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Old 07-10-2017, 02:43 PM   #1
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Default I was Taught Not to Hate, B....

I was taught not to hate anyone but sometimes it is so hard. On the Texas Great Pyrenees Rescue group on FaceBoo, there is a picture of a beautiful Pyr laying on gravel in a wire cage. All the info below the photo was that this was dog number such and such in the shelter in such and such Parish a little more. I am assuming it is Louisiana as I know they have parishes rather than counties in that state, and all though most on the group of a couple of hundred are in Texas, we have a few scattered in other states who join just to chat Pyrs, share and get information, etc.

Anyway the person that posted it said this was a 13 year old female Pyr whose owner had dropped her off at the shelter (no rescue) because she was to old and feeble and he wanted a younger active dog. This lady was hoping that the TGPR could somehow get this girl into it's rescue (we got Sir Moose from TGPR) and into a foster home for the time she has left. Said the old girl is so scared and just lays there trembling.

A few years ago a story was in the newsletter I get from one of the Golden Retriever rescues I was donating to regular (no so regular any more now we are trying to exist on social security) and about a pair of dogs, father and son who had been turned in. They were 13 and 15 years old and as with the Pyr above, had gotten to feeble and slow and they wanted young active dogs, so they dumped the dogs they had had their entire lives.

It is very hard for me not to hate these people that does this. I can't understand how you can have a dog all those years and then throw it away when it gets old and feeble. Will they do the same to their parents? I hae done all in my power to keep every dog I hae ever owned to live a long life, and in old age, lay around and eat and sleep if that is what they wanted to do. We would give anything to have our dogs live to be 13 and 15 years old and here they throw theirs away.

A little story here. In 1947 my dad, a quail hunter, had two pointers, Maggie and Ketcho. Then a doctor gave him an English Setter puppy, son and grandson of field champs. But Daddy was not interested in papers and ribbons, etc, just a good hunting dog. He named the puppy Mack.
And Mack was the birddog of any quail hunter's dreams. He never broke a "set" until Daddy fired and knocked down birds, then Mack went to retriever them. He never ruffled a feather on a quail, dead or alive as he brought it back to Daddy. He never broke a "back" . That is when one dog sees another set or point and stops dead in their tracks and holds still so as not to scare the covey up. In his 15 years we never heard him growl at any human or critter. We kids played with him, used him to pull our little red Radio Flyer Wagon as we "went west", used him as a pack horse, etc. He loved it.

When he was about 111, we sold our little farm and bought a place a few acres larger. It was going to take a couple of weeks for us to finish up the papers and get moved and the new owner of our place agreed to wait but he did want to start putting up some new fences and Daddy told him fine. One day he pulled into the dirt driveway with a load of fence posts--and ran over Mack with front and rear tire. By some miracle, no bones were broken and no serious internal damage, But for the rest of his life fluid would collect around his stomach and Daddy had to take him in ever 6 weeks or so and have it drained.

By the time Old Mack (as we now called him) was 13, he had arthritis pretty bad, was stiff, waddled around. His vision was not as good, and his hearing not good at all. Se4e, even tho Daddy's brothers had dogs of their own, they would "borrow" Mack if Daddy was not using him becaue he was such a great dog. Some weeks he hunted every single day and had the gun fired over him so much that it had damaged his hearing. Also, his front teeth were worn down to nubs. Daddy soaked his Purina Dog Chow (only food Daddy ever gave our dogs) until it was soft and then he hand fed Old Mack every night.

Well, Daddy would be set to go hunting and somehow Old Mack would know it and he would get up and waddle out to the car, old stiff tail just wagging. Daddy would pick him up and put him in the car (Old Mack could not get in or out on his own) and drive out to Wimberly's were the terrain was easy and he would hunt Old Mack for about 25-30 minutes and then put him in the car and bring him home. However, sometimes the old guy would find a covey and Daddy would get a couple of birds.

When they got home he would take old Mack out of the car and Old Mack would waddle off to his favorite napping place and fall asleep and I like to think he was dreaming of the hunt he just had with his beloved mater and friend. Daddy would put the young dogs in the car and then go where he knew birds would be.

His brothers chided him for "wasting" good hunting time by taking Mack out to where birds were iffy, and couldn't long. Daddy just told them that Old Mack had always bee a devoted, loyal friend and to him and us and he wanted to be the devoted, loyal friend to Old Mack. Mack was 15 when he died. But this is the kind of man my dad was and it just seemed to me everyone should be like him.And when I read stories of how these people treat their dogs, it is hard for me not tohate them. I will go as far as saying I dislike them intensely. Wonder if they will toss their parents aside when teir paretns become old and to feeble to "be of use" any more. Just a thought.

This is my dad in the spring of 1947 with his pointers Maggie and Ketcho and between his knees, puppy Mack. That is my grandpa standing behind Daddy. I would say Daddy must hae had a baseball workout before or after this picture was taken as heis wearing cleats, but not his uniform. He played on the little farming town baseball team--those were very popular back then. Called Sand Lot baseball.

And this Mack at 13 or 14 and Daddy's pointer, Lucky. Mack was having these places that looked like someone had taken scissors and cut out a whack of hair. Daddy thought it was one of the younger kids doing it--til he saw this. Lucky would chew out those little stick-to-me-tights that would get stuck in Mack's fur. He was chewing off half an inch or so of fur while doing it. I don't really know the name of those little things, but they are small, flat and sticky. We would come in from hutting and have to get them off our clothes and pull them out of Mack's fur. They didnt' seem to stick to the pointer's fur, just the setters. Rascal and Duchess would have a ton of them also. But for some reason, it was only Old Mack that Lucky would pull them off. By the way, Mack only ever sired one litter of puppies and that was when he was 10 and I got two of them Rascal and Duchess, both great hunters like their dad.

This Mackwith Rascal in front and Duchess behind. You would have thoughthe was their mom the wayhe looked after them and really helped with their training.

Hunter...forever in my heart
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Last edited by 3 goldens; 07-10-2017 at 02:46 PM..

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Old 07-10-2017, 10:36 PM   #2
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I am so with you on this... no matter how charitably I try to think of people, there is absolutely no way I can condone abandoning a dog because it is old or ill and the owner no longer wants to be bothered. It makes my blood boil.
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Old 07-11-2017, 09:13 AM   #3
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Totally agree with both of you.

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Old 07-11-2017, 11:26 AM   #4
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I think every member here agrees with you!
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Old 07-11-2017, 11:42 AM   #5
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I think you are right, Techie! It's unbelievable that someone would give their dog up because they were too old, slow or ill. Poor old girl, I hope she gets a nice foster home soon

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