Wee Willie Winkie comes to Canada.

                                                     Wee Willie Winkie comes to Canada.

Winkie came into the Los Angeles County Animal Care and Control in Downey on September 27, 2014 as an owner surrender. He was four years old and quite overweight at 37 pounds. He was neutered on October 27, 2014. 
Then, because nobody wanted to adopt him, he ended up on the euthanasia list. This is often the time that rescues from across the region come in to save the dogs they believe are adoptable. Nobody wanted Winkie. It could have been his demeanor while enclosed in a strange place, with the sounds and smells and sights unfamiliar to him, grieving, perhaps for his old life or his "person" and confused as to where he was and why. It could have been because of how he looked, missing fur, looking “mangy”. That's what I was told. He was an ugly dog.
He was diagnosed with alopecia (hair loss) that the vet thought might be allergies, or a metabolic/endocrine disorder. There were no resources at Downey to investigate/treat this and remained up to his adopter to see a private vet for blood work and evaluation. (That would take over a year, and Winkie will see our vet on September 26.)
The heroes from Columbia Humane Society in St. Helen’s. Oregon, decided to take him. They saved him. They are a no kill shelter, and he owes his life to them and we owe our future life with Winkie to them.
He stayed there for almost a year, with no interest from adopters It must have been difficult for him to see his kennel mates come and go. But thanks to Petfinder, we found him. To say the staff and volunteers were not excited to receive an expression of interest in this guy would be an understatement. A few weeks later, on August 26, 2015, he was on his way to Canada, Vancouver Island to be exact, and welcomed at the Campbell River airport by me, Emma, and sweet and sour chicken balls (without the sweet and sour). I think he liked the chicken best.
This was all a risk and kind of ironic. The humane society told us he was not adopted because of the way he looked, yet that is why I adopted him.
You see, we had lost our dog Kessler at the end of July. He was not our only dog, but he was Emma’s dog, my daughter who has autism, and we had saved him as an 8-week-old puppy, from Los Angeles, when he was very sick and had mange and secondary infections. In the year it took for him to recover, he bonded with Emma, who was very methodical with his medications and baths, something she loved to administer, and became her defacto therapy dog. He was one of a kind. His death, 5 years later, was sudden, even though he had a devastating illness that resulted in him losing his eye via a violent seizure, the encephalitis took him after three months, just at the time everybody thought he would make it. It was an agonizing loss and a wave of sadness so overwhelming engulfed our family. 

I decided to start looking for another dog for Emma. My only pre-requisites were male, dachshund cross, and a dog that felt right. Major emphasis on the latter. I recall Winkie was around the 400th dog I viewed on Petfinder, meeting the criteria I had plugged into the search engine, and the only one I clicked on for further information. In fact he took my breath away due to his physical similarity to Kessler, and this was before I realized they were the same age, and that Winkie, too, had a skin condition. They both came from Los Angeles and were both brown ‘Doxie-crosses’. 

Their personalities are very different. Kessler came to us as a little puppy and never saw a day of neglect or abuse. Winkie, I suspect, has not enjoyed the same peace and love in his life. He is deathly afraid of coat hangers, fast-moving people, and has some aggression that I suspect comes from a latent need for self preservation. He has been snappy and growly in his first couple of weeks here, over his food, over being touched in some places, or moved off the bed, a mere facade, I expect covering up a timid heart. But it has quickly dissipated the more he realizes he is safe here, and loved unconditionally. He is astoundingly bonded to Emma, literally following her everywhere. If she goes outside he waits at the door, pining. If she gets up to use the washroom in the night, he wakes up and goes with her, as if he is sleeping with one eye open. If any of our other dogs plan to jump up on her knee, well, Winkie remains a work in progress on that front, he is very possessive. But it will all settle itself over time.
We hear often that dogs in rescue are damaged goods. Yes it’s true that some rescue dogs aren’t good with other pets, and some aren’t good with children, or men, or being left alone. Some may have fear issues, while others might be over protective.
The same can be said about dogs anywhere. Most rescue dogs aren’t there because of behavioral issues, many of them are there at no fault of their own. Many are probably there because they were considered disposable.
Every dog who's adopted from a rescue means another spot opens up for yet another dog whose person dumps them, without concern for their fate. Some of those dogs, dumped into epidemically overcrowded shelters go straight to the "kill room".

There but for the grace of Columbia Humane Society went Winkie.

When you adopt a dog you’re giving him a second chance at life.

Everybody loves second chances.

At last count, I have had and lost 28 pets in my lifetime. None of them have ever been replaced. Winkie is not Kessler’s replacement. With that, I can state as fact: No matter how many times you go through it, losing a dog never gets easier. The only consolation that we have is the time spent in-between, and our lives are so much the better for it. The pain will fade, but that canine-shaped hole in your heart never goes away. Getting another dog does not fill it, it only makes our hearts grow larger, until we amass a gigantic heart with a lot of little dog-sized holes.

Like my backyard. And my couch. And the bottom end of my mattress (because they think I wont notice.

Let Winkie’s ongoing story inspire you, give you patience when your rescue isn’t perfect and give you faith that they will be in time and with love. 

MY Girl.

September 4, 2014 is a day I almost lost my oldest daughter. She was the victim on a (sudden) domestic assault. "Sudden" because he had never physically attacked her before. It was bad. It took a long time for him to beat her as she ran for hiding places in their apartment, FInally she made it almost out the door but fell, and he slammed the door on her legs repeatedly as she grasped onto her dog Lucy and tried to crawl out. It was then she thought to call for help. But the neighbours has already called 911. He was arrested and taken into custody. Because the apartment was in his name as he was the main wage earner (as a police officer) she was given 4 hours to move out of the apartment. FOUR HOURS to relocate her life, her belongings, with no where to go. Thanks to the kindness of friends,and my brother and sister-in-law re arranging their day to help her pack what she could in the time allotted (before he got out of jail) Emelia made it out with basically the clothes on her back and her cat and dog. She was unable to retrieve her furniture, her bed which was a good one, and he subsequently sold it all. She was battered, bruised, traumatized, frightened, and lost. She loved this man and thought he was the one, and as she said 90 percent of the time they had a wonderful time together, laughing, sharing interests, he was her best friend. So she lost her best friend that day in a way you never want to end things with someone you love.
There had been "signs" that all was not right with him. Arguments would be initiated over trivial things. He couldn't let things go. He was controlling. He often tried to make her feel inadequate. Leading up to the beating (which you can imagine was well done as he was a trained police officer) there had been an escalation in his fighting mood, and I had to intervene a few times in the 48 hours preceding the event to calm him down and talk him out of his hysterics. My last words to Emelia the night before the attack, when I had spent two hours on the phone with them on speaker, mediating this argument, with him saying Emelia's attempts to settle things were nothing more than sarcasm on her part (bizarre), my last words were "Milly you have to leave him ,you have to get out of there this weekend." The next morning it happened. It started over her rubbing his arm as a way of saying good morning. He took offence and just started beating her. He smashed her lap top, broke her phone, ripped the closet door off and destroyed her clothes, he hit her everywhere but the face, bruised ribs, scratched up arms, bruised thighs, calves, severely sprained wrist when he bent it back as she tried to defend herself, and a couple of good punches in the stomach. Emelia had never been in a physical altercation before. She fled and ended up in the street below, calling me, barely audible between the sobs. she was in medical shock. The Vancouver Police Department treated her with dignity and care. After it was all over, the medical checks done, the photographs taken, the statements given. they took her to her friends house where she would couch surf until she figured out what to do, where to go, where to live and how to get furniture, even just a bed., to give her some dignity in her recovery to start over. He had sold her car, much of her furniture while they were together, replacing it with "new" stuff, he preferred things that way. A police officer even brought her some food at the end of it all after realizing she had not eaten all day, and they continued to check up on her from time to time, as did Crown Counsel. It was gold star treatment for a domestic assault victim and I owe the VPD a debt of gratitude to this day for treating my baby girl with kindness and grace. He lost his job with the police force. They don't put up with bullshit like that. He was charged with assault, mischief and uttering threats. He was put on a one year peace bond. That ends next month. My daughter, on her own, found more work in order to be self sufficient and to start over, working two jobs, working to exhaustion some 18 hour days, managed to get her own apartment in a nice area of town, furnish it over time off Craigslist, make new friends now that he was no longer in control and isolatiog her, and she benefited from the one year of counselling the Victim Services offered to her and lucked out with a wonderful therapist who really knew how to communicate with Emelia at her level. Her level of mistrust, victimization, sadness, sarcasm, and high intellect. Emelia is the Gold Standard for women in domestic violence situations. she never let it happen a second time. She did not go back even though it would have been the easiest thing to do because he had the money, the home, all she had to do was tow the line and hope that something she said didn't brew and boil over in his paranoid, narcisstic mind. All she had to do was walk on eggshells. She chose the hard road. And it was hard. There were many phone calls home crying, sobbing, scared for the future, was it worth it? Was she doing the right thing? Her body was aching, exhausted. She missed him. she missed the man in the times he wasn't emotionally abusive and controlling, But she could not erase the memory of trying to escape and the beating getting worse as she tried to get out the door. She remembered her terror at leaving her cat in the apartment and worrying what he would do to him to get to her. She used her common sense, and she continued on a difficult, often isolated journey away from him and towards herself.
It has been a year. She is a new person. She is physically healthier, mentally healing, has a new job with lots of potential for income and growth, an apartment that is hers, and hers only, with furniture that is hers, and hers only. She will be buying a car this week to commute to her new job. She is on her way.Many women who were beaten a year ago by their boyfriends or husbands remain in that living situation. Some left and went back. Others made excuses, thought they could change him, thought if they only acted differently themselves he would stop getting mad
and using their body to take it out on. My daughter said once is too much, and fought her emotional instincts to go back. She followed her head not her heart. She will fall back in love one day, when she is ready. She still doesn't trust totally. She still carries hurt from that day. But she is laughing again. She likes what she sees when she looks in the mirror. She has made new friends, not friends he approves of. She has rekindled friendships he did not allow. Emelia has defined herself at 25. She is a courageous, smart, kind, giving person, who wants to be loved, one day, by a man who will never put his hands on her except in affection. She is a self made woman, who came back from the brink of darkness and horror, and did it all by herself. As all women of abuse must. People can help you do it, but you have to make the decision to reach out and take what they are offering. Too many turn their backs and return to the darkness because it is easier.
Emelia Coryn is a warrior princess. She is not one to mess with. She is the true definition of an independent woman in 2015, and she is going to make a difference in the world. She is an artist, a writer, a cat and dog mom, an athlete, a tough mudder, an evolving gardener, a loyal friend, who has overcome disappointments in her life with grace and a lot of humour. 

That's MY girl.

Dear Aylan

Dear Aylan

Man should never have to make tiny coffins and babies should not die in the sea. When I first saw you, you were wearing a red t-shirt, blue shorts, and cute little leather soled shoes with the Velcro undone. You looked like you had fallen asleep at the beach, on your tummy, bum up, waiting for your mama to come and get you.But you were not sleeping, you were dead.You became the world’s little boy, and the world is crying for all the years you will miss being alive, sharing your gifts, loving and being loved, especially by your papa who misses you to the moon and back. So many mommies and daddies are holding their little boys a little tighter today.I wonder about you Aylan. Were your eyes the color of the ocean that sent you to heaven? Did you put your own shoes on, like a big boy on the night of your doomed journey? Did you feel your papa holding you desperately trying to keep your head above the waves. Have you found your mama and your brother Galip in Heaven?Were you light and love, mischief and pranks? Or did you live your short life in terror and sadness, hunger and squalor?I am so sorry that you didn’t make it to Canada. It is a lovely place, where people care about each other, where little boys can go to school, ride bikes, and play games, where they have choices and friends and play dates and their very own dog and don’t see horrible things little boys should never see.They don’t have to risk their lives getting onto inflatable boats in the deep ocean to find freedom and safety.Your auntie said you never had a toy to play with. In Canada you would have had Little Tykes, and Hot Wheels and LeapFrog and Megablocks. You would have been lost in the imaginary world of the Lion King and the Muppets, sung songs from Frozen, played in the snow and made sandcastles at the beach. But the photo of you on the beach puts you into a club no child should be in. You join Phan Jim Phuc, the little Vietnamese girl running away from a napalm attack, and the unnamed Sudanese baby being preyed upon by a vulture. Maybe your photo is the one that will open people’s hearts to the endless possibilities found when we don’t look away, when we stop pointing fingers towards politicans, terrorists, nations, policies, bureaucrats, traffickers, and overloaded boats carrying children and mothers to their graves. When we say we are sad but what can we do?You are everyone’s little boy Aylan, and we are all to blame for the horror you went through, and the horror too many children of the world, behind borders that don’t matter, are living every hour of every day until they, too, pass through hell on earth to get to Heaven, too early, too tragically. All of us, in the whole world, can honor you by loving each other and taking care of each other and speaking up, speaking out, and not stopping.Maybe this time, maybe this time.You are free now and I am sorry it took the unforgiving unrelenting waves of the Aegean Sea to give you what you should have had in life on earth.Freedom. Love. Peace.Even now you are sleeping in eternity I can only believe that you were planted on Earth to bloom in heaven. Take flight, my boy. Soar.