More Pet Rescue Stories

Picking Pistol
While driving home from visiting friends in Boulder, I had no intention of stopping as my husband and I drove past the Humane Society. Never the less, we felt compelled to do so. I was grieving the loss of my mother at the time as well as the loss of our beloved family dog weeks before. When I walked in to view available dogs, there he was, staring right back at me. I felt an unexplainable instant connection.

His name was Pistol. The kennel worker went on to explain to me that he was displaced from the devastating 2013 Oklahoma tornadoes and flooding. This was his last stop having already passed through two other Humane Societies. He also told me that older, black dogs were always the last to be adopted. I made an instant decision that Pistol was coming home with us.

After seeing the joy and happiness therapy dogs had on my mother’s final days, I made the decision to enrolled Pistol in the HABIC (human animal bond in Colorado) program at Colorado State University. After weeks of training, he passed with flying colors and we spent countless volunteer hours at local nursing homes, spreading joy and happiness to residents. We truly rescued each other.
Corrine Kaylor, Loveland

Rescuing Ruby
What was I thinking to forfeit my airline tickets and drive cross-country through an ice storm with yet another four-legged critter? When I arrived at my parent’s house, everyone was talking about Ruby, the red dachshund that was dumped on their 40-acre rural property a few months prior to my arrival. While they provided her with food, water and shelter, every time they tried to get close to her Ruby would head to the woods. She didn’t trust anyone. But when I looked into her soulful brown eyes, we connected on a level that cannot be explained in words. I knew I was hooked.

Ruby settled in quite well with my other dogs and cats. I rescued her from the Mississippi woods, but within a year it was her turn to take care of me. Cancer and the aftermath of chemotherapy zapped by strength and energy for the better part of a year. Ruby was constantly by my side, providing comfort and normalizing my life.

As the only four-legged critter, she rules the roost. We affectionately call her “Rotten Ruby.” Now that she found her forever home, we are in this relationship for the long haul. We are both graying and slowing down as the time goes by. Who rescued whom? It doesn’t really matter since we finally found each other.
Diana Patterson, Colorado Springs

Globe-Trotting Goober
In the spring of 200, I was fossil hunting along the banks of the Brazos River, west of Houston, miles from roads and houses. I found this hungry, shy puppy – maybe 6 months old; he was still losing his baby teeth – covered in ticks and fleas. I couldn’t just leave him there, so I took him home with me. But I travel frequently for my job and didn’t think I could keep a dog. I decided to take him home and to the vet to get him healthy then find him a good home.

Yeah, that didn’t happen. He was my first “foster failure.” Goobie’s been all over the U.S. with me; he’s a great traveling companion and knows how to find fossils. He even went to Aruba with me. I truly think I needed him more than he needed me – he helped me heal from the emotional aftermath of a horrifically abusive marriage.

Goober is an old man now, but he still enjoys our daily walks and road trips. Best dog ever!
Anna Stanley, Walsenburg

Bonding with Big Guy
A few years ago we lived on a small farm out on the eastern Colorado plains. Though we had dogs, our neighbors though we needed a “mouser” for the barns in order to minimize the varmints. Consequently, a male barn cat was delivered and deposited in one of our outbuildings.

We didn’t see any signs of him all the winter and, sadly, we though the coyotes got him. It was a cold winter with lots of snow, but one day while out with the dogs I heard a cat’s meow. There he was. He survived the entire winter on his own!

We started leaving food out for him and he became more visible. And he brought us presents: snakes, weasels, rabbits, birds. He was an avid hunter. Over the next few years, we became extremely fond of him and allowed him refuge in the garage with his own kitty door. Eventually we wormed his way into the house and is now eating and living like a king.

He transitioned through various names – Barn Cat, Tom Cat, Tom Kitty – but we settled on BG for Big Guy. My husband believes his size (20 pounds) and markings identify him as a Norwegian Forest cat breed. In any event, we have grown to love each other dearly and don’t know what we’d do without him. He rules the roost, so to speak, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
June Levy, Calhan

Burt’s Big Journey
Meet Burt, my 70-pound, 13-year-old, retired racing greyhound. Burt came to us in 2003 by way of Friends of Retired Greyhounds, a greyhound rescue organization based in Thornton.

At the time, the rescue was working with Crowley County Prison in a Cell Dogs program. Inmates who earned the privilege were chosen as handlers for rescued greys. Many racers spent 23 hours a day in kennels with little human interaction. They are locked behind bars during their racing life and don’t know anything else, so rehab is what they need to be placed in forever homes.

We were accepted as suitable adopters by the rescue, so my daughter and I traveled to Crowley County Prison to meet the greyhounds that were ready for adoption. Burt was the first one we met and the one we chose; it was love at first sight. (Turns out, Burt was one of the first greyhounds adopted from that program in Crowley County. Ten years later, the rescue no longer operates the Cell Dogs Program.)

Last year, Burt was diagnosed with stage 3 soft tissue sarcoma. We had one cancerous tumor removed, but another is growing. Before we rescued Burt, he ran quite a few races. Now, after 10 years of freedom, he is running a different kind of race. My family loves Burt and we are all so happy he is a part of our family. To this day, I am thankful for that wonderful Cell Dogs program.
Kim Parmer, Hugo

In the “Nikki” of Time
When our 13 year-old yellow lab’s nerve disease progressed to horrific spasms, we had no choice but to say a teary good-bye and a “Jozie, we hope to see you again someday, my girl” as we put her to rest.

About 3 months later on a cold, snowy end-of-December day, our friend Dave called for help to corral a starving stray at our local golf course.

When I got to Dave, the emaciated dog was there. Despite our sweet talk pleadings and food offerings, she was stand-offish. No-one was going to get a hand on her. If someone did, I thought that hand might not fare too well.

She had found an old boot to playfully toss into the air and then leap on as if it were trying to escape. I laid down a milk bone which — somehow thinking ahead — she took off to stash for later and then returned for more.

She reminded me of northern breeds. There was a gash on one side of her mid-section: likely the result of an unsuccessful defense from coyotes of a litter she had been suckling.

Dave and I maneuvered her into a fenced yard and shut the gate. We called animal control for help and they “put us on the list.” It was going to be our coldest night of the year, so I ran back to get a blanket and made a quick bed to help her survive the night.

Around 9:30 p.m. our doorbell rang; it was two young women from animal control. We found the dog huddled on the blanket, and between the three of us got a leash on her and into one of the heated cages.

Mission accomplished. But, when I called to check on her at the shelter, I was told she had been “aggressive” and was to be destroyed. This didn’t mesh with my impression of this dog in any way. When the three of us cornered her in the cold darkness, there was no biting, no growling, no anything. She seemed to be a gentle dog resigned to her fate.

We decided to make a personal visit to the shelter where we found her wary and showing signs of abuse, but generally accepting and even loving. No hint of aggression. Who was making this evaluation?

Since she was scheduled for euthanasia in less than eight hours, we paid a deposit on her adoption fee. If no one claimed her in five days, she was ours.

This was one of the best decisions we ever made. Nikki (we got her in the “nick of time”) is now a beautiful, bright, playful and well-trained pup with a big personality that’s anything but lab-like.

We still feel the loss of our Jozie, but Nikki takes up her own space in our family. And the enrichment she brings to our lives causes me to reflect on all the other lost and abandoned pups who could offer so much to their rescuers.
Ed Roland, Colorado City