The APL's first annual Spayghetti Dinner is tomorrow (Saturday) from 3 to 7pm. I just got back from helping to set up the silent auction & raffle, and wow do we have some great stuff (including Indians tickets and signed Indians memorabilia, Tribe fans!)
When: Saturday April 28, 3-7pm
Where: Second Congregational United Church Of Christ,
319 Lake Ave., Ashtabula (on the corner of W. 3rd and Lake Ave - directly across from the old Harbor High parking lot. (Parking is available at the old HHS.))
Tickets are available at the door: $5 for adults, $3 for kids. (Oh, and I was wrong about the DJ, but we *will* have supercool dinner music compiled by my supercool friend Todd....so all is well :))
Please come support the APL and have a great time!
~Dawn
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
How Could You?
A man in Grand Rapids, Michigan incredibly took out a $7,000 full page ad in the paper to present the following essay to the people of his community.
HOW COULD YOU? - By Jim Willis, 2001
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a belly rub.
My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.
Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or
to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog ," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's
fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and
leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.
When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears,
and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days.
As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I
tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her . It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
A Note from the Author: If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly "owned" pets who die each year in American & Canadian animal shelters. Please use this to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.
Please pass this on to everyone, not to hurt them or make them sad, but so that it could save maybe, even one, unwanted pet.
Remember...They love UNCONDITIONALLY.
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a belly rub.
My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.
Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or
to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog ," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's
fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and
leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.
When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears,
and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days.
As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I
tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her . It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
A Note from the Author: If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly "owned" pets who die each year in American & Canadian animal shelters. Please use this to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.
Please pass this on to everyone, not to hurt them or make them sad, but so that it could save maybe, even one, unwanted pet.
Remember...They love UNCONDITIONALLY.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Featured Pet: Pancho
Help Pancho find a home! Print out this flyer and hang it around. Pancho would sure appreciate it! :)
Saturday, April 14, 2007
First Annual Spayghetti Dinner!!!
Yep, that's right, Spayghetti. Because we'll do whatever we can to spread the word about the importance of spaying and neutering your pets! But don't you worry, the food served will be good ol' fashioned spaghetti :)
When: Saturday April 28, 3-7pm
Where: Second Congregational United Church Of Christ,
319 Lake Ave., Ashtabula (on the corner of W. 3rd and Lake Ave -
directly across from the old Harbor High parking lot. (Parking is available
at the old HHS.))
Please join us! Enjoy great food and company while supporting a great cause! There will be a silent auction, a raffle, even a DJ!
Tickets are $5 for adults, $3 for children, and can be purchased from the APL or from the APL Mall Store or from various board members and are also available at the door!
When: Saturday April 28, 3-7pm
Where: Second Congregational United Church Of Christ,
319 Lake Ave., Ashtabula (on the corner of W. 3rd and Lake Ave -
directly across from the old Harbor High parking lot. (Parking is available
at the old HHS.))
Please join us! Enjoy great food and company while supporting a great cause! There will be a silent auction, a raffle, even a DJ!
Tickets are $5 for adults, $3 for children, and can be purchased from the APL or from the APL Mall Store or from various board members and are also available at the door!
Friday, April 13, 2007
In Josie's honor: A harness fundraiser
As the weather starts getting warmer, I'm reminded of all the time our little group spent last summer searching for Josie. Many of us gave up pretty much our entire summer in hopes of finding this poor girl. Since I live near the area where she was lost, I spend a lot of time thinking about what we could have done differently to ensure Josie got to her destination safely. I was the one holding the leash when she slipped her collar, and that moment is frozen permanently in my mind. I never want to go through that again and, much more importantly, I never want a dog to have to go through what Josie did. We've still not been able to confirm that she is safely in a home....if she is, that is great, but even if so there is no denying that she must have suffered terribly in the summer heat and rain prior to being captured. If she'd been wearing a harness rather than a collar, none of this would have happened.
Since Josie was lost, I've spoken to countless experienced transporters, and the suggestion I've heard most often is to use a harness rather than a collar, so that the dog can't pull free. Of course harnesses are more expensive than collars, and most of us who send dogs to rescue can't afford to buy harnesses for every dog. So we are asking for your help.
At the Ashtabula County APL, we've been sending increasing numbers of animals to rescue. And Vincennes Pet Port, where Josie came from, sends many dogs each weekend. We are currently seeking donations in Josie's honor to purchase harnesses for all of our transport dogs to help them get safely to their rescues and forever homes. Donations can be made via PayPal by clicking on the button below. Donations will go through the Ashtabula County APL and will be divided evenly with Vincennes Pet Port. Please note in the "Payment For" line that you would like your donation to go towards purchasing harnesses in Josie's honor.
Even a dollar or two is a huge help. I'm currently scouting out the best deal on wholesale harnesses, and would also appreciate any suggestions on that. Another way to help is to send any harnesses you may have that you aren't using to the Ashtabula APL:
Ashtabula County Animal Protective League
5970 Green Road
Ashtabula, Ohio 44004
I will disperse any donated harnesses evenly between Ashtabula and Vincennes. Donations via check may also be sent to the APL address…please note in the memo section that you'd like your donation to go towards purchasing harnesses in Josie's honor.
Thank you!
~Dawn
Since Josie was lost, I've spoken to countless experienced transporters, and the suggestion I've heard most often is to use a harness rather than a collar, so that the dog can't pull free. Of course harnesses are more expensive than collars, and most of us who send dogs to rescue can't afford to buy harnesses for every dog. So we are asking for your help.
At the Ashtabula County APL, we've been sending increasing numbers of animals to rescue. And Vincennes Pet Port, where Josie came from, sends many dogs each weekend. We are currently seeking donations in Josie's honor to purchase harnesses for all of our transport dogs to help them get safely to their rescues and forever homes. Donations can be made via PayPal by clicking on the button below. Donations will go through the Ashtabula County APL and will be divided evenly with Vincennes Pet Port. Please note in the "Payment For" line that you would like your donation to go towards purchasing harnesses in Josie's honor.
Even a dollar or two is a huge help. I'm currently scouting out the best deal on wholesale harnesses, and would also appreciate any suggestions on that. Another way to help is to send any harnesses you may have that you aren't using to the Ashtabula APL:
Ashtabula County Animal Protective League
5970 Green Road
Ashtabula, Ohio 44004
I will disperse any donated harnesses evenly between Ashtabula and Vincennes. Donations via check may also be sent to the APL address…please note in the memo section that you'd like your donation to go towards purchasing harnesses in Josie's honor.
Thank you!
~Dawn
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Featured Pet: Abigail
Abigail would just love it if you'd print out a few copies of her flyer and hang them where you shop, go to school, etc. It would really help her to get a home!
Monday, April 02, 2007
transport video featuring Boca, an APL dog
We've recently started working with more rescue groups to help place our animals, and this means transports!
Here is a very sweet video made by one of the volunteers who helped to transport Boca, a Belgian Malinios, to his wonderful foster home in Chicago. Thanks to Kathy Smola for making this touching montage! :)
Here is a very sweet video made by one of the volunteers who helped to transport Boca, a Belgian Malinios, to his wonderful foster home in Chicago. Thanks to Kathy Smola for making this touching montage! :)
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