What my “Teddy Bear” Needed and What many others desperately need

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For those who have visited my blog before, you may know that I have a dog named Finley. Finley is a Jack Russell Terrier (possibly a mix) puppy. However, some of you may not know that I have another dog named Roscoe. Yes Roscoe, as in Roscoe’s fried chicken and waffles. My parents agreed on bringing one dog into the family from the pound, but when I met both dogs I was at a stalemate. I couldn’t decide. We could adopt Finley, he was adorable, sweet, and loved to lick my face. He was so cute, and in such high demand. There were about 7 families during the time we were looking at him, who wanted to know if he was up for adoption because they wanted him. Or we could pick Roscoe. Roscoe is 4 years old and he’s half Cardigan and half Welsh Corgi. Whenever I looked at him he had this pant that looked liked he was smiling, he had such charisma. It was a hard choice. When we put them next to each other though, they got along, so we decided to get them both (thanks mom and dad!).

However, Finley and Roscoe weren’t my original choices.

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This is Frankie. At the beginning of summer, I went to the animal shelter once and I saw this dog. I was absolutely in love with him. I was heartbroken, he was so sweet, gentle and cute. He was being looked over though for a few reasons: 1. he was a senior dog, not many people want seniors because they have less time to enjoy the dog, 2. he had some “hot spots” on his skin, from a rash or something, it made him appear ill. 3. he was a long haired weiner dog, long haired dogs shed. To see his happy face in this dark and dreary cell was terrible. The pavement is wet because the workers hose it down in the morning to clean off the feces, so the dogs were always shivering. There aren’t a lot of donations or funds of nice and warm blankets. If they had anything, they would get holey, ragged towels. I wanted him so bad, but my parents wouldn’t let me have him. So I became determined to find a better life for him, a life with me. I made a contract with my parents, if I did my chores every single day and got signatures from them 2x a day as proof then I would be able to get a dog. The contract ended at the end of summer. I thought I could do it, I was determined to find Frankie a better home, I loved the dog so much and watching him suffer was terrible. I made his picture my phone wallpaper and visited him almost every week. No one really understood my love for him, they just cast him aside as an “option,” my mom would say he’s too old. My grandparents looked over and said “he’s ugly” or “why does he look so ill?”

Unfortunately, I was never able to make him mine. The week before my contract was over I went to visit him. I was so excited to finally make him mine, and tell the ladies that work there that I could take him home. He had just been swept up by a rescue. The rescue didn’t like the treatment or attention he was receiving so they took him to the Los Angeles Dachshund Rescue. I was crushed, my parents weren’t even that into the idea of adopting Frankie in the first place, the fact that he was in L.A. made it harder. Not to mention the new shelter was very strict on who could adopt their dogs, it didn’t look like our house would pass the inspection for a dachshund.

So here on my blog I propose an idea to the world, a lesson to be learned from this story. Please. Go adopt. Give a pet a loving home, you will be surprised on how much they will melt your heart and brighten your day. They will immediately turn from pet to family. Especially if it’s a senior, I know they don’t live as long, but think of the impact you make on that animal. It’s a need we need to feed. An animal’s need. An animal who is crying every night, just dreaming of having a loving and caring family like you.

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