You know those days. The days when everything you had planned goes out the window within two or three minutes of getting up in the morning. After that, you just let the day take you where it will.

That was today.

It was a Monday.

Every morning at 8 AM, five people have to report for duty at the Poodle Farm. This is not negotiable. Every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, five caregivers clock in and take care of our dogs.

When one person can’t come to work, it affects a minimum of three other people, and I’m usually one of them. That happened today when one of our coaches woke up with what was later diagnosed as walking pneumonia.

I got the news at 7:45 AM.

Oh my. What are we to do?

Add to that the fact that this morning there were actually supposed to be six people coming on duty because a brand-new caregiver was arriving for her first day on the job.

It was time to shuffle the deck.

Shuffle we did. I won’t bore you with all the ins and outs, but I will tell you that at one point Wayne was on duty at one of our caregiving stations—and he did a great job. You know you’re struggling when you have to call in the boss’s boss to caregive.

But it’s okay. We are all trained to caregive, even Wayne, and the dogs got exactly what they needed.

The rest of the day went pretty much the same way. There were literally dozens of little things that just kept going wrong. Monday madness? Monday mania? Whatever you want to call it, we lived through a Monday.

But now that the day is over and I look back on it, what is resting most heavily on my heart tonight isn’t any of that.

It’s three senior dogs.

When I got that 7:45 text, I did a quick check of our communications board and saw another note that stopped my heart.

Little senior girl Peanut had been to the veterinarian Friday and had been diagnosed with what we hoped was just a routine case of hookworms. She was doing better and seemed to be on the mend—until Sunday night, when she crashed.

I didn’t see the note Sunday night or I would have gone to get her. But when I saw it this morning, I knew a veterinary visit was going onto my agenda whether I liked it or not.

Add that to the caregiver scramble, and that’s how Wayne ended up on duty. We all had to wear a lot of hats today.

I got Peanut to our veterinarian, along with another dog named Taylor whom you’ll meet tomorrow, and Doc took one look at Peanut, read the notes from Friday—he had been on vacation—and got his technicians scrambling.

His own Standard Poodle, also from CPR, even stepped up and donated blood for Peanut.

Hookworms are usually pretty easy for a healthy adult dog to get rid of. But if there’s an underlying medical condition, which there may be with Peanut, it can become much harder for the body to fight.

I remember that my father’s death certificate said pneumonia. But my dad didn’t really die of pneumonia. He died of prostate cancer. Pneumonia was simply the last thing his already-weakened body couldn’t fight.

I don’t want hookworms to be Peanut’s last straw.

We’re trying to find out if there is something underlying that has left her unable to fight them. As of this afternoon, she was doing better after her transfusion, but her prognosis remains very guarded.

Peanut is 11½ years old. Her owner died, which is why she is with us. Her family had previously adopted another dog from CPR, Sadie, and during their lives together Peanut and Sadie became a bonded pair. We know Sadie is very sad tonight without her best friend beside her.

We’re giving Peanut every bit of help we can to get her back there.

Only time will tell.

And then there’s Duncan.

Duncan arrived last night, so you’ll meet him properly on Welcome Wednesday, but I can tell you that he has already left his mark on the staff.

I was driving back from the veterinarian when I got the first text from Kelsey, one of our coaches. She sent me a video of a panting Duncan.

It had been a beautiful day—maybe 80 degrees, with a slight breeze blowing and such a welcome relief from the heat. Duncan had been outside in the shade, lying on the grass.

And at 80 degrees, in the shade, on the grass, Duncan began developing signs of heat exhaustion.

Our maintenance coordinator, Will, and coach Kelsey worked on Duncan and over the next 14 minutes I received no less than seven texts from Kelsey.

By text number three, I knew she was worried.

Kelsey is not a drama queen. She’s an experienced dog handler with a cool head in an emergency.

This guy had her flustered.

By text number five, I stepped on the gas. I was only about ten miles away, and everything they told me told me they were doing exactly all the right thingsbut I could tell the faster I got there, the better those two were going to feel.

Kelsey and Will did everything right. The towels you see in the video were soaked in cool water. Kelsey was taking Duncan’s temperature every five minutes and making sure it wasn’t rising. They offered cool—not cold—water and had him inside in the air conditioning with a fan on him.

I walked in to find two very worried people and assured them that they truly had done nothing wrong. It was a beautiful day. We all know our dogs enjoy being outside in the sunshine. They had no way of knowing that Duncan’s system wouldn’t react the way it should.

What mattered was that they noticed.

And they acted.

Kelsey and I had a good laugh later about those seven texts in 14 minutes, but I would rather have someone text me seven times than guess wrong once.

Welcome to the Poodle Farm, Duncan. You certainly made a grand entrance.

And then there’s Oscar Wilde.

Oscar has been with us for a couple of weeks, and we already know that we’ll eventually be doing ear surgery on him. But today he was simply off. He’s 11½ years old and was having diarrhea, so out came the chicken and rice. We’ll get him into the veterinarian this week and make sure nothing more serious is going on.

When I thought about the day and aboutOscar, Duncan and Peanut tonight, I realized these three little old men and women have something in common.

They are all homeless.

Not because they weren’t loved. Quite the opposite.

Oscar and Duncan both had elderly owners who loved them but reached a point in their own lives when they could no longer give their dogs the care they needed. Their people are still here, and I know letting their dogs go was incredibly difficult.

Peanut’s story is different. Her people are gone. There was simply no one left who could continue the life she had known.

Three senior dogs. Three lives turned upside down because circumstances around them changed through absolutely no fault of their own.

That’s the part that stays with me.

These old dogs have given so much for their entire lives. They’ve been good dogs. They didn’t pee in the house. They didn’t chase the neighbor’s cat. They didn’t pull on the leash. They never bit anybody. They did all the things humans asked of them for year after year after year.

And then, when they needed their people the most, their people couldn’t be there anymore.

Not because they weren’t loved. Sometimes death takes someone away. Sometimes age changes what a person is physically able to do. Sometimes life simply takes away our ability to do the things our hearts desperately still want to do.

That’s where we come in.

We can be their final home, or we can be the bridge to their final home.

Any one of us could find ourselves in this position someday. None of us knows what life is going to bring. I like knowing that if it happens, there can be somewhere for the old dogs to land. Somewhere that understands that losing their home at 11½ years old doesn’t make them less valuable.

If anything, it means they need us more.

And tonight I’m grateful.

I’m grateful someone noticed Peanut was crashing. I’m grateful Doc’s Poodle had blood to share. I’m grateful Will noticed Duncan wasn’t right. I’m grateful Kelsey sent me seven texts in 14 minutes instead of deciding she was probably overreacting. I’m grateful somebody noticed Oscar was a little off and got out the chicken and rice.

That’s rescue, too.

Our theme this summer has been Yes We Can, and maybe these three old dogs are another way of saying it.

Can we take in the seniors whose lives have suddenly changed?

Yes We Can.

Can we give them the medical care, patience and attention that older bodies sometimes require?

Yes We Can.

Can we give them a safe place to land and love them well, whether the Poodle Farm becomes their final home or simply the bridge to another one?

Yes We Can.

Tomorrow is Tuesday, and I’m hoping we can get back to normal. I already know Anna will be out again because you don’t get over walking pneumonia in one day, and she needs to stay home and rest.

But we’ve got a plan.

We’re determined to make it work.

I’ll let you know tomorrow if it actually does.

Some dog somewhere will put a cramp in my plans, I’m sure. 😂🐩❤️

Good night from the Poodle farm.🌙🐩

Life isn’t fair. I think we figure this out pretty quickly, somewhere before we even have concrete memories to turn back to. We figure out that we don’t get what we want all the time. It may be as simple as a bottle when you’re a baby and as complicated as a much-desired new job when you’re an adult.

And the other thing we learn very, very quickly is that for every hello, there is a goodbye. Life is finite. It does not continue indefinitely.

That doesn’t stop us from wishing it did.

And nothing—and I mean nothing—can compare to the death of a beloved pet. No, it’s not the same pain as losing a human friend. It’s different. No, it’s not sharper, but no, it’s not kinder either. If you are an animal person, it is a different kind of pain, unique in its depths. Those who don’t love animals may not understand it. That’s okay. Those of us who do understand it all too well.

And today, at 5:35 AM, Party and Mark lost a beloved pet. The especially sad thing is that it was a life that had just started a new hello last Tuesday.

And it’s just not fair.

Jacy was found as an emaciated stray Poodle in January. He was in congestive heart failure, but congestive heart failure itself is not an immediate death sentence. My own little Miniature Poodle, Beauregard, has been living with CHF for just about a year. It can be managed with medication.

Since January, Jacy had been very well controlled with his medications. And last Tuesday, a marvelous couple walked through our doors wanting to give a little dog a home who might otherwise never find one.

Patty and Mark wanted the dog who needed them.

They chose Jacy.

We were overjoyed.

This evening, I got the most heart-wrenching email. Jacy had had a wonderful week. He followed Patty and Mark from room to room. He slept in the big bed, cuddled up between them. He went for walks through the neighborhood and rides to the park. He was back in a home, and he was loving every minute of it.

But Friday, he refused his meals. It became harder and harder to get him to take his medications, and yesterday Patty noticed that he wasn’t urinating much even though he was taking a diuretic. Other than these two things, he was behaving perfectly normal. And his cough had almost completely subsided. It made no sense.

This morning, settled between the two people who had just welcomed him into their world, Jacy left this one for the next.

Patty assured me that he was loved. Unconditionally and wholeheartedly, he was loved.

For that, I am grateful. For the rest, I’m simply going to have to accept that life isn’t fair and that sometimes the way we think things should go is not the way the universe has planned.

Here at the Poodle Farm, we want to bring you happy tales. There is enough sadness in animal rescue. We want you to know about the dogs who get well, the families who find each other, the puppies who thrive and all those wonderful moments that make us smile.

But sometimes happy looks different.

Sometimes the happy tale isn’t twelve years long. Sometimes it is six days.

I don’t want anyone to think Jacy’s adoption somehow failed because it was so short. Quite the opposite. Jacy got exactly what we wanted for him.

For six days, he wasn’t Jacy the senior rescue dog with congestive heart failure. He wasn’t an emaciated stray somebody had found, and he wasn’t a dog waiting at the Poodle Farm hoping someone might choose him.

He was Patty and Mark’s dog.

He had a home and he had his people. He had a neighborhood to walk through and a park to visit. He had a big bed to sleep in. And when his body finally said it couldn’t go any farther, he was settled securely and safely between the two people who loved him.

That’s a happy ending.

It’s just not the length of happy ending any of us wanted.

Six days wasn’t nearly enough. But those six days counted, and that is why this won’t stop me from rescuing senior dogs. Oh, they need us so much.

It won’t stop us from putting medically fragile dogs up for adoption. It won’t make us decide that perhaps it’s easier to keep them here because saying goodbye to them will eventually hurt someone.

Because look what Jacy would have missed.

He would have missed Patty and Mark. He would have missed those walks and those rides and following his people around the house. He would have missed the big bed.

Most of all, he would have missed being somebody’s dog again.

So tonight, we aren’t going to measure Jacy’s happy ending by how long it lasted.

We’re going to celebrate six days.

Six days of belonging, six days of being wanted, six days of being loved.

Here’s to you, Jacy. You made the most of every one of them. You slept in the big bed, cuddled between your people, walked through your neighborhood, rode to the park and followed your people from room to room.

You were home.

Patty, Mark, and all of us here at the Poodle Farm will never forget you.

And perhaps that is one way a dog can live forever.

In the hearts of the people who love him - his people. ❤️🌈🐾🐩

Sometimes things go really, really well.

Sometimes they don’t.

Today we had five adopting families come in, including one that was a very last-minute addition.

Unfortunately, two of our adopters did not find perfect for them.

For one adopter, she realized that Max, our Golden Retriever who has spent his entire three years of life on a farm making babies, was going to require more introduction time to regular suburban life than she had time to give.

She’s a good dog owner. She was also very, very specific: she wanted only a male purebred Golden Retriever.

I only have one.

And when that one wasn’t exactly what she wanted, there were no other options.

That is her choice.

Our second adopter who went home without a dog was looking for a Standard Poodle—and she met five of them.

After spending several hours with us, I think we all now have a much clearer picture of what is going to work for her and her dog.

We’re going to stay in touch. She’s reading this story tonight, and I look forward to the day when I can hand her a leash with exactly the right dog on the other end of it.

Jay and I will tell you the other adoption stories later, because they are wonderful ones.

But in the middle of all this, I got an emergency text.

His name is Taylor.

Taylor is a two-year-old Toy Poodle. When he was adopted from a shelter in February, he was a healthy 14 pounds.

He was returned yesterday weighing just 9 pounds, emaciated, with a body condition score of 2 out of 9.

We don’t know why. We also don’t know why the family that adopted him would not go any further with diagnostics to figure it out but they’re not. So we stepped in.

There are some challenges in his bloodwork, but nothing that immediately points to organ failure or another catastrophic medical condition like HGE or pancreatitis and the first thing the shelter checked for Was Parvo virus. He’s clear of that. Could he have an obstruction? Could that explain why he’s throwing up and won’t eat?

Possibly.

What I do know is that volunteers Bill and Lisa rushed to the shelter, and within an hour of getting that text, Taylor was safe with us.

Shelters cannot hold little boys who are throwing up their dinner indefinitely. That is not their function.

That is what rescue does.

And Taylor makes two severely emaciated dogs arriving at CPR this week.

Fortunately, our other one has some very good news.

Sue is eating.

We now know that Sue simply needs more food—and time.

She is doing so very well.

She is standing on her own now. She is already up to 16 pounds, and she is eating approximately every hour and a half to two hours.

Last night she arrived at her foster home around 11:00 and was too nervous to eat.

But Foster Dads Jay and Logan (two of our farm team members) who took Sue home reported hearing a mysterious clinking around four in the morning.

Sue had apparently decided she was hungry after all. And that this strange new world was perfectly fine to eat in.

I’m so glad.

From disappointing two adopters, something we never want to do, to being able to say yes to another Poodle who desperately needed us, it was a day of ups and downs.

But that’s life.

And I owe you an update on Charlie and Bailey.

Charlie is home.

Our 12-year-old Lab is in kidney failure, and we know our time with him is short.

Tonight Logan, who was working in Charlie’s area, came to tell me Charlie wasn’t eating.

We had hoped we might get away without having to give him subcutaneous fluids. We aren’t.

Charlie was even turning down McDonald’s hamburgers.

For a Labrador Retriever, that tells you something.

Tonight he received 500 mL of lactated Ringer’s solution subcutaneously, and I’m really hoping that tomorrow he’ll feel well enough to eat. He can have 500 mls per day. It’s our version of doggy dialysis. But it’s only a Band-Aid.

Kidney failure can become a vicious spiral. When the kidneys can no longer adequately clear waste from the body, the dog feels lousy. He doesn’t want to eat. He gets weaker. And around it goes.

The first little dog I ever cared for with kidney failure was Macy, a maltese poodle mix.

I force-fed her.

I don’t know which of us hated more—me hating having to syringe liquid food down the throat of a dog who didn’t want it, or Macy hating me for doing it.

But Macy taught me something.

When a dog in kidney failure tells me clearly that it is time to go, I listen.

If the fluids don’t perk Charlie up, then we will listen to what Charlie is telling us, too.

For a Labrador Retriever, 12 is quite old. We are going to give him every day he deserves.

But they have to be good days.

Bailey told us it was time to go.

After all the diagnostics were done, and without putting him through invasive testing and biopsies, our veterinarian was fairly confident that Bailey had an invasive cancer affecting his gastrointestinal tract.

But there was something incredibly bittersweet about his goodbye.

Bailey waited for us.

By the time our team was able to get there just after four, he was having episodes where he couldn’t breathe well.

But he kept fighting back. Until his friends walked into the room. Then Bailey laid his head down as if to say:

Thanks, guys. I’m glad you’re here.

He gained his angel wings in the arms of his family. It is the way we always want our guys to go.

Bailey lived large. He lived well. And he died surrounded by people who loved him.

We will celebrate his whole life soon in a Rainbow Bridge story worthy of him.

For tonight, just know:

We were there.

And meanwhile, because rescue never stops moving, there are babies growing.

Sandy’s puppies are eating up a storm and starting to grow.

Annie’s puppies are three weeks old now, toddling around on their own—and apparently they are overachievers.

Many little dogs don’t start eating regular food until around four to four and a half weeks.

Not Annie’s kids. They’re already burying their noses in the food bowl. We have had to increase everyone’s food in that nursery. I absolutely love seeing robust appetites in babies.

After this week, I’ll take hungry puppies any day.

And then there’s Buddy the cat.

We recently installed cameras in quite a few areas around the farm, and I’ve been reviewing some of the security footage.

Apparently I have badly underestimated Buddy.

I never realized how much time he spends controlling the counter and monitoring the front yard.

And I’m talking all hours of the day and night.

I think I’m going to have to start checking in on Buddy a little more often. Because now I finally know why that cat sleeps all day.

Buddy has apparently been partying for a good bit of the night.

And that is the Poodle Farm in one Saturday.

Some dogs went home.

Some didn’t.

One came to us because he desperately needed someone to say yes.

One old dog came home.

Another old friend left us.

Babies ate.

Sue stood.

And while the rest of us were trying to keep up with all of it, Buddy the cat was apparently supervising the entire operation.

Tomorrow we’ll get up and do it again.

As usual, I’m always surprised at how fast a month can go by. We’re still in the grip of summer heat, but I know looking at that date that fall is not far away. I cannot tell you how much all of us are looking forward to a break in these temperatures.

But that’s not today’s story.

Today’s story is about a woman named Fiona and a heart for those who need her the most.

Fiona knows I’m writing about her tonight, so I’ll tell you a funny part of the story she doesn’t know.

We almost turned her down.

You see, Fiona had rescued a dog named Buddy in February 2022 and reached out to CPR to see if we could take him.

We call that an owner surrender. And when someone who has previously asked us to take a dog later applies to adopt, that application gets a second look.

There are many legitimate reasons people surrender dogs. Having done so does not automatically disqualify someone from adopting from CPR.

But it is a red flag. It requires escalation.

So Fiona’s application was escalated.

There was another problem.

Back in 2022, it took us almost a month to answer Fiona’s request for help. That was far too long. There had been a death in the family of one of our volunteers, and the request got tied up in everything happening at the time.

It explained the delay.

It didn’t make the delay right.

But Fiona never responded to our eventual message, either. So we filed the request away and hoped Buddy was okay.

That was our only contact with Fiona until she applied to adopt.

And there was Buddy’s owner-release form, still sitting in our database.

The problem was that Fiona had never considered Buddy her dog. She had rescued him and was trying to help him. So when she listed the pets she had owned on her adoption application, Buddy wasn’t there.

Of course, the first question from us was:

What about Buddy?

And the dance began.

Fiona answered every question with kindness and complete information. She works professionally in information technology, and I think she understands better than most that once something gets into a database, it tends to stay there forever.

And sometimes it needs explaining.

She explained.

We worked through all of our steps.

And finally we got to the fun question:

Which dog do you want?

Fiona wanted Bolt.

There was just one problem.

Bolt is a little Toy Poodle who spent his life in a puppy mill before coming to us, and Bolt needed a canine companion.

Fiona didn’t have another dog.

Fiona is pretty practical.

“Great. I’ll adopt two dogs.”

Well.

What could we say? 😂

Then things got even more complicated.

Fiona had a conflict and needed to move her appointment from Wednesday to Friday. She had already missed out on one dog from her original list. And while she had several dogs she was interested in, Bolt was her number-one choice, so Bolt was the only dog we would reserve for her.

Then dog number two went home with another family on Thursday.

But I am convinced that things work out as they should, when they should.

After today, I’m even more convinced.

When it was time for Fiona’s appointment, I went to get dogs.

This particular little group has been living with me.

I got Bolt.

Then I picked up Xena because the other dogs Fiona had been interested in were Maltese, and Xena is a Maltese.

But as I was heading out the gate, I looked down.

There at my feet was Patsy.

We hadn’t even listed Patsy for adoption yet.

But something had changed in Patsy over the last few days.

She would still run from you. In fact, although Patsy happened to be standing at my feet at that particular moment, once I decided she was coming with me, I had to chase her down. 😂

But I didn’t have to chase too hard. I think Patsy had finally decided that we humans were not bad at all.

We met Fiona and her two delightful teenagers.

And Fiona settled on Bolt and Patsy.

Wonderful.

I thought those two would do beautifully together.

But I still wanted to learn something about Xena. I wanted to see how she would respond to someone she didn’t know.

So I picked Xena up.

I handed her to Fiona.

And that was all it took.

Fiona’s has two beautiful children who are adopted.

And now they have three adopted dogs, too—one for each heart.

I talked with Fiona a little while ago. She had already sent me pictures of the babies getting settled in, and I was very glad when she called.

I had one question I needed to ask.

“Are you okay? Three really was what you wanted to do?”

And Fiona gave me the answer that became the ending to tonight’s story.

She told me she simply couldn’t stand the thought of breaking them up.

They had been together all their lives. They were family. we told Fiona how much this group of dogs truly likes each other.

She could see that.

And then she said:

“At the end of the day, it was the right thing to do.”

Yes, Fiona.

It was.

Three little dogs who came from a life where they were nothing more than production machines have now gone home together to be a family. Loved. Wanted for themselves, not for what they could create.

They don’t have to lose each other, ever.

This summer we have said it over and over again:

Yes We Can.

Sometimes that means saying yes to one.

Sometimes it means saying yes to two.

And every once in a while, someone like Fiona walks through the door…

and says yes to all three. ❤️🐩

Terasa Long is a longtime supporter of CPR, and she came to visit her SOS dog, Bubbles. She comes to see her about once a month, and Bubbles enjoys those visits.

But Terasa also had another agenda in mind: the possibility that her boy Wesley might need a companion.

That led to a trip out to Addison’s Abbey, our small dog center, where Wesley interviewed several candidates. 😂

No final decision was made, but we’ll see what the future brings.

Terasa also gifted us with an entire trunk load of donated medical supplies—syringes, bandages, gauze and even a centrifuge—all donated by a mutual friend who no longer needed them.

We will put every bit of it to good use here at the Poodle Farm.

Then we had an unexpected visit from Tammy Yarbrough, and I can’t tell you how many hugs were passed out to this volunteer who loves to do transports.

Tammy has had some medical challenges lately and hasn’t been able to be as involved as she normally is. But the minute she was well enough to drive, she was back in the car.

And she didn’t leave alone.

Tammy picked out an adorable little redhead named Georgia, whose medical needs we’re still working through, and took her home to foster.

We know Tammy will be good for Georgia.

I suspect Georgia might be pretty good for Tammy, too. When you’re fighting your own medical battles, sometimes there is nothing better for taking your mind off things for a little while than a sweet little redheaded dog who needs you.

But the dog weighing most heavily on my mind tonight is Sue.

We started grooming her today.

It’s one thing to know a dog feels terribly light and bony when you pick her up.

It’s entirely another to see those bones exposed as you peel back layer after layer of horribly matted hair.

You can see every rib. You can see her spine. She looks like a walking skeleton with fur stretched tightly over it.

Her gums are still pale white. We know from bloodwork done three days ago that she is anemic. She’s been dewormed once, and I suspect we’re going to be dealing with parasites for a while.

But Sue wants to live.

She is a fighter.

Right now she is eating a small slice of Freshpet, offered by hand every hour.

When a body has been severely starved, you can’t simply put down a big bowl of food and let the dog eat everything she wants. Reintroducing nutrition too quickly can cause a dangerous complication called refeeding syndrome.

So we have to be cautious. A little bit of food. Very often. And patience.

It will take time before Sue can manage normal meals again. We’re going to give her that time.

We’re going to give her all the time she needs.

It disturbs me that Sue is the fourth severely emaciated Poodle or Poodle mix we’ve received this year.

In the past, I might see one every three years.

Four in one year?

That makes me incredibly sad.

If you cannot—or will not—care for an animal, give them up. If it’s a Poodle or a doodle, find us. Reach out.

That’s what we’re here for.

But don’t put them in the backyard and hope for the best.

Sue was found as a stray, as so many of them are now. But somewhere, sometime, somebody loved this dog.

There are little clues that don’t make sense. Someone had trimmed her ears and the hair around her eyes, but nowhere else. She’s fairly clean and has no fleas, yet she was matted all the way to her skin.

I don’t know what happened to Sue. We probably never will.

Dogs can’t talk.

And maybe that’s a blessing, because dogs also live in the moment. Sue has already put whatever happened behind her.

Tonight Jay, our matchmaker, and Logan, our medical coordinator, have taken Sue home with them. Tomorrow she goes back to the veterinarian for another examination and fresh bloodwork. We’ll see whether her anemia is beginning to improve and whether she might need a blood transfusion.

Only time will tell.

But whatever Sue needs, we will give it to her.

Somewhere along the way, someone gave up on this little dog.

We won’t.

This summer we’ve been saying Yes We Can.

For Sue, tonight that means something very simple:

Yes, we can give her another chance.

And on a much happier note…

Sandy had her babies! 🐩❤️

She took her own sweet time about it, too.

Makayla was up every two hours checking on her throughout the night.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Until about 1:30 this afternoon.

Fortunately, our very best whelper, Kelsey, was here, on duty and ready to help. One of those puppies was extremely large—Sandy’s boyfriend was apparently a pretty big boy—but Kelsey has lots of experience helping bring puppies safely into this world.

By 5:00, they were done.

Five beautiful babies.

Four boys.

One girl.

Five brand-new little lives.

The first few days with any newborn litter are always touch and go, so say a little prayer for Sandy and her babies tonight.

We’ll keep you updated.

Maybe that’s the Poodle Farm in a nutshell.

Today we worried about a life we’re trying desperately to rebuild.

And today we watched five new ones begin. We bring them here. We meet them wherever they are and at whatever stage of life they are in and we do our best to make it better. We do it because you’ve got our back.

Yes We Can. ❤️

I’m interviewing heavily while looking at budgets, and in general doing all those things you have to do to make a business continue to roll.

Carolina Poodle Rescue is a business. We’re simply a nonprofit business, and I’ve discovered that a lot of people don’t really understand what that means.

One of the questions I ask applicants when I interview them is, “We are a nonprofit. Do you know what that means?”

Most have a vague notion. But very few really understand.

So I use hamburgers.

If it costs McDonald’s $1 to make a hamburger, would they sell that hamburger for 50 cents?

Everybody laughs.

Of course not.

They might sell that hamburger for $2. The difference between what it costs them to produce something and what someone pays for it is how a traditional business makes money.

Now turn that model upside down.

That’s us.

It costs us about $360 per month to care for one dog at today’s basic prices.

That number isn’t glamorous. It includes food, electricity, property expenses, supplies, the gas that goes into the vans and all the other things it takes to keep this place operating every single day.

But every bit of it is essential.

It is what allows us to care for the dogs already here. It lets us give time to the dogs who have been waiting longer for their families.

And it allows us to say yes to another dog.

We average about 200 dogs in residence every month.

You can do the math.

And that doesn’t include getting a newly arrived dog medically ready for adoption.

Veterinary costs have skyrocketed, as anyone with a dog already knows. Right now, we are spending an average of about $640 in medical care for each new dog we prepare for adoption.

Our adoption fees generally range from $499 to $699.

So where does the rest come from?

That’s where I get to explain what a nonprofit really means.

We find something that is wrong in the world, and we figure out how to make some small part of it right.

For us, it’s too many dogs and not enough homes. It’s dogs who don’t receive the medical care they need. It’s dogs whose families can no longer care for them.

And tonight, it is dogs like Sue.

Sue is weighing heavily on my mind.

She is a small standard poodle, about 16 inches at the shoulder.

She weighs 12 pounds.

She should weigh somewhere around 35.

I don’t yet know why this child has been allowed to get into this condition. Part of me is actually hoping we find an underlying medical reason because the alternative is very difficult to think about.

Tonight Caleb texted me that she ate robustly.

Those might be the two best words I heard all day.

She still can’t really walk. She can stand for a few minutes and go potty, and that’s about it.

But she ate.

Today we also said hello to little Adrian, some sort of golden retriever doodly maybe mix puppy who was found as a stray.

I checked her teeth.

She may be eight weeks old.

And she’s very, very thin, too.

Leon will catch you up on all of our other newcomers next week in Welcome Wednesday, but tonight these two are heavy on my mind.

They may blow that $640 average medical cost right out of the water.

I don’t know yet.

What I do know is that we’re here for them.

And we’re also on puppy watch tonight.

Sweet Sandy, the very first dog we loaded up from the hoarding case (she lived too much) three weeks ago, looks like she may be having her puppies tonight.

I think this is her first litter. She’s scared. She doesn’t quite understand what’s happening to her.

But she doesn’t have to understand everything tonight. She just needs to know that someone is here.

And we are. Whether this becomes an easy night and she does it all on her own with our moral support or whether we end up at the ER for a C-section, we are here for her. Life is precious.

So that’s what a nonprofit is.

It isn’t a business that doesn’t need money. It isn’t a group that simply “begs for money,” as some of my applicants seem to think when they first walk into my office.

It is a business built around a problem that the traditional marketplace cannot fix.

Our bottom line isn’t a dividend.

It’s Sue eating dinner.

It’s Adrian getting a fresh start.

It’s Sandy having her babies where it is safe and clean.

It’s 200 dogs sleeping tonight knowing breakfast will come tomorrow.

And the difference between what all of that costs and what we can earn ourselves?

That’s you.

Tonight we’re doing what we do.

And we’re doing it because of you.❤️🐾

Good night from the Poodle Farm. 🌙🐩

I want to tell you the story of two very special hearts that connected. I know it’s a story I’m never going to forget.

But first, I also want you to know we had a very special Happy Tail today.

Repeat adopter Patty and her husband Mark were ready to bring another dog into their home after losing their CPR dog last year. Patty had just one request: she wanted to give a home to a dog who otherwise might never get one.

She also wanted a dog gregarious and friendly enough to go camping with them, because they love their RV. They also have the means and, more importantly, the heart to care for a dog who is very special.

All of that came wrapped up in a white Poodle named Jacy, who was found as a stray in Summerville, South Carolina back in January.

Jacy is in congestive heart failure and takes three different medications.

It doesn’t slow him down.

Jacy also thank you very much thinks that the proper ratio of poodle to human in a home is one poodle to two humans. And that’s perfect. He learned to get along with dogs here but he yearned for a home of his own, and I mean all his own. Patty and Mark happen to agree that that is a good ratio.

Patty and Mark have huge hearts, and while they know they may be offering this little guy what amounts to a hospice home, they’re going to give him every day he deserves. I salute them for that. I wish more people would see the joy in the older or special dogs.

And that brings me to tonight’s story.

The tale of two very special hearts.

Gabby is an Irish Golden, a combination of Irish Setter and Golden Retriever. The breeder who produces these dogs is specifically looking for a sturdy, dependable temperament suited for a career in the service-dog world.

That was supposed to be Gabby’s purpose.

Until nature intervened.

At her six-week checkup, the veterinarian gave the breeder bad news. Gabby had a significant heart murmur, distinctly audible, and she was smaller than her siblings.

Something was very wrong.

Breeders cannot place medically fragile puppies the same way they place healthy puppies. This breeder went looking for another option.

And they found us.

We had Gabby evaluated through the cardiology department at the University of Georgia’s veterinary teaching hospital in Athens. She was barely 3 months old when we got the bad news. Gabby had severe pulmonary stenosis.

We scheduled Gabby for a balloon procedure that we hoped would correct the defect in her heart. Sadly, when they performed the procedure, gabby started failing on the table and the surgeons had to stop. They could not finish. The procedure helped some, but not enough. Gabby’s heart disease remained severe.

Gabby stayed in foster care for a year while we did follow-ups.

Then I got the news I really didn’t want. Gabby’s heart was still failing. She might have two years. She might have more. But not much.

Only time would tell.

It is so unfair. Pulmonary stenosis is one of the conditions that hurts me the most because it strikes puppies. At the very beginning of what should have been a glowing, happy life, Gabby had been born with a heart that was already failing her.

But fair isn’t in the rule book when it comes to life.

I have the attitude that for every dog we should try, at least for a while, to find the perfect home I wrote her description and put her up for adoption.

I truly thought I’d give it 90 days. Nobody would come forward. I could say I have tried. I’d make Gabby an SOS dog, and she would simply live with me and we would live happily ever after for whatever time she had.

You can probably tell that possibility didn’t exactly break my heart. Gabby is a sweetheart. She was very easy to love and very easy to live with.

But every dog deserves the chance to find the person who is perfect for them.

And lo and behold, Gabby did.

Her name is Hannah.

And just like Gabby, Hannah has been handed a fate that isn’t fair.

Hannah also has a congenital heart condition. She is terminally ill, and her life expectancy is heartbreakingly short—perhaps only another five to eight years.

But Hannah has chosen to live those years as fully as possible. She doesn’t let her condition make her bitter. She chooses instead to greet each day with a smile.

She chooses to live.

And she wanted to live with Gabby by her side.

When Hannah first contacted me, she told me that her own heart condition was what drew her to Gabby. She understood the medications. In fact, she takes some of the same ones.

And then she said something I don’t think I’ll ever forget:

“We can go through the end-of-life phases together.”

We did all the due diligence we always do, because that’s what we do. Hannah even made sure there was a plan for Gabby if Gabby should outlive her.

But I knew the first time I read Hannah’s communications and the ones that her mom, Sherry, that this was Gabby’s home. I could feel it in every word they wrote.

And when we asked on her application why she wanted to adopt this dog, Hannah summed up the whole thing in four words:

“Our stories match perfectly.”

Yes.

They do.

I’ve checked in with Hannah several times since then. She adores her golden girl, and the feeling is very much mutual.

Neither one of them will have as many days as we would wish for them. So they’re doing something about it. They’re making the days count.

Gabby and Hannah are not allowing themselves to be defined by a heart that doesn’t work quite the way it should. They are defined by what they do with the days those hearts gives them.

That is the Happy Tail. Not that everything broken gets fixed.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes love doesn’t cure the heart.

It just fills it.

P.S. An update from last night’s story about Bailey and Charlie:

Both boys are at the veterinarian, and unfortunately, both are very sick.

Charlie is going into kidney failure and also has pneumonia. The good news tonight is that he is responding well to antibiotics for the pneumonia.

We know what the kidney failure means.

We’re going to set up hospice care for him and give Charlie all the good days we possibly can. As long as he is comfortable, happy and enjoying his life, his people here at the Poodle Farm will be right there with him.

Bailey has one of the worst cases of hookworms we’ve seen. We don’t yet know whether his age and immune system made him particularly vulnerable or whether we may be seeing a resistant strain introduced into our population. We’ve had a wonderful stretch with very few parasite problems, so we’ll be watching everyone carefully again.

Bailey is also under veterinary care and receiving appropriate treatment, and we’re hoping for the best.

Last night I told you about Madison and Caleb noticing that something wasn’t right with these two old boys and speaking up.

Tonight I’m even more grateful that they did.

They knew their dogs. They paid attention. They called. They were right.

We’re hoping for the best for both of our boys. ❤️ I’ll keep you updated.

I thought that until about 9 o’clock tonight.

I have several really incredible adoption stories I’ve been holding onto for a day like today. A slow day.

I had two interviews this morning. I met with the team at Addison’s Abbey that is implementing our new strategy for managing the small dog center. I had some personal errands to run in the afternoon. Then I was going to come home and write.

Some of those stories are almost done.

But then life happens.

Almost simultaneously, I got calls from our team at Addison’s Abbey and from our caregiver in the Kennel.

Two SOS dogs were struggling.

Bailey, a little mini doodle who will be 14 in November, had decided that eating was no longer on his agenda. Neither was moving around much.

For a dog who, even at his age, likes to bounce through life, this was a problem.

Turning down food for one shift isn’t something that makes me panic. But that was day shift. By the time we got into night shift, things were getting worse. Bloody diarrhea. Then Bailey started vomiting his water.

That’s when I got the call.

And the videos.

About the same time, SOS Charlie the Lab was worrying caregiver Madison quite thoroughly.

Charlie just turned 12 in May, and for a Labrador Retriever, that is getting well up there. He wasn’t drinking as much. He wasn’t eating as much.

That’s worrisome.

I headed up the hill after the first call. Caleb met me in the parking lot with Bailey and we got him in the back of my SUV. Bailey is spending the night with us here at the house. I did telemedicine with our veterinarian, we have a plan for tonight, and tomorrow Bailey will be going in.

Charlie?

I’m not so sure about Charlie. 😂

I went running into the Kennel to check on him. Madison said, “Here, he’s over here,” and took me to his run.

Charlie popped up, started wagging his tail and looked around as if to say, What is wrong with you women?

Madison looked at me astonished.

“I swear he was sick!”

I started laughing. Because I have no doubt he was. I had seen the videos. But at that moment, he was ok.

Still, I suspect we’ll be getting Charlie in for a good once-over pretty soon, too.

Now you may be wondering why I’m telling you all of this.

I’m not really telling you about the dogs. I am telling you about the people.

Other than these two young caregivers, both employees, these two dogs don’t have anyone else to notice. They don’t have families waiting at home for them. They have the caregivers who take care of them here at the Poodle Farm.

Both have behavior problems. Or, at least, they have what we humans have labeled as problems.

Charlie simply doesn’t like other dogs. He thinks people are wonderful. But in a world where there are thousands upon thousands of dogs of his breed looking for homes, sometimes having the slightest opinion of your own can be enough to make you difficult to place.

Bailey is the opposite. He has been known to be picky about people. He likes who he likes. He doesn’t think he should have to put up with strangers touching him, and he especially doesn’t appreciate having his collar grabbed. When his family went through a divorce when Bailey was older, there weren’t many options for a picky little Poodle mix.

There was just us.

But Bailey and Charlie aren’t actually what made me want to write this tonight.

It was the young people who called me.

Both caregivers on duty picked up their phones and called the boss.

They noticed.

They worried.

They sent videos. They asked questions. And when they weren’t sure what to do, they had enough initiative to say, I need help.

Yes, they are employees.

But they care.

They care deeply enough to make absolutely certain that these dogs’ needs are taken care of. The dogs don’t have to belong to them to still be their dogs.

And I am very proud of both of them.

I’m interviewing right now, and that elusive caring factor is exactly what I’m looking for.

I can teach someone how to clean a kennel. I can teach someone how to prepare food, give medications, read a chart, follow a protocol or document what they’ve done.

What is much harder to teach is noticing. Seeing that the old dog who normally bounces isn’t bouncing.

Realizing that the Lab who usually finishes his water hasn’t.

Stopping what you’re doing because something just doesn’t feel right.

And then having the initiative to pick up the phone and say, I need help.

I will probably interview 20 or 25 people to find two.

Because that quality is rare.

The quality of noticing and then not only noticing, but caring.

But our dogs deserve it.

And you, our supporters, deserve to know that when you entrust these dogs to us, somebody is watching.

Somebody notices.

So I’ll keep looking until I find those people.

Because around here, even when a dog has nobody of his own anymore, he is still somebody’s dog.

Tonight, Bailey and Charlie were theirs.

And that matters.

After a wonderful day of adoptions on Saturday and a very intense day drafting a whole new protocol for Addison’s Abbey, our small dog center, I came home last night and simply closed my eyes and didn’t open them again till Sunday morning.

I am so sorry, because I have a wonderful story to tell you. It’s about the accidental adoption of Jax.

I tell adopters to come with an open heart and an open mind.

For those of you in my age range, I’m sure you can remember going to the animal shelter and walking the halls, looking at each dog that was up for adoption. Or maybe you remember looking in the newspaper, seeing a little notice that said “Free Puppies,” and going to meet the dogs.

There were no internet listings because there was no internet.

You might see a one-by-one-inch grainy photograph in black and white in the paper that would take a microscope and laser vision to truly make anything out of. You might get the sex of the dog and possibly even a color, but that wasn’t guaranteed.

You simply knew there was a dog.

And you wanted one.

You would sort the rest out when you got there. Your questions would not be answered until you walked in and met the dog. You see, there was no other way to do it.

Go. Look. Meet. Decide.

There was no marketing. There were no fancy photographs—and I don’t know if you’ve seen dog profile photographs recently, but we are pretty darn good photographers. These things come close to professional.

There were no videos so you could see the animal in action. There were no disclaimers. No “good with kids, good with cats, sheds, doesn’t shed, knows their name,” etc. on that little bit of newspaper ad.

You figured out the age of that dog by looking at their teeth and their eyes and noting their behavior when you got there.

They were definitely simpler times.

Technology has changed all that. And while I appreciate the technology, and we certainly use the technology, the technology takes a lot of work.

Now, the other side of that matching coin is that today we expect you to tell us at least one dog you would like to meet before we set up an appointment. You can’t just say, “Show me all the Poodles.” You have to be more specific.

And sometimes I think we’ve lost something in having to be that specific.

It is what it is, and we’re not going back to those days. But I still smile when an adopter walks in with an open mind and an open heart.

Because that’s when magic often happens.

And it happened Saturday for Brook and Tom from Woodruff, South Carolina.

Brooke and Tom got me as their matchmaker, and by a happy mistake, the dog they most wanted to meet, Mocha, was still in the bathtub.

So we had a chance to chat.

I learned a little more about them than you can ever find out on paper, and I asked if they would be willing to help me with something while we waited for Mocha.

They said of course.

We had just moved one of the little boys from one of our most recent hoarding cases into my office. We felt like he needed a little more socialization with people.

Boy, were we wrong.

I often tell people when they’re in my office that no experience is wasted. When adopters are willing to meet multiple dogs, we get to see how those dogs interact with different people. We get to see how they do with strangers, and I can often shape and mold who we show that dog to based on what I see happening right there in the room.

I asked Brook and Tom if they would mind meeting a little Poodle, even though I knew a Poodle was nowhere on their list.

They said sure. They’d be glad to.

Lia was sitting right next to Jax’s crate. She leaned down and opened the door.

And Jax came strutting out.

He pranced to the middle of the room, looked around, saw Brook and Tom, and announced:

“You’re the ones.”

Meanwhile, I watch Brooke and Tom looking at each other and smiling. The little confident Poodle mix was definitely not what they expected and yet everything they were hoping for. but there was still that concern because they had not even known any existed. Brook thought she remembered seeing him on the available list but wasn’t 100% sure

I had a staff meeting to get to, so I didn’t stay while they met the dog who actually was on their list, or the other dog we suggested once we had gotten to know them better. I know there was a lot of discussion. I know there was a lot of questions. I know Jax stayed with them the whole time.

At the end of the meet and greet, the file that was prepared was for Jax.

You see, the dogs do have a say in this.

The dogs have opinions.

And they can’t read internet listings. They can’t swipe left or swipe right on your profile.

They have to wait until they walk into the room.

They sniff.

They assess.

They make their decisions.

And the dogs are always right.

I am wishing nothing but the very best for our new family.

Happy tails, Brook, Tom and Jax. (note I don’t have a photograph because they did request no social media and we always honor that request).

It was also a day spent brainstorming with the team here at the Farm.

Our small dog center has absolutely exploded. It now takes two people to run it, simply because of the sheer number of animals coming in and the amount of time it takes to do all the things we need to do to get a dog ready for adoption.

There’s the medical evaluation.

There’s the temperament evaluation.

And then there’s the all-important marketing.

It all takes time.

Time that you need us to take so that you can make the right decision.

But our growth has also created some challenges and increased our dogs’ time in residence. We have the capacity, but we needed a better way to very quickly determine which dogs belong in which playgroups, which dogs belong in which yards, and—most importantly—why.

So Monday we’re kicking off a new color-code system to help us better identify what kind of living each dog in our small dog center needs, and where that dog can best get that kind of life while they’re with us.

Anytime you implement a new procedure, there are bugs.

Wish us luck as we work them out.

And tomorrow night, I’ll let you know how Day One went.

We had a total of nine adoptions this week. Nine great new families. I can’t wait to see how they do.

Good night from the Poodle Farm. 🌙🐩❤️

We had two of those today.

Two beautiful, wonderful repeat adopters coming back for their next dog.

Repeat adopters make my heart sing. We know them. They know us. And they know we will do everything we can to deliver to them a dog that will sing to their heart.

For Pat and her new love, Pi the Schnauzer, and for Erlene and Jim and their new baby, Gracie, today was the beginning.

I’m so excited for these two new families.

But today, my first full day back after some time away, reality also slammed me in the face.

First there was the email from the frustrated person who wants to relinquish her dog. She assumed simply because we asked her what breed of dog this was and where she was located that meant we would be her salvation.

We can’t.

And in her frustration—and in what I know is her fear of what she may have to do—she turned her anger on our email team.

That’s not right.

Then there were the shelters we work with regularly putting out their euthanasia lists.

They have no choice. Space is limited.

And I confess.

After getting two of those lists in a row, knowing they were just two of the thousands of shelters out there sending the same emails, my hand hovered over the unsubscribe button.

I’m doing all I can.

Why should I keep looking at all these faces I can’t help?

I didn’t unsubscribe. I didn’t unsubscribe because there’s another human being on the end of these emails hoping desperately that her emails will get through. So I didn’t unsubscribe.

But I thought about it.

I’m very human.

Last but not least was the slap on the wrist that was given to a local animal abuser. She took to social media to brag about an early release. She has been allowed to walk away.

And it got me thinking about the difficulty of what we do.

Since we’re hiring, how do I explain this to the young people who come into my office with their smiles and their hopes that they will get a job working with animals?

How do I explain the heartbreak— that the work is hard and the rewards not always obvious. But how do I explain the fact that it is worth it?

The heartbreak is simple.

Those who care the most, those who choose to spend their lives helping animals, are often the very ones who have to make decisions about which animals will die because other humans have failed those same animals.

It’s not fair.

But it is what it is. It is why I have such respect for our shelter workers.

I was speaking with two of our young caregivers tonight who we’re having a particularly tough evening because, sometimes, dogs misbehave. There were complaints that we were crowded. That there jobs were hard.

And we talked about this. We talked about those emails. We talked about all the intake that we do and I shared some of the stories. I need to share more of that with my team. We talked about how many other humans had failed these dogs long before we came along to try to do the best we could with them.

We talked about the fact that if you are going to work in this field, you have to make a decision.

You have to decide whether you can shoulder the heartbreak and whether you can balance that heartbreak with the good. We talked about that you have to be the good human when the other humans have failed them. We watched dogs playing at our feet who had no hope just a few weeks before. Dogs who humans have failed through not caring. That’s not our issue. We care. We may fail them but it’s not from not caring.

Here at the Poodle Farm, we are not having to make euthanasia decisions based on space, and for that I am grateful.

But we say no.

And I know that for every no we say, an animal may die.

When we do say yes, we often stretch our resources. We stretch them as far as they can go—and then some.

We are trying to do what we can do, in every way that we can do it.

But that makes it hard on our people.

I talked to our young caregivers tonight about what keeps me going.

It’s those adopters like the ones we had today.

It’s the donors. Today I signed up another Patron, a wonderful lady who has a Standard Poodle and is at a point in her life where she wants to make a difference. She found us through an internet search when she decided she wanted to make her charitable donations truly mean something for something she cared about deeply. She wanted something where she could actually see her money making a difference.

She chose us.

She’s only two hours away, and I hope she’ll come visit soon.

For her, I am grateful.

For her, I will make the hard decisions.

And I thought about the young woman who sat in my office today with that smile on her face, interviewing for what she hopes will be her dream job.

She’s young. She wants to own her own rescue one day. She wants to find someplace where she can make a difference.

We talked a lot about the hard parts.

She’s coming back tomorrow to work side-by-side with a caregiver and see if this is truly what she wants to do.

I’m not going to lie to her.

I’m going to tell her about the hard parts as well as the parts that bring joy.

The yin and the yang.

The good and the bad.

Yesterday we got to do the good part, we got to say yes twice.

These two souls arrived today.

The little apricot girl, who we’ve named Ava, was abandoned. Once her people found out she was at the animal shelter, they said, essentially, fine. Keep her.

The little boy, whose name is now Andrew, was a stray.

Poodles never used to be found as strays.

Now it’s common.

Two more faces. Two more lives we didn’t know anything about yesterday. Two more dogs who needed someone to say yes.

Where people failed them, we stepped in.

And we will do all we can to do better by them.

That is the balance.

That is why we keep going.

Tonight’s post isn’t asking for pity.

It’s a post of thanks.

Thank you for all the yeses we get to say.

Thank you for helping make those yeses possible.

And thank you for understanding that we make mistakes.

Sometimes we don’t contact you as much as we should. Sometimes we don’t update as much as we should. Sometimes we simply don’t get everything right.

But it all comes from a place where CPR is trying to be the best we can be, every single day.

And knowing that, no matter how hard we try, some days we will fail.

But we will get back up.

If you’ll be there to help us.

For more information on our Patrons program, visit our Link at

Poodle Patrons

or drop me an email here on Substack or at donna@carolinapoodlerescue.org. I would be glad to tell you more about it.

We do what we do only because of you🐾❤️

It was a wonderful vacation and I enjoyed every minute of it, but I did miss the life here at the Poodle Farm. There is never a dull moment here, and there was never a dull moment at the lake, either. Do you think there ever is as long as there are Poodles involved?

But this one taught me a very important safety lesson. And it’s going to allow me to introduce you to someone I’ve wanted to introduce you to for a long time.

Luna is now a very senior Standard Poodle at 14 years old. She still loves to go, but she has slowed down a lot.

About a year and a half ago, a two-year-old Standard named Phoebe bounced into the Poodle Farm and right into my heart.

Phoebe is like Luna only in breed and sex. In everything else, they couldn’t be more different, and I think that was exactly what I needed.

Luna is elegance, grace and style, splashed with a healthy dose of doggy common sense. I can take her anywhere.

I call Phoebe my wrecking ball.

Phoebe is enthusiasm, energy and a level of affection for her humans that I haven’t seen in many years. You will notice nowhere in there do I mention common sense. She has none. I do love her dearly, but oh, can she try me.

And try me she did last week.

We have a pontoon, and we love to take the dogs out on the lake. Phoebe had been on the pontoon before, but for some reason this time she was especially enthusiastic about it.

It was our very first trip out, and Phoebe and Alfredo my cavalier poodle mix had ridden with me from the dock where we put the boat in over to where our campsite is. Phoebe got so excited that when we were a good six feet from shore, she decided it was time to get out of the boat and go find the rest of her family.

Out she went.

I didn’t think anything of it for about 12 seconds.

Then I realized that a little blonde head was not bopping down the beach like it should have been.

I’m looking around, thinking she’s to one side or the other, and then I realized she was not.

My dog was under the boat.

And at that point, all I could think about was: What was she thinking?

It was just me and her and Alfredo.

And Alfredo was no help at all.

I grew up on beaches and in pools. My mom loved the water and so do I. I was a lifeguard and coached a swim team in college. I’m very comfortable in the water. But it has been a very long time since college. A very long time.

I grounded the boat and didn’t even bother tying off, because when I looked under the boat, there was my dog paddling.

In the wrong direction.

The next 60 seconds were the longest of my life.

Our pontoon is 27 feet long, and Phoebe was at the end of it and I was at the front of it. I kicked off my flip-flops and in the water I went, clothes and all.

(Special note to my readers: the iPhone 17 is indeed waterproof. I know because mine was in my pocket.)

I kicked on out because where we were grounded there was about three feet of shallow water over a sandy base, and then it dropped down 20 feet in a hurry. I started side-stroking, trying to keep my head above water so I could find this silly Poodle.

Surely, as soon as she got out from underneath the boat, she would head for shore.

But no.

At this point I’m at the back of the boat. Phoebe is a good 10 feet out and away from the back of the boat, and she is paddling in circles with her head barely above water.

And that is when I realized the most heart-wrenching fact.

My dog can’t swim.

In fact, she was caught in something I now know can happen when an inexperienced or panicked dog tries to swim. Instead of using all four legs, they may concentrate on their front legs and become almost vertical in the water. They are both trying to keep their heads up above water and trying to find stable land with their back feet. It takes tremendous energy, and it can become dangerous very quickly.

Phoebe was in over 20 feet of water. There was no way she was going to touch the bottom and keep her head above water, too. She was paddling only with her front legs, trying to keep her head above water and going in circles, with no thought in that blonde head that heading for shore may be a good idea and using the back legs an even better idea.

Mama to the rescue.

I never could get her out of that vertical position. So I would lift up her hind end while I was treading water and shove her toward the shore.

She would go maybe three feet and stop again, rear end down and chin up.

I would stroke up, tread water with just my legs and use my arms to lift up that hind end and shove.

Lift and shove.

Lift and shove.

Lift and shove.

I know it took less than a minute.

It felt like hours.

We got to shore. She scrambled up, shook everything off and took off to examine the world as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, I’m on my hands and knees in the shallows, heaving in great gulps of air, knowing two things.

First, I need to add more cardio—and, if at all possible, swimming—to my exercise routine.

I was exhausted.

Second, we were not getting back on that boat without life jackets.

I have dog jackets, I just hadn’t been using them. That changed. In fact, all the dogs wore life jackets for the rest of the vacation.

Then I went to Walmart and bought a very nice Bodyglove brand lifejacket for me.

We have the inexpensive orange ones. I wanted better. Because if one of my dogs went into the water again, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going in after them. And after that little exercise, I also knew how tiring it could be to tread water with just leg power while trying to rescue a panicked dog.

So, lesson learned.

Not all dogs can swim.

Not only that, some of them get caught in their own minds.

And if you spend time around the water with your dogs, don’t assume they know what to do simply because they’re dogs. Life jackets are now standard equipment on our pontoon—for them and for me.

And that, my friends, is my introduction to you of Phoebe. My Facebook friends have enjoyed for many years hearing about Luna and our adventures together.

I suspect with Phoebe, it’s going to be more misadventures.

I am very glad to be back. I spent the day catching up on correspondence and checking in with my team. I’m very thankful for the strong leaders we have here at the Poodle Farm because everything kept working smoothly while I was away.

Today we also said hello to Kiwi, a sweet little Labradoodle who was found as a stray in Pickens, South Carolina.

And I got to see the beginnings of a facelift in our matchmaker’s office. I can’t wait to see how that is going to turn out. It is going to be gorgeous.

So we’re back.

And I’m looking forward to each evening sharing with you the adventures—or misadventures—here at the Poodle Farm.

A little more about dog water safety:
I found an excellent article from Whole Dog Journal after our adventure with Phoebe. It explains why not all dogs instinctively know how to swim, what happens when a frightened or inexperienced dog becomes vertical in the water, and why a properly fitted canine life jacket matters. I hope it will save someone out there from having to go through what Phoebe and I did.

Whole Dog Journal — Dogs Water Safety

We are blessed to stay in touch with many of our families. They send Christmas cards, vacation pictures, birthday updates, and funny stories. Some become volunteers. Some become foster homes. Many adopt again and again. They become part of the Carolina Poodle Rescue family, and those updates mean more than they probably realize. On the hard days especially, they remind us why we do what we do.

A package arrived recently from one of those families.

Dr. Leslie Ellis has adopted three dogs from Carolina Poodle Rescue over the years, and this package contained a beautiful children’s book she has written about one of those dogs, It’s titled Jackie’s Job. The star of the story is Jackie, a little black miniature poodle who once lived here at the farm.

When Jackie left us, we knew he was a delightful little dog. What none of us knew was what his life would become. Dr. Ellis saw something in Jackie that was waiting to be discovered. She saw intelligence, gentleness, and a dog who might one day help people simply by being himself.

Then she did what every great adopter does. She nurtured that potential.

Today Jackie works alongside Dr. Ellis, quietly helping children and families in ways only a good dog can. Rescue gave Jackie a second chance. Dr. Ellis gave him a purpose.

As I turned the pages, I came to the acknowledgments. There was Carolina Poodle Rescue, thanked for being part of Jackie’s journey. I have to admit, that touched my heart. Not because we need recognition, but because it reminded me that every adoption is a partnership. We help dogs find the right people, and then those people help the dogs become everything they were meant to be.

That is all we ever hope for.

Not that every dog writes a book or becomes known outside his own family, but that every adopter looks at their dog and asks, “What is possible?” Then they love them enough to help them discover the answer.

Tonight, while Jackie is curled up at home after another day of changing lives, another standard poodle is on transport right now on her way to Carolina Poodle Rescue. Her name is East. I don’t know much about her yet. I know her life has changed and she can no longer stay where she is through no fault of her own. I know she’s probably frightened. I know her world has just changed. But I also know she has tremendous potential.

We just don’t know what it is yet.

And that’s one of my favorite parts of rescue.

Tomorrow we’ll begin discovering who East is. Somewhere down the road, an adopter will see something in her. They’ll nurture it, encourage it, and help her become exactly who she was created to be.

That’s how rescue works.

One dog at a time.

One family at a time.

One beautiful story at a time.

Good night from the Poodle Farm. 💙🐾

Tonight’s post is coming to you a little differently.

Tomorrow, Wayne and I are slipping away for a few days at Lake Hartwell. While my goal is to slow down a little, I have a feeling you know me well enough to realize I’ll probably still be writing many evenings. The Poodle Farm doesn’t stop just because I’m sitting by a lake.

The dogs are still being loved. The staff is still caring. The volunteers are still showing up.

And the stories...

Well, they never seem to take a vacation.

Today was actually a fairly quiet day at the farm, which gave me time to think about someone very special. This morning, I got the news I had been waiting for. CPR adopter Libby Steadman has passed away.

Her full name was Colonel Emmie Elizabeth “Libby” Steadman. Most people who knew Libby would probably begin by telling you about her remarkable career.

She served our country for thirty years in the United States Army Nurse Corps, eventually retiring as a Colonel. She taught combat trauma nursing, served in Afghanistan, helped shape the future of nursing through her work at MUSC, and devoted her retirement to her church, her community, and helping others. She lived a life of extraordinary service.

But that’s not how I remember Libby.

I remember the phone call. About six weeks ago, Libby called to tell me she was dying.

She wasn’t frightened.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t asking, “Why me?”

She was planning.

Her mind was sharp, and she understood something many people never have the opportunity to understand—that she still had time to make sure the people and the things she loved would be cared for.

One of those was Honey. Honey is the little miniature poodle Libby adopted from Carolina Poodle Rescue in 2022. Libby already knew exactly what she wanted. Her dear friend, Mitzi Carter, was going to care for Honey.

But Libby also knew our adoption contract. She knew the commitment she had made to Honey and to Carolina Poodle Rescue. So together we came up with a plan. We had Mitzi complete an adoption application, and then we officially re-adopted Honey to Libby with Mitzi as a co-owner.

It was neat.

It was clean.

It was so very Libby.

Every “t” crossed.

Every “i” dotted.

When the time came, Honey wouldn’t have to lose her person and wonder what happened next. She already knew the next chapter. She was already home.

This Tuesday we’ll leave our camping trip for a few hours to come back and celebrate Libby’s life. She earned that. She had planned it and let me know where it would be. The only question was when. I told her whenever that was, I would be there. I will meet that last commitment.

August also happens to be Make-A-Will Month.

Most people think of a will as something we leave for our family. Libby reminded me that, if we love animals, it’s also something we leave for them. Our pets don’t understand death. They don’t understand probate. They don’t understand legal documents. They simply wait for the person they love to come home.

If that person never does... Someone has to know what comes next. Honey will never have to wonder. Libby made sure of that.

If there’s one thing I’d ask you to do this month, it’s this:

If you love your pets enough to care for them every single day... Love them enough to make a plan for the day you no longer can. That’s one of the greatest gifts you’ll ever give them.

I like to think Libby is smiling, knowing Honey is exactly where she hoped she’d be. That she gave Honey that greatest gift. Security. Mitzi has Honey now - and if anything ever happens, CPR has Mitzi’s back.

Sleep well, my friend.

And thank you for reminding all of us that one final act of love is simply making sure those we leave behind are cared for.

Good night from the Poodle Farm... 💙🐾

Sometimes it arrives as an email.

Sometimes it rides in the passenger seat of a car.

Sometimes it walks through our gate on four legs.

Today, hope showed up three different times.

This morning it arrived in the form of an eight-year-old standard poodle named Samson.

Intake coordinator Deneille had been working quietly behind the scenes with Samson’s owner. Samson has struggled with chronic ear infections for years. His owner has done everything she knew to do, but financially she had reached the heartbreaking point where she simply couldn’t continue providing the care he needed.

She wasn’t looking for someone to judge her.

She wasn’t looking for someone to tell her what she should have done differently.

She was looking for hope.

Hope that someone could do what she no longer could.

Today one of the veterinarians who has adopted from Carolina Poodle Rescue performed Samson’s temperament evaluation for us. She has generously volunteered this service before, and we are so grateful.

Then something wonderful happened.

After meeting Samson, she went home, talked with her husband, and together they reached out to Deneille.

Could they foster him?

Could they begin treating those painful ears before he ever went up for adoption?

They weren’t looking for another dog.

They had simply met one who needed them.

That is rescue.

People helping pets in whatever way they can.

Then there was Juliet.

Our first contact with Juliet’s owner came more than a month ago. Her standard poodle was having problems getting along with her Rottweiler and her Shih Tzu’s. There were other behavior problems also.

Since that first email, her husband has passed away, making it even more important that she find help for Juliet.

Today she made the long drive to Carolina Poodle Rescue.

Think about what that drive must have felt like.

Hours on the road…

Knowing that Juliet would have to pass a temperament evaluation.

Knowing that if she didn’t, we might not be able to help.

Not knowing if she would be driving home with Juliet beside her or with an empty seat.

She came anyway.

Because she was hoping.

Today we completed Juliet’s temperament evaluation. She loved every person she met. She did beautifully with the standard poodles she met. She was appropriate with the small dog she met under controlled circumstances.

And the more I watched her, the more I found myself wondering…

What if Juliet isn’t a problem dog at all?

What if she’s simply…

…a standard poodle?

We humans have done something remarkable over hundreds of years.

Dogs are the only animals we’ve intentionally shaped into hundreds of different breeds, each with their own instincts, strengths, and way of looking at the world.

Not every breed fits every person.

That’s okay.

Some people are Labrador people.

Some people love terriers.

As for me…

Every time I look at a standard poodle, I smile. There’s something about the way they think that simply speaks to my soul.

We’ll continue getting to know Juliet, but today gave me hope that understanding her may be more about understanding the breed than changing the dog.

And then…

There was Athena.

Yesterday she had bladder surgery.

Today she left the Poodle Farm.

Well… sort of.

A wonderful couple came to meet a completely different dog. But Athena had just come back from the hospital and so was in the adoption center with us.

She met the family.

The family met her.

And that was the magic.

One of the things I’ve learned over the years is that not every perfect match is on our website. Sometimes the dog you came to meet isn’t the dog who steals your heart.

Sometimes the best surprises are waiting right here at the Poodle Farm.

Athena went home today on a foster contract.

She is still officially a Carolina Poodle Rescue dog while she finishes her recovery.

Next Wednesday she’ll return to our veterinarian for her one-week recheck. Her bladder stones have been sent to the laboratory so we’ll know exactly what kind they were. Once those results come back, we’ll be able to help her new family choose the best diet to reduce the chances of this ever happening again.

There was simply no reason for Athena to recover in a kennel when the home we believed was right for her was already waiting.

Her family lives nearby.

They’ll continue every follow-up with our veterinarian.

When she’s medically cleared…

We’ll make everything official.

And then we’ll share the happy adoption picture.

Three different stories.

Three different families.

Three different dogs.

But underneath all of them was the same thing.

Hope.

Hope that someone would answer their email.

Hope that there was still another chapter.

Hope that healing was still possible.

Hope that a dog they loved could still have the life they deserved.

Hope that the dog is perfect for them is waiting for them at the Poodle farm.

That’s really what people bring to the Poodle Farm.

Hope.

Our job is to take that hope, combine it with a lot of hard work and a whole lot of people who care, and see if together we can turn it into a happy ending.

Because together…

Yes, we can. 💙🐾

Sometimes love doesn’t end when ownership does

Today was all about Athena.

Yesterday, I received a call about a beautiful standard poodle Named Athena. Athena had been found as a stray. That used to never happen with poodles but now it’s pretty routine.

I also found out very quickly that this standard poodle had a problem. She was peeing blood and she was doing it many times an hour. That led to diagnostics and that told us the story. She had two very large bladder stones. She needed surgery, and she needed it quickly.

We also learned something else. Athena had a microchip.

That little chip led me to a woman I will call Mari (Not her real name).

She answered my call with kindness and, although she was surprised to hear from me, immediately began helping me piece together Athena’s story.

The microchip was in Mari’s name because years ago she had enrolled Athena in a Banfield wellness plan for her daughter, who had raised Athena from puppyhood.

Then life changed. Last year, her daughter joined the United States Navy.

After many conversations, they made the difficult decision to find Athena another home. Mari already had another dog and simply couldn’t take on a second one. They believed they had found a good family. For a while they stayed in touch.

Then life did what life often does. People get busy. The updates become less frequent. Eventually they stop altogether.

No one ever imagined that more than a year later they would receive a phone call from South Carolina telling them that Athena had been found as a stray… and that she urgently needed surgery.

Mari couldn’t have been kinder.

She shared everything she knew—Athena’s birthday, her history, and how much her daughter had loved her. Then she promised to reach out to her daughter so they could decide what came next.

Earlier today, my phone buzzed.

Attached was a signed owner release. Mari and her daughter had talked. Nothing about their circumstances had changed. Her daughter still couldn’t take Athena because of her military service. Mari still wasn’t in a position to care for another dog. But both of them wanted the very best for Athena. They entrusted her to Carolina Poodle Rescue.

Five minutes later, I was writing a fundraiser.

The interesting thing is that our veterinarian had already started surgery. He wasn’t waiting. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. That’s one of the many reasons we love working with him.

I released Athena’s fundraiser around two o’clock this afternoon and headed to a dentist appointment.

When I came back out, I opened our donations software, Givebutter. I honestly expected we’d still have a long way to go.

Instead, I just stood there staring.

The goal had already been reached. In about two and a half hours.

Later I learned why. Athena’s former owner had found our fundraiser. She looked to see how much our incredible community had already donated.

Then she quietly did the math - and donated all that was needed to reach goal.

For just a moment… Athena was her little girl again.

She couldn’t bring her home. But she could make sure she received the care she needed.

And she did.

It would be easy to spend tonight talking about the people who ignored blood in Athena’s urine. It would be easy to focus on the people who let her become lost.

Those things matter.

But they aren’t what I’m choosing to remember tonight.

Tonight I want to remember the good. A good Samaritan who stopped to help a wandering dog. A mother who answered a phone call she never expected. A young woman serving our country who stepped in one last time for the dog she loved. A veterinarian who began surgery before anyone knew how it would be paid for.

And hundreds of people—most of whom will never meet Athena—who simply said, “Yes. We can help.”

People often tell me that Carolina Poodle Rescue saves dogs.

That’s only part of the story.

The truth is that Carolina Poodle Rescue is a community. A family. A village of people who refuse to look away when an animal is suffering. I may be the one who tells these stories each night, but they only have happy endings because of you.

Athena is resting comfortably tonight because a good Samaritan cared.

Because a mother cared.

Because a daughter in the Navy cared.

Because a veterinarian cared.

And because all of you cared.

Thank you for making sure that, once again, we didn’t have to say no.

Good night from the Poodle Farm. 💙🐾

For most people, “typical” probably wouldn’t include nineteen dogs headed to the veterinarian, but around here that’s just called medical day.

Some dogs went for exams. Others had procedures. Every one of them received exactly what they needed.

Three of the four dogs we left at the veterinary clinic yesterday came home today. Oscar Wilde is feeling better. Shelby is also much better and back home where she belongs. Tortellini came home, too. Only Athena stayed behind, and I’ll tell you more about her tomorrow.

It was a busy day.

But that’s not the story I want to tell tonight.

Today’s story is about a young woman named Olivia. And two very lucky kittens.

Olivia used to work here at Carolina Poodle Rescue. These days she’s moved on to another job, but she never really left us. She’s one of our volunteers, one of our foster homes, and the proud adopter of three former CPR sanctuary dogs.

Today she was working at Walmart in Gaffney, helping a customer load groceries into a car.

Then she heard it. Tiny cries.

Kittens.

The sound was coming from somewhere inside the customer’s vehicle.

Most people probably would have looked around for a moment and then gone back to work.

Not Olivia.

She asked the customer to wait while she figured out where those cries were coming from.

The video I’m sharing doesn’t show much more than the inside of a car engine, but if you listen carefully, you can hear those tiny voices.

Someone, somewhere, thought that engine compartment was a safe place.

It wasn’t.

Olivia got those kittens out safely.

Then she did something that made me smile. She called me.

“Donna… what do I do now?”

The kittens were dehydrated. The shelter was closed. The Humane Society was closed. She had two frightened babies sitting in her arms.

I told her exactly what I would have done.

“Go find a veterinarian.”

I sent her the names of the clinics I knew were still open and suggested she try Dr. Grant Blakely first because I knew he welcomed walk-in emergencies.

He did.

Not only did he see the kittens, he agreed to keep them overnight and transport them to the shelter the next morning so they could begin their journey toward finding homes.

Afterward I checked on Olivia. My first question wasn’t about the kittens.

It was… “Are you going to get fired over this?”

She laughed. No.

Walmart had given her an extended lunch break so she could help save those little lives.

Good for you, Walmart. Sometimes doing the right thing is more important than watching the clock.

And good for you, Olivia.

You may not work here anymore, but your heart is still very much Carolina Poodle Rescue. Once you’re part of this family, I guess you never really leave.

The rest of our day settled back into its usual rhythm.

We welcomed a tiny new fellow from our friends at Oconee Humane Society. They are facing heartbreaking euthanasia deadlines and asked if we could help.

I looked into one little face…

And I couldn’t say no.

The staff wanted to name him Sid Squid or Sqatch.

After seeing those enormous eyes, I had to admit I understood why.

We compromised. His name is Novak. it means, very simply, new. You’ll be meeting him very soon.

Novak reportedly has seizures. Some people see that and see a challenge. I see Peyton.

Peyton was one of our first SOS dog we ever welcomed back in 2009. She taught me that epileptic dogs can live wonderful, happy lives with the right care.

Ever since then, I’ve had a soft spot for them.

Tonight Novak is decompressing quietly in my office, and I have a feeling we’re going to become good friends.

Out on the porch, Junior the hummingbird has once again managed to get himself trapped under my tarp for the fourth or fifth evening in a row.

I even bought him a little hummingbird perch.

The adult hummingbirds seem to understand exactly how to leave before dark.

Junior… Not so much.

So tonight he’s spending another safe night on the porch with us before heading back out in the morning.

There are seven hummingbirds at the feeders tonight.

Dixie and Babe are quietly grazing in the yard. Tilly and Dartagnan are with them, just out of sight of this picture.

The dogs are settling in for the night.

And all is well at the Poodle Farm.

Good night from the Poodle Farm. 💙🐾

This morning started exactly the way many rescue mornings do. Oscar and Shelby, two standard poodles, loaded into my SUV headed for the veterinarian. Oscar needed help with some significant medical issues, and Shelby had gone from bouncing around yesterday to looking frighteningly sick overnight. Somewhere between diagnostics, phone calls, and our daily strategy meeting, another standard poodle named Athena entered our lives with blood in her urine, a microchip that led us all the way to California, and a family now deciding what comes next.

It was one of those days when every hour brought another dog needing another answer.

But tonight, I’m thinking about a little Chihuahua named Sweet Girl.

Several years ago, Sweet Girl lost the man who loved her. He struggled with addiction, but he loved his five little Chihuahuas. After he passed away, Carolina Poodle Rescue found homes for all of them.

Sweet Girl went to live with my friend Deborah.

Life was good until cancer changed everything.

Deborah has battled cancer on every front and for two decades with a courage that humbles me. When it became clear she could no longer care for Sweet Girl, she did one of the hardest things a person can do.

She brought her back to me.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she loved her enough to put Sweet Girl’s needs ahead of her own.

A little over a week ago, Deborah called with wonderful news. Treatment was helping. She was feeling stronger. She had found a new place to live where she would have friends nearby if she needed them.

Then she quietly asked me a question.

“If Sweet Girl is still there… could I have her back?”

My heart sank.

I already had a meet-and-greet scheduled for the very next day.

A wonderful woman named Savana was coming to meet Sweet Girl.

Deborah didn’t hesitate.

She simply said that wouldn’t be fair to Savana. If Sweet Girl found her home, then that was exactly what should happen.

And that’s what we all thought had happened.

Savana adopted Sweet Girl.

She also adopted Puma.

We celebrated.

But dogs have a way of telling us what we don’t know.

Sweet Girl wasn’t settling in. Despite everyone’s best efforts, there was conflict among the dogs, and it became clear this wasn’t going to be the home we had hoped it would be.

Savana called me.

We talked.

Then she did something incredibly kind.

Knowing Deborah’s story, she agreed that perhaps Sweet Girl’s journey wasn’t quite finished after all.

Today, Savana drove Sweet Girl back to Deborah’s home.

A little while later, this text appeared on my phone.

“She did not recognize me when I was saying her name. She was just sniffing the grass. Then I got closer and said, ‘Hey, Sweet Girl… Mommy.’ Oh my gosh, she went crazy. She just ate me up. She couldn’t get enough of me. She was jumping all over me and kissing her mama. She was so glad to see her mama.”

Deborah understands that pancreatic cancer is a difficult road. She isn’t pretending otherwise. None of us knows exactly what tomorrow holds.

But she also knows something just as important.

Sweet Girl brings her joy.

She gives Deborah a reason to smile, someone to care for, and a little bit of normal in the middle of a life that has been anything but normal.

Her hope is simply to keep Sweet Girl with her for as long as she can.

I can’t think of a better place for either one of them to be tonight then with each other. After that, we will see what tomorrow brings.

Sometimes rescue is about saving dogs.

Sometimes it’s about saving people.

And sometimes, if we’re very lucky, we get to do both on the very same day.

Sleep well tonight, Sweet Girl.

You finally made it back to your mama.

And just when I thought this day couldn’t hold one more blessing…

Annie quietly welcomed six beautiful puppies into the world.

Four little girls. Two little boys.

They are beautiful, don’t you agree?

Good night from the Poodle Farm. 💙🐾

But none of that is what I’ll remember about today.

Instead, I’ll remember a dog named Rory.

Two years ago, Rory arrived with four other frightened standard poodle brothers after spending the first year and a half of their lives forgotten in an outdoor pen. They had never learned to trust people. They had never known what it meant to belong to a family.

Little by little, they began to heal.

One by one, they found homes.

Rory was the fourth. (Brother Finn is still here).

He wasn’t listed as one of our adoptable dogs. Rory was part of our SOS Sanctuary Program, where supporters help provide lifelong care for dogs who may never find the right family. I’ve always said that many of our sanctuary dogs can be adopted—it just takes a very special home. Truthfully, I had begun to think that would not happen for this dog. Rory might spend the rest of his life here with me, and I was perfectly okay with that.

When Crystal and Chris first started the search for their new dog, they weren’t even looking at us. Why would they be? They lived in Idaho. They had reached out to SPIN (Standard Poodles in Need ) in Canada because it was closer. After talking through the logistics of bringing a dog across an international border, SPIN suggested they look south.

That’s how they found us.

Then Chris, who is a chiropractor, learned he had a continuing education conference.

Of all the places it could have been…

It was in Spartanburg, South Carolina. Crystal and Chris made plans to come to South Carolina and filled out their application. They are great dog owners and we looked forward to meeting them.

Since they were coming into town for several days, instead of spending their free time sightseeing, they asked if they could volunteer at the rescue.

Of course, we said yes.

Now here’s where life starts making you wonder.

That morning, Kelsey happened to put Rory on the grooming schedule for his summer haircut. Crystal and Chris hadn’t come to meet Rory. They didn’t even know he existed.

They were simply coming to help groom dogs.

As they worked beside our team, they learned about his past, how far he’d come, and how much farther he still had to go.

They fell in love.

As we talked, another dog caught their attention.

Moe.

Moe had been adopted from us as a puppy two years ago. As he grew, he became much larger and much more active than anyone had expected. His wonderful family loved him deeply, but eventually realized they couldn’t give him the lifestyle he truly needed. With many tears, they brought him back to us so we could help him find the right home.

When Crystal and Chris realized there was room in their hearts for two dogs instead of one, I don’t think any of us tried very hard to hide our smiles.

So Sunday they headed home to Idaho with both Rory and Moe.

Before they left, I insisted Rory wear one of my Tractive GPS collars. It’s currently assigned to Freya since Freya often goes horseback riding with us off lead.

I trusted Crystal and Chris completely.

I just wasn’t quite ready to trust Rory.

Turns out I was right not to trust Rory.

A few hours ago, my phone rang.

The first word out of Crystal’s mouth was, “Donna…”

You know those moments.

Before another word is spoken, your heart already knows something has happened.

A leash had broken during a stop in St. Joseph, Missouri.

Rory was gone.

Within seconds, I turned on the Tractive app and watched the little dot moving across the shopping center. I could see exactly where he was. Crystal and Chris headed that way while I watched the map from South Carolina.

Finally Crystal said, “I can see him.”

My first words were, “Good. Now stop.”

Don’t chase.

Don’t rush.

Don’t let him think he’s being trapped. He will run.

Instead, Chris quietly brought Rory’s crate over and set it on the ground with the door open.

That crate is Rory’s safe place. It has the big pillow in it that he has always slept on here at the farm. That crate was home.

He bolted straight into it.

Safe. Right where he belongs.

As I sat here tonight, I found myself thinking about how many things had to happen for Rory to end up exactly where he needed to be.

A referral from another rescue.

A conference in Spartanburg.

A volunteer day instead of sightseeing.

A grooming schedule that just happened to include Rory.

A family with room in their hearts for not one dog, but two.

A GPS collar that happened to be around Rory’s neck when a leash failed.

At some point, you stop calling them coincidences.

Maybe they’re simply reminders that sometimes life has a way of putting the right people in the right place at exactly the right time.

Tonight, Rory and Moe are somewhere between Missouri and Idaho. They’re headed home. To the right place for them.

Sometimes our job is to trust when life opens a door that we never knew existed, it’s the right door at the right time. Rory and Moe and Crystal and Chris got one of those doors.

I couldn’t be happier for all four of them.

Good night from the Poodle Farm. ❤️🐩

Usually these nightly posts are simply a walk through our day here at the Poodle Farm. Tonight, I’d like to take you somewhere a little different. It’s still about the farm, but it’s less about the events of the day and more about what today reminded me. Storms have a way of teaching lessons if we’re willing to look for them, and after the night we had, I found myself thinking about more than fallen flowers and broken bird feeders.

Last night the storms arrived around 2:30 in the morning.

Not the gentle kind that help you sleep.

The kind where the thunder sounds like a jet engine taking off over your house and every flash of lightning makes you wonder which tree might come down next.

A good friend of mine recently lost her home when a tree crashed through it. When you have seen that, it makes you think. When you live in the middle of the woods like I do, those thoughts have a way of finding you during storms.

I found myself lying awake, mentally rehearsing. If a tree came through the house… How quickly could I get every dog out? Who would go where?Who would need help first?

I was thankful for the barn that was sheltering our horses, but what if it came down? I worried about the horses.

I worried about the pigs. Their enclosure was open right now to keep it cool. How are they coping?

I worried about the hummingbirds who call my back porch home. I know they were made for weather like this. That doesn’t stop me from worrying.

Morning finally came. It seemed to take forever.

The rain had moved on, the air was cool, and for a few minutes it looked like the storm had simply become another memory.

Then I walked onto my back porch.

My little sanctuary.

And there it was. The fallout. The canopy that had protected my flowers all summer had collapsed.

Petunias were flattened.

Bird feeders lay on the porch.

Pots had tipped over.

My little sage plant sat in standing water looking like it had simply given up.

For just a minute…

…I stood there looking at everything I thought I’d lost.

Then I did what we always do here at the Poodle Farm.

We started putting things back together.

The first thing I checked was Charlotte, our resident orb weaving spider. Some people say an orb-weaver chooses a porch because it’s a place worth protecting. Whether that’s true or not, I like the thought of Charlotte quietly standing watch over our little corner of the world.

She was fine.

Then I looked for the hummingbirds. At first they were nowhere to be found.

We got rid of the destroyed canopy and I collected and refilled all of the feeders. With no canopy to hang them from, I had to get creative. I hung a couple from the string lights instead of the fancy shepherd’s hooks and hung several directly from some of the plant stands.

It wasn’t long before one tiny hummingbird appeared.

Then another.

Before long they were chasing each other around the porch as if nothing had ever happened. They didn’t care that the feeder had moved. They cared that they were still there. They didn’t care that the storm had come through. They cared that the sun was out.

As I stood there watching them, something struck me.

A couple of days ago I would have told you my porch was finished. Just the way I wanted it. Perfect.

Now that the storm forced me to make changes, I’m beginning to see possibilities I never noticed before. Maybe the flowers belong somewhere else. Maybe another bench would look better over there.

Maybe this little porch wasn’t finished after all.

Sometimes we spend so much time mourning what we’ve lost…

…that we never notice what we’ve gained.

It occurred to me that’s really what we do every day in rescue.

Dogs arrive here after storms of their own. Sometimes those storms are neglect. Sometimes abuse. Sometimes simply losing the only family they’ve ever known.

We don’t try to rebuild the life they lost. We help them discover the one they haven’t found yet. Sometimes life doesn’t return what it took. Sometimes it hands us something we never would have imagined if the old thing had stayed.

That’s true of dogs.

I found out today it’s true of little porches, too.

I know I promised to tell you the Idaho adoption story today but the storm recovery got in the way. Tomorrow I’ll tell you about our couple from Idaho. I will tell you this. They headed home today with two Carolina Poodle Rescue dogs.

One of them used to have three little letters in front of his name.

S.O.S.

Tonight…

…those letters belong in the past.

Today three new dogs arrived at the Poodle farm, ready to start their new lives after whatever the storms of life have tossed their way. Wednesday, Leon will introduce you to Calvin, Rose, and Oscar the Wilde. I think you’ll enjoy meeting them.

New beginnings all the way around.

Sleep well, my friends.

The storms don’t get the final word.

Good night from the Poodle Farm. 💙🌿🐩

Sometimes you wake up knowing exactly what the day is going to look like.

And sometimes the Poodle Farm has completely different plans.

Our morning began with what I was convinced would be the highlight of the day.

Pig spa day.

I have to admit, I’d been talking to our pig hoof trimmer entirely through Facebook Messenger. Her business is called “Duke Does It Pig Trimming.” With a name like Duke, I had built quite a picture in my mind. I was expecting a big, burly farm guy to come rolling into the driveway.

Instead, out from a fire engine red pickup truck stepped Tatanya.

Needless to say…she was not the Duke I had in mind.

What she was, however, was absolutely wonderful.

As she worked, she talked with all of us about pigs, goats, and how she somehow became one of the few people willing to trim pig hooves. She started with goats because friends needed help. Then she discovered there was an even greater need for someone willing to work with pigs.

Listening to her, I realized we shared the same philosophy.

Kindness first.

Patience.

Consistency.

Firm when necessary, but always compassionate.

Animals learn to trust us when they believe we have their best interests at heart.

Tatanya has one rule.

If they’re your pigs…you help.

So we did.

Petunia surprised all of us. We’d been treating her for what we thought was arthritis, only to discover that much of her discomfort was coming from overgrown hooves. She decided she’d rather stay on her feet for her manicure and pedicure, which meant we spent a good bit of time negotiating gates, boards, and the occasional stubborn pig opinion while Tatanya worked.

Porky had a different approach.

He complained loudly about the whole experience while Jaycub and Logan gently held him on his back so Tatanya could finish trimming his feet.

Three hours later we all looked over at our biggest pig, Oinkers, and unanimously decided…

“Next time.”

None of us had enough energy left to wrestle Oinkers today.

Unfortunately, the biggest adventure of the day hadn’t happened yet.

Have you seen little Fritz, one of the tiny red toy poodles from our March puppy mill intake, on our available dogs list?

Fritz is still nervous A couple of days ago we moved him down to the house, hoping that a quieter, smaller environment would help him continue coming out of his shell.

Apparently Fritz had a different goal.

Freedom.

Last night I caught him squeezing through a tiny opening in one of the gates. I blocked it and thought we’d solved the problem.

This morning, while I was inside getting coffee, Fritz found another opening.

When Abel arrived, I was explaining that we’d have to keep a close eye on him because he’d figured out how to escape.

As we counted the little red toy poodles…

…we counted four.

We should have counted five.

We counted again.

Still four.

That sinking feeling hit both of us at exactly the same time.

We searched inside.

Outside.

Under everything.

About ten minutes later Abel looked up the driveway and quietly said,

“There he is.”

My driveway is a quarter of a mile long.

For a five-and-a-half-pound toy poodle, it must have felt like a marathon.

Abel started after him.

Jaycub headed through the woods to cut him off.

I followed behind Abel.

Kelsey and Caleb came down from Addison Abbey to block the road.

And Fritz somehow slipped past every one of us.

Highway 18 runs in front of our farm. Cars travel fifty-five miles an hour there.

As I stepped onto the pavement, all I could see were brake lights.

Cars stopped.

People running.

And my heart absolutely sank.

I was certain we’d lost him.

But we hadn’t.

Fritz had slipped into my neighbor’s pasture. By then I think the adrenaline had finally begun to wear off.

While Abel and I slowed traffic, Kelsey stayed on the side of the road ready in case Fritz tried to bolt across the road.

Caleb quietly walked into the pasture, got down on one knee…

…and waited.

If you’ve ever waited for a frightened dog to make a decision, you know those ten seconds can feel like ten hours.

The next thing I saw was Caleb standing up with a tiny red toy poodle tucked safely under one arm.

We make mistakes. Sometimes dogs find the one hole we didn’t know existed. The important part isn’t pretending mistakes never happen. The important part is doing everything we can to make them right.

Tonight Fritz has been moved to Golden Dreams at Addison Abbey, where the fencing is much more secure while we continue earning his trust.

His story reminds me of something people don’t often see.

When we rescued sixty-nine dogs from teo different puppy mills back in March, the rescue didn’t end at the end of the week or the end of the month. We have no deadlines, no “last day“ So while most of those dogs have wonderful homes now. Some are still waiting.

Some still need medical care. Some are facing behavioral challenges that may take months or even years to overcome.

Rescue isn’t measured in days.

Sometimes it’s measured in months.

Sometimes years.

We simply keep showing up until each dog tells us what they need.

Before the day ended, I also had the opportunity to meet Eddie’s owner.

It’s a very sad situation, and I’ll tell you more when the time is right.

For tonight, what matters is that Eddie is safe.

He even got a bath and a haircut today, and I have to admit…

…he looks pretty adorable.

Our visitors from Idaho also made another trip to the farm today.

They have made their final decision. When they head back to Idaho tomorrow, there won’t be just one CpR dog in their car. They will be taking home two new family members.

I’ll save that story for tomorrow night.

As for our pigs?

I checked on them one last time before heading inside.

After all the excitement of spa day, Oinkers, Porky, and Petunia were sound asleep, recovering from the morning’s adventures.

It seemed like the perfect way to end another day at the Poodle Farm.

Good night from the Poodle Farm. 💙🐩🐖