn’t such a great shepherd, because “shepherds need to be con-stantly there, protecting and caring, twenty-four hours a day.”

But thank goodness, God is-n’t like me at all.

He’s here for you for life.

Permanently.

Eternally.

You won’t be anyone’s fried chicken.

Or shish kebab for that mat-ter.

He’ll never leave you for one moment.

He’ll never take siestas or coffee breaks or read a pocket-book or text anyone in his cell phone.

He will watch over you night and day.

May your dreams come true,

 

Bo Sanchez

PS. If you want to read my free eBook, How To Know If Your Dreams Are God’s Dreams, visit http://www.BoSanchez.ph and sign up for it, including my Soulfood Letter for your