EIGHTY PEOPLE WITH FIVE DOLLARS CAN SAVE A LIFE!!!

THIS IS ZEINA----she needs your help to have an operation to remove her leg. Other wise, she will be put to sleep.

This post via Facebook from the HICKMAN COUNTY HUMANE SOCIETY:

"Zeina needs surgery to have her leg amputated, she is a stray that was found starving and injured. She has been shot and her entire hip is out of socket, it is a miracle this girl is even able to walk, but it is not a pretty site, she is contorted into a "s" shape when she walks. Please help HHS cover the cost of her surgery to save her life, without it, she will have to be humanely euthanized. THANK YOU!!! ."

WE CAN'T LET THIS HAPPEN FOLKS!

Look at that face! Doesn't she deserve a chance to SMILE??? Even though she will only have three legs--DOESN'T SHE DESERVE A CHANCE TO BE HAPPY AND TO BE LOVED????

PLEASE VISIT THE LINK BELOW and make A  $5 donation. 

YES--I'm at it again--FIVE DOLLARS!!!  Do without that pack of cigarettes--or that StarBucks coffee--or whatever snack you get out of the machine at work every day.
YOU CAN EXTEND A LIFE TODAY instead of your waistline!!!!

 IF WE GET 80 PET PEOPLE TO DONATE--we will help the HICKMAN COUNTY HUMANE SOCIETY SAVE THIS BABY!

SHARE SHARE SHARE-this information with everyone who loves animals!!! 80 PEOPLE NEED to see this TODAY!


http://tankhickmanhumanesociety.chipin.com/zeinas-leg-amputation-surgery

FROM ALL OF US AT DOGWOOD: A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Christmas at Dogwood is usually two things: very blessed and very CAXIOTIC.
The move from the old house on Madison Street added a new twist of both to the preparations we made this year to welcome ole St. Nick.

First off, as we not have the stone fire place and the gas log setting in our living room, we decided it was time to break out the original six foot tree that used to adorn our living area before our first little four legged family member came to us.

I had forgotten what a pain in the backside it was to fit all the little branches in all the right places, but after a period of trial and error, the tree finally stood fully assembled.

Then it was decided that we would have a waiting period before we tried to decorate it. This made perfect sense, as we now have six of Santa’s little “helpers” at Dogwood with enough curiosity to fill every stocking within a six mile radius.

So we waited.

Two weeks later, the little tree still stood (of miracles of miracles) and absolutely no one had made a single effort to disturb, discombobulate, or dismember even one of its delicate fake branches. With the period of adjustment out of the way, it was time for the true test---adding decorations!

Now, as some of you know, since Lucy came to live with us eight long years ago, we had opted for what we loving call the “tree in a box”. The little Dollar General tree came fully decorated and could be easily folded up and slid back into its cardboard domicile until it was again needed. In the years since the little tree arrived, slowly but surely, the decorations for the large tree had either been discarded or permanently lost in the void. Once again, the move to the new house had destroyed any memory of what I had done with them.

But, as ALL of you know, I am a packrat.

In a Rubbermaid tote marked Christmas, I keep ornaments and such for my grandmothers little four foot aluminum tree—all blue and silver. So this is what we used to adorn the newly reassembled six foot tree that stood in the living room

The decorating of the tree contained dialogue much akin to a Three Stooges script:

“Stop chewing that!”

“Bring that back here!”

“Charlie you’re gonna electrocute yourself if you chew that chord!”

“Bart get down from there!”

“Whoooo Whoo WHoo WHoo!”

Needless to say, after all ornamental objects were retrieved and the dog and cat slobber removed, the tree was decorated. Finally, after inspecting all chords for teeth marks and determining that the house would not burn down around us, I flipped on the lights.

I had forgotten, over the years, how beautiful a Christmas tree can be.

The stone mantle is filled with eight stockings. Even though my sweet Pearl is no longer with us, we still hang her stocking, and God help me, I still put gifts in it.

She is and will forever be, a child of Dogwood and part of its memory: past and future.

So now we settled in for a long winters nap, and await the jolly old elf Santa Paws to drop down our new chimney and spread a little Christmas Cheer (and a few new DVD’s if you please ole fella).

As I sit by the fireplace, and watch the glow of the soft light reflect off the shiny bobbles that hang in the lush greenery, all of my babies are around me. I know that there are so many who have never, and possibly may never, know warmth, or a home, or even the slightest bit of love. For that I mourn.

But at Dogwood, God has been so good to us. I thank him for our home, our family, for the warmth of the season, and for the gift of his son to a world that desperately needed him.

I hope all of you have a wonderful, loving Christmas. I also hope that the New Year will bring you happiness, love, and the wonder of miracles.

A Very, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from your friends at Dogwood: Brett, Better Half, Lucy, Charlie, Hines, Daisy, Bart and Sebastian

CHRISTMAS TAILS-TWICE TOLD:PRECIOUS MISS PHOEBE

Pictured: Precious Miss Phoebe

This is another story from the past--it appeared in the Leaf Chronicle in January 2009. It's the story of a little dog who wasn't the prettiest, wasn't the best, but found love in someone's heart and lived the remainder of her life in splendor. Isn't that what Christmas is all about???



Every so often, something really special happens in the animal rescue world that gives hope to the cause.


Such was the story of the life of the wonderful canine known to us as Ms. Phoebe, who passed over the Rainbow Bridge on Christmas Eve.
Against all odds and obstacles, she did something no one ever expected her to do. She found a place in someone's heart, and happiness in a forever home.

The journey began four years ago, under the same circumstances as most abandoned animals: stuffed in a carrier in the dark of night. She was left by the dumpster at Cats Are Us here in Clarksville.

The nine year old dog had already been dealt a rough hand and didn't have much going for her. She was missing one eye missing, and part of her left ear. Her crooked teeth made her look even stranger. She was unattractive, unkempt, and unspayed.
But even though physically defective, a light of love and devotion dazzled within this dog like that of a shining star.

Her picture was posted on the petfinder.com website along with the other adoptable animals. No one thought Phoebe (then named Jackie), would ever leave the shelter walls.

Now, I've always said that angels speak to people and pair them with the animal they need and that needs them. Some people hear those tiny voices, and sadly some people ignore them and close their hearts. They miss out on the wonderful love and devotion they could have had, leaving the animal's purpose unfulfilled and  its existence to fate.
Poor little Jackie patiently waited for the day that someone would answer the whispering of the angels and find her.

Susan Green of Lexington, Kentucky heard them loud and clear. She was looking through the adoptable pets on the petfinder.com site when she came upon Jackie's picture. She fell in love with the gentle disfigured face that she saw. A few days later, Jackie became Phoebe, and Susan became Mommy.
Phoebe lived the life of Riley with Susan and her family. What amazed her new Mom the most was Phoebe's undying devotion and her willingness to follow her anywhere; even into the bathroom.

Phoebe enjoyed the best of care, and constant love and attention. She was pampered and even had her own plastic pool to cool herself from the summer sun.
The story of Phoebe's adoption spread through to rescuers and shelters all over. Through that tale, Phoebe and Susan have helped animals in similar situations, pushing home the morals of, "Never judge a book by its cover", "Beauty is only skin deep." And "Anything is Possible".

Little unwanted, un-pretty, Phoebe, who someone had dumped in the night, was a rescuer in her own right.

A few months ago, Phoebe's health began to fail. Her mobility became to lessened, her appetite faded, and she began to experience kidney trouble.

On Christmas Eve, Phoebe went into kidney failure. The decision to end her suffering was made, and the light that had burned so bright and touched so many hearts, faded from our sight and into God's.

Phoebe lived her natural life in a flawed body, but I know in my heart that the moment she trotted into Heaven, she was whole, perfect and ready to play.

That's a fitting end for Miss. Phoebe: running free and unblemished in the fields of the Lord.

Phoebe's legacy will inspire others. I wanted to share it with all of you. I have re- told it 1000 times, so we can chalk this one 1001.
This is for Phoebe and Susan, and for all the creatures out there those have that tiny flaw and are waiting for that one special person who will accept them, defects included, and see the true beauty they hold inside.

One day they will finally hear," I love you."

LUCY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE

Yes, another story from the past--but my Christmas stories are told every year--and they become more special each time I tell them. ENJOY!  The pic is my little LUCY on her first Christmas at the old Dogwood house on Madison Street.

There had always been a Christmas tree at Dogwood.


The first was an eight foot, artificial monstrosity that soon became too much of a chore to assemble and take down. So after a few years, we put the four foot top half in a bucket and decorated that.

On December 6, 2003, Christmas… and everyday life, changed forever when 10 week old Lucy entered our lives. With her arrival, puppy proofing became a way of life and effected all previous traditions. I was weary of what might happen if we put up a Christmas tree.

Then I had an inspiration. Instead of adding something new to a room, I would decorate a small palm tree that Lucy saw every day. As Lucy’s first Christmas tree, I thought it could still be special and hopefully, less of a target.

Wrong !

A day later, I discovered a tangle of broken limbs, smashed globes, broken lights, and shredded tinsel.

With bits of garland still clinging to her behind, Lucy looked up at me as if to say, “I didn’t do it.”

No amount of repair or training could alter Lucy’s dislike for the funny looking leafy thing that blinked. She destroyed the tree twice more before I finally accepted the sad fact that there would never be another Christmas tree at Dogwood.

While shopping on Christmas Eve, Better Half and I discovered a four foot, pre-decorated, pre- lit “tree in the box”. It was “plug and play: no assembly required.

Something inside me clicked, and I bought one. It cost me ten bucks, and renewed my faith in our country’s ability to buy products made in Taiwan.

At home, Lucy followed me into the living room and watched intently as I pulled her first real Christmas tree from its box. It was decorated with tiny multicolored globes, silver garland, and had a little star on top. Her tail wagged with excitement as I plugged the tree’s electrical chord into the wall.

An amazing exhibition of light and color, produced by the miracle of fiber optics, burst forth. As the thin fiber strands slowly changed from red, to green, to blue, and then back to red, Lucy watched in awe.

It was the most peaceful Christmas Eve I can remember. With Lucy in my lap, Better Half and I sat watching the little tree, quietly talking about Christmases past.

As the colors danced in the branches and across the walls before us, Lucy slowly drifted off to sleep.

Seven years, and four additions later, Lucy’s first Christmas tree comes to life every December.

Now Lucy is grown, and the little tree doesn’t hold the same allure. Much like Christmas, its glowing colors now hold fascinate of the young babies: little Hines, Daisy, and Bart.

There will always be a Christmas tree at Dogwood, and babies to love it.

May peace, love, and goodness find us all in coming year.

From the pack at Dogwood : Have a very, Merry Christmas.

AN OLDIE-BUT STILL A GOODY--"SNOT" FOR CHRISTMAS

I wrote this several years ago--but it still brings tears to my eyes today--and it has become one of my favorite Christmas miracle stories. It appears here in it's original, unedited format.
Though I'm sure many of you read it before--I hope you still enjoy it--and most of all--see the wonderous works of God's miracles in it's words.

 Twas Christmas Eve at Cats Are Us, and I was attempting to give all my feline and canine friends who live there some holiday cheer. The back building is where I spend a lot of my volunteer time. Most folks who enter the front building rarely see the rest. That building is the “prep” area. In other words, most of our little guests in this part of the shelter are working their way towards being an adoptable pet. What I mean by adoptable is that they have had their shots, been fixed, and had all the tests performed to assure no feline diseases are lurking about. But then there are others that will always make their home here. There are some that are a little on the ornery side, some that are physically challenged, and then others that suffer health issues.


On this particular Christmas Eve, Gherta had asked me to sterilize a carrier and set it up for a new occupant away from the rest of the cats. A few minutes after this was done, Suzanne brought in a little guy who was suffering from upper respiratory illness. When I looked at him, it tore my heart out. The poor little guy was breathing like he had smoked four packs a day for twenty years. He had sneezed so much that his nose had begun to bleed. His eyes were so infected that they pulled back into slits. The fur on his head, front legs, and neck was greasy and damp, leaving his back end dry and looking relatively normal. In short, he was a mess.

“Oh God,” I said. “Is he going to live?”

“Sure he will!” she said with a non committal look. “He’ll be fine.”

God Bless her. She was trying to be positive but not set me up for the fall. The little guy was ill, and by listening to the state of his breathing, his fate could turn either way.

The little cat had been medicated and his eyes creamed, and now I made my attempt to place him in the carrier. It was a dog carrier, so I had plenty of room to slip him inside. But the only thing that sick little guy wanted to do was lie in my arms and rub his head into my shoulder. He may have been deathly ill, but this little guy knew that it was Christmas Eve, and he wasn’t about to act sick. I held him close to me and stroked his messy, nappy fur. He sneezed into my shirt.

“I’ll call you Snot.” I said, loving on him as he purred thru his runny nose.

“Why not Sniffles?” Gherta suggested. “That’s a cute name.”

“Snot.” I said, examining the smear on my shirt sleeve. “It fits him.”

I finally got the little rascal into his new home and covered it with a towel so that his sneezes wouldn’t spread the germs around. I tried to go back to my duties, but I kept finding myself under the towel, talking to Snot, telling him that God loved him and that everything would be alright. He purred softly and rubbed his little head against my hand. I was hooked.

Christmas Day arrived, and when I got to Cats Are Us, I made my way straight to the back room to Snot’s cage. There he was, perky and rolling around on his little cat bed. He still looked the same, but even sick, he was just as happy as every other “child” was that Christmas morning. I worked the room and made my usual 50 trips to look under the towel and say “Peek a Boo” to the little guy. He was happily purring away between sneezes, nudging my fingers that curled thru the metal door to rub his fur.

The next day, I had to stay home. My washing machine drain has been clogged up three times in the past two months, and the wash was piling up. So I figured that it was time to be “Joe the Plummer” and get that fixed up. I ended up making a bigger mess—but more on that one later.

On Saturday morning, I got to the shelter and made my way to the back building where Snot’s cage was. I was already talking to him when I lifted the towel from the front of the kennel. But I stopped suddenly.

The kennel was empty.

I tried to be good, but the tears welled up in my eyes as I looked all around the room for my little Snot. Anyone who volunteers at an animal shelter knows that there are good times and bad. It’s as much a part of an animal’s life as is it a humans. When you work a shelter, you just suck it up and try to let the good out weigh the bad, and try to make more good things happen so that the bad is over shadowed by it. But sometimes, no matter how hard you try—you get a kick in the gut.

I firmly believe animals arrive at shelters and rescues because God has a mission for them. That animal is on this Earth to touch lives and provided unconditional love and comfort to a human heart that desperately needs it. God talks to these hearts and leads them to the shelters and rescues, and to that animal created just for them.

When I play and love on these creatures for months on end, and suddenly they die, it’s as if everyone involved has been cheated by fate. The only reasoning I can use to comfort myself at times like this is that the heart that God was speaking to just refused to listen to what he was trying to tell them. So, God decided that the animal was better off with him anyway as there is no better forever home than with God.

Sometimes this scenario provides comfort. Sometimes it’s just pitiful.

I didn’t find Snot anywhere else in the building. I tried to tell myself over and over that he was better off now and that at least he had spent his last hours safe and warm as opposed to the damp cold where he had been rescued from. I was about to go off in a corner and have myself a melt down when another regular volunteer came into the room.

“Your little friend took a turn of the worse yesterday.” she said as she began to move the trash cans around to clean. “His eye infection was worse.”

I nodded and tried to look the other way so she wouldn’t see my grief. I finally got enough of my voice to speak.

“When did he die?” I asked.

She spun around as if I had hit her in the back with a broom. “He didn’t die!” she exclaimed. “He spent the night at the vet’s office!”

Now it was time to cry.

“OH!” I said, feeling as if the weight of the world had lifted off my shoulders. “OH!!!! OK!!!”

“I’m going to pick him up in just a bit. “She smiled, cluing in on what I had been thinking.

Within the hour, Snot was once again lying in my arms, purring away. His adventure to the vet’s office hadn’t harmed him one bit. His little eyes had been medicated with a different antibiotic and were looking much better, and the congestion was less now. All Snot wanted to do was love on me and be loved on. As I held him in my arms and listened to his purring voice, I quietly thanked the Lord for saving him and letting the vet know what to do for him. Snot ate a good meal of soft food, did his business, and played with his jingle ball while I cleaned the other areas around his. When I left for the day, I said a little prayer “with” him and knew that he would be fine.

I call the shelter everyday to check on Snot. I am happy to report that he’s doing well, eating like a horse and getting better everyday with the help of medication and loving care from Gherta and Suzanne. Pretty soon he will be well enough to be with the other felines and not spread the germs of his cold.

He has officially been named “Mistletoe”—(YUCK)—but that doesn’t matter to me. They can name him Plumb Pudding for all I care—as long as he is healthy and happy and we can find him a loving home.

He’ll always be my little Snot.

KEEPING OUR HEARTS IN CHRISTMAS--HELP SANTA PAWS THIS YEAR

Pictured: Little Phineus was once a foster in the Humane Society program. Though he was adopted into a forever home, but before that- he received love and affection in his foster home and was supported by the HS Program.

Below is the link to an article submitted to the Clarksville Leaf Chronicle which tells all about the SANTA PAWS program that the Humane Society organizes each year. The article was written by AMY SHAVER, and she is a hard act to follow--so I will let you read Amy's written word.
Dogwood has always doen it's best to support this program, and if you think you can help in anyway--please do.
THANK YOU!
 HELP SANTA PAWS PROGRAM

BUT FOR THE TOUCH OF A PAW ON MY HEART--THERE WOULD BE NO DOGWOOD--HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUCY

Pictured-Top--Lucy at 6 mos
Bottom Lucy at seven years

Eight years ago today, my life changed forever.

It was on this day, December 6th, in the year of our Lord 2003, that Better Half and I adopted a ten week old, female, black lab puppy from Animal Control. We named the little one Lucy.

OK—lots of people adopt animals—THANK GOD—so what, you might ask, made this one so special?

To explain that, we must part the veil of time, and begin the story from an appropriate point—2002 BD (before Dogwood).

Better Half and I had been together seven years in 2002. We had experienced our ups and downs and all of the really fun stuff that all couples tread thru once the honeymoon is more than over with. All and all, I thought we were in a good place in our relationship and in our lives. But through all of our gives and takes and being flexible with each other’s needs and wants, there was a sore spot that just would not go away.

Better Half wanted a dog.

Now in 2002, though we were quite a bit more settled than we had been in the partying 90’s, we were still not known for being big on responsibility. Don’t get me wrong—we both worked and paid taxes and kept the lights on, etc. That’s not the kind of responsibility I am referring to. The type of responsibility I speak of is that which would concern the care and well being of another LIVING THING. A dog was a tremendous responsibility—a life whose happiness and livelihood would depend upon our decision making ability and our choices.

Uh—no way.

There was also a waxy build up over my heart from having it horribly broken. I had lost my childhood dog, King, in 1981. He had been my pal from my first memories until I was in the eighth grade before he crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. I had told myself that having a dog had been part of my childhood—and now that I was an adult ,such things did not have a place in my life. Dogs and cats were kid stuff--nuff said.

In truth, I still mourned that sweet old mutt who had owned part of me. There was no room in my heart for another.

So with that barrier of ice around my ticker, I did everything I could think of to rub the furry sore spot out of my life with the Better Half. I tried to appease the need for a pet with a fish tank (they died), I bought stuffed animals (Goodwill anyone?), I even went as far as to buy one of those first robot dogs (FYI-those first ones were EXPENSIVE), but alas—Better Half would not be happy until the house had been invaded by there something furry that crapped on the rug.

Being the brilliant mind that I am, I decided to take Better Half by the dog pound ever so often so that the animals could enjoy that wonderful love that was being offered. It was win/win: they got love and Better Half got a fill of fur without having to bring anything home.

Yes—I was one of those people. My heart was so unwilling to let anything in that I was willing to give that false hope to animals who were literally dying to be loved.

But God--having an even MORE BRILLIANT and DEVIOUS mind than mine--really got sneaky on me.

ON December 6th, 2003, on a routine trip to the pound, I got a kick in the backside, and a jolt of L-O-V-E that would irrevocably change my existence forever.

I was confronted by a tiny pair of the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen, carried by a tiny black frame with floppy ears. Those two little peepers were so powerful, that they looked down all the way down into my soul and busted up the ice around it. I can actually tell you the exact moment that Lucy stole my heart, and with a power I have never fully understood--made it whole again.

Cute story, huh? But lots of people get the mushies when they see puppies. So once again you may ask—why was this adoption so special??

It’s pretty simple really: If there had been no Lucy—LIFE WOULD HAVE  BEEN QUITE DIFFERENT.

Those soul searching eyes and that little heart beat gave birth to a dynasty and laid the ground work for an oasis for canines and felines that would later become known as Dogwood.

If not for those blue/brown windows to the soul and their power over me, seven of the fur bound residents that followed, and the two fosters that found temporary safety within Dogwood’s walls, might not have made it.

Every rescue and shelter with 75 miles has benefited by Lucy’s adoption.

If not for Lucy’s presence and influence in our lives, there would have been no involvement with the Humane Society or Cats Are Us, or Precious Friends, or any other rescue. There would have been no donations, no volunteerism, no Leaf Chronicle Pet People Columns, and no Dogwood Blog, because there would have been no Dogwood to blog about!

If I had turned and walked away from that little puppy eight years ago, I would not have many of the wonderful friends that I have today.  Without our involvement in rescue and shelters, I would have never have met them.

I also would not have experienced the blessings from the miracles we have been a part of. It has been by joining hands with pet owners and rescuers that I have seen  proof of what good people can still accomplish by working as one.  Together we have shared the ability to help animals who are hurt, dying, or without hope.
Yes--no matter how you cut it---it ALL boils down to the very existence of that little furry female that wormed her way into my house, my bed, and my heart and paved the way for others to follow.

One moment in my life—one decision—changed more lives and rippled out into the animal rescue community in waves of both success and heartbreak.

But for the touch of a paw on my heart—none of it would have happened at all. That’s what is so special.

So Happy Birthday Lucy—and Happy Birthday Dogwood.

May you both have many, many more to come.