Dog Vortex…

h/t Turley’s blog…

damn dog…

Of course we have Puppy Bowl X GIFs –


dogz r amazin’

Dogtown… by Rachel Mankowitz

I want to live at Dogtown

Posted on August 18, 2013 by rachelmankowitz

There was a show on the National Geographic channel a few years ago set at an Animal Sanctuary in Utah called Best Friends. They have separate enclosures for birds and cats and rabbits and horses and pigs, and the section for dogs is called Dogtown.

The show focused on their work with last chance dogs, and how they try to give them better lives. Each dog has a team of veterinarians and groomers and trainers and volunteers looking out for them, and coming up with creative ideas for how to help them with problems other shelters couldnt solve. So a half-blind, ten year old dog, who couldnt walk on a leash, had people brainstorming ways to help him live his best possible life. And, if they couldnt find him a forever home, he would always have a home at the sanctuary.

Dogtown represents the kind of safety net I wish we all had, pets and humans alike, because the volunteers and groomers and vets and trainers at Dogtown seemed to be infused with a level of compassion and persistence you dont find in regular life. The problem is that most shelters are not Dogtown. Some have the compassion, but not the skill, or they have the volunteers, but not the money, or the space.

The shelter where we got Butterfly subsidizes her medical care, and sends buses to pick up dogs from puppy mills all the time, but they have no mandate to train the dogs, or help them overcome social deficits. Their goal is to send the dogs out to new homes as soon as possible.

See more at

A Dog That Defines Pure Joy

I’ve never seen anyone that expresses the pure joy of being alive like Sammy, Susan’s Shih Tzu… when you’re around him you discover his happiness is contagious…

Smelling The Flowers…

ummm hmmm…

Dogs R Amazing…

Never gets old… click on the picture





I know that you will not come back
Not answer to my call or whistle
Not come even at your pleasure
As was your way.
Yet, I will leave your “good dog” pad and dish
Beside the kitchen sink, a while.
Your rawhide bone beneath a chair
The cans of dog food on the shelf
Your favorite ball, which you
hid in the boxwood hedge.

I’ll listen in the early morning light,
For your muted huff, not quite a bark,
Suggesting you be let out.
And lie in half-sleep until
I hear your harplike
Single scratch upon the screen
To signal you had answered nature’s call
Made your accustomed rounds
Checked the limits of the grounds,
For trace of groundhogs, raccoons, even bears
And now returned intent on sleep
On bed, or rug, or floor
depending on your mood.

And if not answered,
Lie down in silent protest
Against my failure to respond
And to show resentment of the
Indifference of the stolid door.

I will not yet remove
The mist of dog hair
From your favorite chair.
Not yet discard the frazzled frisbee
You could catch, making plays,
Going away, like Willie Mays.
But having proved your skill
Refused to fetch;
Let retrievers tire themselves
In repetitious runs, you seemed to say.
You would run figure eights,
Disdaining simple circles
Jump hedges just for sport.
Eat holes in woolen blankets
But leave untouched
the silk or satin bindings.
Herd sheep and cattle
Spurn running rabbits and deer,
That would not play your game.

You swam with ducks
And walked among wild geese.
Ate Turns but not Rolaids,
You knew no dog-like shame.
And died by no dog’s disease at end,
But by one that also lays its claim on men.

Eugene McCarthy


h/t Zander Westendarp