LEWIS
Lewis did not have much to begin with. He was born partly crippled. His forearms were twisted at an odd angle, and his legs were so splayed that he waddled rather than walked. He was also ugly, at least until you got to know him, with a long nose that had a prominent cleft shaped something like a pigs. He was skinny, did not grow much, and his eyes were sensitive to light. His mom left him and took his brother with her when he was two month old.
We bottle fed him until he was old enough to eat yogurt and baby food. He would sleep with us, curled along our backs to share the warmth. When we were watching TV, he would crawl across the floor and beg to be picked up. He would nuzzle into our arms and fall asleep on his back.
Even as a baby, Lewis would go wherever we went. He would go to school where Julie teaches 5th grade. Many of her kids were afraid of him at first, but after a couple days they accepted him. Soon all the kids wanted to hold him, feed him, and cuddle him. He would be passed from kid to kid throughout the day. Students prepared special projects on his disabilities, his natural habitat, and his heritage.
Lewis joined us when we went skiing up at Mt. Shasta. Because of his disabilities, he would hole up in the Ski Patrol First Aid room during the day while we were skiing. His days would often be very busy giving comfort and reassurance to the small children who came in. It was very difficult to feel sorry for yourself after spending some time with Lewis.
We knew from the start that Lewis’ time with us would be short. He had trouble eating and swallowing, and he was not growing properly. Lewis did not seem to be in pain, but he spent less and less time playing, and more sleeping. He would cough most of the night and antibiotics did not seem to help him. One afternoon I found him lying in the hallway. He had tumbled out of his bed and crawled through the doorway. His bulbous nose was shite as a sheet and very cold. I scooped him up and carried him into the warmth of the sun. He was barely breathing so I attempted mouth to nose resuscitation. He slowly died in my arms as tears streamed down my cheeks.
There is something of a moral to this story. Lewis was a baby opossum. His ancestry dates back to the time of the dinosaurs. He was born with very little, but in the short time that he was alive, he got a lot out of life, and everyone around him learned to love him.
Lewis taught me many things and I feel stronger for having known him. I hope others will also learn from him. Lewis is preserved and displayed in his natural habitat at the Sacramento River Discovery Center in Red Bluff, California so that others may learn that a simple animal is much more than just a simple animal.
Lewis did not have much to begin with. He was born partly crippled. His forearms were twisted at an odd angle, and his legs were so splayed that he waddled rather than walked. He was also ugly, at least until you got to know him, with a long nose that had a prominent cleft shaped something like a pigs. He was skinny, did not grow much, and his eyes were sensitive to light. His mom left him and took his brother with her when he was two month old.
We bottle fed him until he was old enough to eat yogurt and baby food. He would sleep with us, curled along our backs to share the warmth. When we were watching TV, he would crawl across the floor and beg to be picked up. He would nuzzle into our arms and fall asleep on his back.
Even as a baby, Lewis would go wherever we went. He would go to school where Julie teaches 5th grade. Many of her kids were afraid of him at first, but after a couple days they accepted him. Soon all the kids wanted to hold him, feed him, and cuddle him. He would be passed from kid to kid throughout the day. Students prepared special projects on his disabilities, his natural habitat, and his heritage.
Lewis joined us when we went skiing up at Mt. Shasta. Because of his disabilities, he would hole up in the Ski Patrol First Aid room during the day while we were skiing. His days would often be very busy giving comfort and reassurance to the small children who came in. It was very difficult to feel sorry for yourself after spending some time with Lewis.
We knew from the start that Lewis’ time with us would be short. He had trouble eating and swallowing, and he was not growing properly. Lewis did not seem to be in pain, but he spent less and less time playing, and more sleeping. He would cough most of the night and antibiotics did not seem to help him. One afternoon I found him lying in the hallway. He had tumbled out of his bed and crawled through the doorway. His bulbous nose was shite as a sheet and very cold. I scooped him up and carried him into the warmth of the sun. He was barely breathing so I attempted mouth to nose resuscitation. He slowly died in my arms as tears streamed down my cheeks.
There is something of a moral to this story. Lewis was a baby opossum. His ancestry dates back to the time of the dinosaurs. He was born with very little, but in the short time that he was alive, he got a lot out of life, and everyone around him learned to love him.
Lewis taught me many things and I feel stronger for having known him. I hope others will also learn from him. Lewis is preserved and displayed in his natural habitat at the Sacramento River Discovery Center in Red Bluff, California so that others may learn that a simple animal is much more than just a simple animal.
The Story of Percy
Percy came to Lark Ranch Rescue and Rehabilitation in his twilight years. He was turned over to Brightside Animal Center because his owner for the past 12 years was no longer able to care for him due to unemployment and homelessness. The owner made efforts to find a new home or foster for Percy, but was ultimately unsuccessful. Fortunately, Brightside Animal Shelter has a successful “fospice” program for elderly cats and dogs. I was contacted by their Golden Retriever Fospice caregiver because she was currently overloaded with dogs and she asked if I would be able to take Percy. I immediately agreed.
When he arrived, I was introduced to a beautiful cream Golden Retriever with long flowing hair and the kindest brown eyes one could ever imagine. It was immediately apparent how distressed Percy was to be shuttled from person to person. As I came to know him I saw how strongly he wanted to bond to one individual. I could tell that he had been deeply loved and valued by his first owner. He needs a person, and I became that person.
I remember joking humorlessly that I wouldn’t have Percy long. The average lifespan of a Golden Retriever is 10-12 years and Percy was already 12 years old. A large percentage of Golden Retrievers succumb to various cancers, and that had been my experience with many of the 22 dogs I have cared for over the years. Percy proved me wrong almost immediately. Percy had boundless energy for a dog his age. He loves to run and bounce down the hallway on his way to a meal (his favorite time). I had to buy him a “slow bowl” because he ate so fast he would gag. He found joy in everything and made sure I was never more than a few feet away from him if at all possible.
Percy was definitely not a farm dog in his first home. He found the horses to be horrifying and huge, but good sources of roughage. He loves to eat their hay and grains. The cows terrify him as those big mama cows will chase him if he gets too close to the babies. The goats and rabbits don’t really exist to Percy. He is too focused on his main goal in life; being happy.
Percy is such a joyous dog. He loves to roll in the dirt. When the other dogs play, he bounces around them and tries to get involved even though they are too rough for him. Our next oldest dog Kalel plays very gently (but loudly) with Percy each evening. All of the dogs have a profound respect for Percy. I believe it is respect for his age and his gentle demeanor. Percy literally will not hurt a fly. He has never shown a hint of aggression towards any living being. He loves and respects all.
Because of Percy’s need to be near me as much as possible, I began taking him to work with me every day at the veterinary clinic. Percy quickly became a mascot. Clients and their dogs came to know him and he would often greet people in the lobby or console them when they dropped off their pets. If I took too long in an examination room, I could usually find Percy waiting patiently outside the room for me.
As these behaviors became a little more desperate, and even a bit frantic, I recognized that Percy was developing Canine Cognitive Dysfunction, or Doggie Dementia. This is similar to dementia in humans and occurs frequently when dogs reach the upper limits of their lifespan. I gave Percy a variety of products designed to help his brain health, and also vitamins to help his eye health as I recognized a decline in his vision. Fortunately for Percy however, he is a dog. Dog’s have noses 300 times stronger than humans, so even though Percy had signs of confusion and vision loss, he always knew where his person was because of his great sense of smell.
Percy is still with us. His mind is declining and he is gradually losing weight. Even though his blood tests are all normal and I can’t find anything physically “wrong” with him, I know his light is dimming. I am so grateful to have said “yes” to such an amazing dog. He is an inspiration. Percy lives his life to its fullest and shares his joy with everyone around him. His is truly special and has made my life so much better. It brings to mind that saying “Who rescued Whom?.”
Percy came to Lark Ranch Rescue and Rehabilitation in his twilight years. He was turned over to Brightside Animal Center because his owner for the past 12 years was no longer able to care for him due to unemployment and homelessness. The owner made efforts to find a new home or foster for Percy, but was ultimately unsuccessful. Fortunately, Brightside Animal Shelter has a successful “fospice” program for elderly cats and dogs. I was contacted by their Golden Retriever Fospice caregiver because she was currently overloaded with dogs and she asked if I would be able to take Percy. I immediately agreed.
When he arrived, I was introduced to a beautiful cream Golden Retriever with long flowing hair and the kindest brown eyes one could ever imagine. It was immediately apparent how distressed Percy was to be shuttled from person to person. As I came to know him I saw how strongly he wanted to bond to one individual. I could tell that he had been deeply loved and valued by his first owner. He needs a person, and I became that person.
I remember joking humorlessly that I wouldn’t have Percy long. The average lifespan of a Golden Retriever is 10-12 years and Percy was already 12 years old. A large percentage of Golden Retrievers succumb to various cancers, and that had been my experience with many of the 22 dogs I have cared for over the years. Percy proved me wrong almost immediately. Percy had boundless energy for a dog his age. He loves to run and bounce down the hallway on his way to a meal (his favorite time). I had to buy him a “slow bowl” because he ate so fast he would gag. He found joy in everything and made sure I was never more than a few feet away from him if at all possible.
Percy was definitely not a farm dog in his first home. He found the horses to be horrifying and huge, but good sources of roughage. He loves to eat their hay and grains. The cows terrify him as those big mama cows will chase him if he gets too close to the babies. The goats and rabbits don’t really exist to Percy. He is too focused on his main goal in life; being happy.
Percy is such a joyous dog. He loves to roll in the dirt. When the other dogs play, he bounces around them and tries to get involved even though they are too rough for him. Our next oldest dog Kalel plays very gently (but loudly) with Percy each evening. All of the dogs have a profound respect for Percy. I believe it is respect for his age and his gentle demeanor. Percy literally will not hurt a fly. He has never shown a hint of aggression towards any living being. He loves and respects all.
Because of Percy’s need to be near me as much as possible, I began taking him to work with me every day at the veterinary clinic. Percy quickly became a mascot. Clients and their dogs came to know him and he would often greet people in the lobby or console them when they dropped off their pets. If I took too long in an examination room, I could usually find Percy waiting patiently outside the room for me.
As these behaviors became a little more desperate, and even a bit frantic, I recognized that Percy was developing Canine Cognitive Dysfunction, or Doggie Dementia. This is similar to dementia in humans and occurs frequently when dogs reach the upper limits of their lifespan. I gave Percy a variety of products designed to help his brain health, and also vitamins to help his eye health as I recognized a decline in his vision. Fortunately for Percy however, he is a dog. Dog’s have noses 300 times stronger than humans, so even though Percy had signs of confusion and vision loss, he always knew where his person was because of his great sense of smell.
Percy is still with us. His mind is declining and he is gradually losing weight. Even though his blood tests are all normal and I can’t find anything physically “wrong” with him, I know his light is dimming. I am so grateful to have said “yes” to such an amazing dog. He is an inspiration. Percy lives his life to its fullest and shares his joy with everyone around him. His is truly special and has made my life so much better. It brings to mind that saying “Who rescued Whom?.”
FORESEEN
My daughter Cierra is the founder, heart, and soul of Lark Ranch Rescue & Rehabilitation. It comes as no surprise to her father and I that she has marched forward to achieve that reality. Actually, it was inevitable! I can’t count the number of animals she rescued as a child. Early on she stated that she would always be a rescue owner. Those who needed a home would find her. And they did; a kitten with maggots in the ears, emaciated horses needing constant care and attention, lambs rejected by their mothers, you name it. It was a part of her childhood. It only got more intense when she started volunteering at a local wildlife rescue facility. Then we started fostering barn owls, opossums, raccoons, deer, squirrels, and the list goes on and on. It was no surprise that she would become a veterinarian. She announced that goal when she was 4!
She had a special penchant for rescuing Golden Retrievers. When she went to undergrad school 3 states away, she continued to fill the California homes of friends and family with dogs and cats who needed homes. I had resisted her pitches as we had a wonderful elderly, diabetic, nearly blind Golden who had been my search dog with the California Rescue Dog Association. My mind set was that I needed to start the training of a search dog from puppyhood.
We had driven 9 hours for a visit and were met at the door by Cierra who was clutching a newspaper add about a Golden who needed rescuing. My folks had driven over with us to, so we made arrangements to see the dog with my thoughts firmly set that he would be a great companion for them! He was obviously a well bred, adult male Golden. He wasn’t unfriendly, just detached. There was no tail wagging, no body language that said how delighted he was to be noticed. He went after thrown toys, but took them away from us and guarded them against our attempts to get them for another throw. And he absolutely would not let us rub his belly. He wasn’t nasty about it, he just strongly resisted. The story was that he landed in the pound after refusing to stay in a backyard, and barking in the duck blind when he got bored. He was adopted by a young man whose fortunes changed, and who was forced to move his family back to his parent’s home. The father disagreed with the abuse (physical and mental) used by the son on the dog and said, “find a home for the dog or a home for yourself”. They agreed to let Rusty come home with me. (Yes, me! I’d crumbled instantly about not giving up our dog spot unless it was to the perfect search puppy.) I loaded him in my car, and home we came. We started with basic obedience. There had obviously been some work done, though putting a leash on him caused immediate sulking and fearful obedience. When we progressed to long distance stay/come, we hit a wall. Nothing I did would convince him to come. He would lay where he was, shaking from nose to tail. He didn’t run away, but he didn’t come. I knew I couldn’t raise my voice or be forceful, and wondered how to get past the problem. The solution (and the wonderful discovery) happened with a tennis ball. I’d play excitedly with it, asking Rusty if he didn’t want to get it? Then I would run and hide. He couldn’t stand it. Still shaking with fear he’d come find me. Whatever his secret fear was, it dissolved quickly after that. I broadened the game by hiding a great distance away in challenging places. And I realized he was a natural search dog. Rusty was quickly certified to respond to searches statewide and beyond.
It did take Rusty some time to learn “normal dog” behaviors. He apparently hadn’t had “happy dog” moments as a puppy, and didn’t know how to respond to affection. I taught 5th grade at the time, and was able to take him to school with me. It is a glorious memory to remember the dog whose tail didn’t wag and who didn’t stop walking to be petted by my students in his early days at school. But the fact that the kids loved him unconditionally finally sunk in. Until his dying day, which happened at school in the arms of his kids, he would leave the classroom at day’s end to wait at the pick-up area with the kids. You would know where he was because there would be a pile of children laying on the ground around my tail wagging dog who had learned the joy of unconditional love and shared his right back. And wouldn’t you know it, those kids who needed someone to love them without reservation or cause would get it from Rusty. I should have invented the “Who Rescued Whom” motto, but I wasn’t that clever. However, I was blessed to see it happen every school day.
Thank you, daughter, for making the years of fabulous memories a reality!
By: Julie Buer
My daughter Cierra is the founder, heart, and soul of Lark Ranch Rescue & Rehabilitation. It comes as no surprise to her father and I that she has marched forward to achieve that reality. Actually, it was inevitable! I can’t count the number of animals she rescued as a child. Early on she stated that she would always be a rescue owner. Those who needed a home would find her. And they did; a kitten with maggots in the ears, emaciated horses needing constant care and attention, lambs rejected by their mothers, you name it. It was a part of her childhood. It only got more intense when she started volunteering at a local wildlife rescue facility. Then we started fostering barn owls, opossums, raccoons, deer, squirrels, and the list goes on and on. It was no surprise that she would become a veterinarian. She announced that goal when she was 4!
She had a special penchant for rescuing Golden Retrievers. When she went to undergrad school 3 states away, she continued to fill the California homes of friends and family with dogs and cats who needed homes. I had resisted her pitches as we had a wonderful elderly, diabetic, nearly blind Golden who had been my search dog with the California Rescue Dog Association. My mind set was that I needed to start the training of a search dog from puppyhood.
We had driven 9 hours for a visit and were met at the door by Cierra who was clutching a newspaper add about a Golden who needed rescuing. My folks had driven over with us to, so we made arrangements to see the dog with my thoughts firmly set that he would be a great companion for them! He was obviously a well bred, adult male Golden. He wasn’t unfriendly, just detached. There was no tail wagging, no body language that said how delighted he was to be noticed. He went after thrown toys, but took them away from us and guarded them against our attempts to get them for another throw. And he absolutely would not let us rub his belly. He wasn’t nasty about it, he just strongly resisted. The story was that he landed in the pound after refusing to stay in a backyard, and barking in the duck blind when he got bored. He was adopted by a young man whose fortunes changed, and who was forced to move his family back to his parent’s home. The father disagreed with the abuse (physical and mental) used by the son on the dog and said, “find a home for the dog or a home for yourself”. They agreed to let Rusty come home with me. (Yes, me! I’d crumbled instantly about not giving up our dog spot unless it was to the perfect search puppy.) I loaded him in my car, and home we came. We started with basic obedience. There had obviously been some work done, though putting a leash on him caused immediate sulking and fearful obedience. When we progressed to long distance stay/come, we hit a wall. Nothing I did would convince him to come. He would lay where he was, shaking from nose to tail. He didn’t run away, but he didn’t come. I knew I couldn’t raise my voice or be forceful, and wondered how to get past the problem. The solution (and the wonderful discovery) happened with a tennis ball. I’d play excitedly with it, asking Rusty if he didn’t want to get it? Then I would run and hide. He couldn’t stand it. Still shaking with fear he’d come find me. Whatever his secret fear was, it dissolved quickly after that. I broadened the game by hiding a great distance away in challenging places. And I realized he was a natural search dog. Rusty was quickly certified to respond to searches statewide and beyond.
It did take Rusty some time to learn “normal dog” behaviors. He apparently hadn’t had “happy dog” moments as a puppy, and didn’t know how to respond to affection. I taught 5th grade at the time, and was able to take him to school with me. It is a glorious memory to remember the dog whose tail didn’t wag and who didn’t stop walking to be petted by my students in his early days at school. But the fact that the kids loved him unconditionally finally sunk in. Until his dying day, which happened at school in the arms of his kids, he would leave the classroom at day’s end to wait at the pick-up area with the kids. You would know where he was because there would be a pile of children laying on the ground around my tail wagging dog who had learned the joy of unconditional love and shared his right back. And wouldn’t you know it, those kids who needed someone to love them without reservation or cause would get it from Rusty. I should have invented the “Who Rescued Whom” motto, but I wasn’t that clever. However, I was blessed to see it happen every school day.
Thank you, daughter, for making the years of fabulous memories a reality!
By: Julie Buer