Mum, Dad, my brother Michael: everyone in the family got more affection from our ridgeback-staffie cross. And guess whose bed she used to poo on…
I think the tone was set when Ella threw up over me on the way back from the Dogs Trust. She was three months old, rolling around on the back seat between me and my twin brother, Michael (we’d just turned seven), and wasn’t enjoying her first trip in a car. She could have been sick anywhere – over the seat, over the floor – but for some reason she decided to climb on to me first.
It was the start of a beautiful but strangely one-sided friendship. Ella, a ridgeback-staffie cross, was the perfect dog: playful, energetic, naughty and tolerant. She would let us poke and prod her without complaint, turn her ears inside-out or dress her up in T-shirts or the thick woollen poncho my Greek Cypriot grandma knitted her for the British winter. And she was endlessly loving, at least to the other members of the family. Me? Too often it was as if I didn’t exist. If Michael and I were sitting on the sofa, she’d bound up to him. If I came home after a day out with my dad, he was the one she’d jump at. If I tried to take her for a walk by myself, she’d drag her feet and insist that I fetch my brother.
To add insult to injury, about once a year she would do a poo in the house. Not just anywhere, though: she’d climb the stairs to my room and leave it in a neat pile on top of my bed.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t offended by Ella’s attitude – I loved her just as much as anyone. But it took me a while to realise that in her eyes we were both bitches fighting for our place in the pack. I read that dogs are 98.8% wolf, even yappy little chihuahuas. Ella was a definite she-wolf and my mother (she who opened the tin of dog food every night) was the undisputed alpha female. Ella could handle that fact, but she didn’t want to be the omega female. That was me.
Working out the reasons for Ella’s lack of sisterhood, understanding that her indifference was atavistic and not just casual, didn’t make me any less jealous of my brother, who always took great pleasure in the fact that Ella seemed to prefer him. But I resigned myself to the situation. And then one day (happy ending, anyone?) everything changed. I must have been 16 or 17, we’d been away for a fortnight in France, and when we got back it was me she ran up to first, whining and twisting with pleasure at seeing me again. After that it was like all those years of competition had never happened. We were best friends for ever, or at least for the couple of years she had left. Ella finally loved me.
Abandoned And Trapped In Deep River, The Elderly Dog started crying When The Volunteer Approached To Caress Him
In the heart of Los Angeles, a tale unfolded that touched the souls of many—a tale of abandonment, resilience, and compassion. It began with a simple phone call, one that sparked a mission of hope and redemption for a lonely soul trapped in the depths of the city’s river.
The call came to Hope in the Paws, a beacon of light for animals in distress. On the other end of the line was a plea for help, a desperate cry for assistance for an elderly dog stranded in the labyrinthine maze of the Los Angeles River. For weeks, the community had rallied around the dog, providing what little sustenance they could offer, but they knew that without intervention, his fate would be sealed.
With urgency in their hearts and determination in their eyes, the volunteers of Hope in the Paws sprang into action. But as they approached the river’s edge, they were met with a sight that tugged at their heartstrings—the elderly dog, once proud and majestic, now reduced to a trembling, frightened creature, his eyes betraying the fear and uncertainty that gripped his soul.
Undeterred by the enormity of the task before them, the volunteers pressed on, fueled by a singular purpose—to bring comfort and salvation to this vulnerable being. With each step closer, they could hear the soft whimpering of the dog, a haunting melody that echoed through the silence of the river.
But then, something miraculous happened. As one of the volunteers extended a hand of kindness towards the dog, offering nothing but love and compassion, the trembling ceased, and the fear began to ebb away. In that moment, amidst the chaos and turmoil of the river, a bond was formed—a bond forged in the crucible of adversity and sealed with the simple yet profound language of empathy.
With gentle hands and tender words, the volunteers lifted the elderly dog from his watery prison, cradling him in their arms as they made their way to safety. And as they emerged from the depths of the river, they were greeted by the warm embrace of the community, their faces alight with gratitude and hope.
The rescue of Peggy the German Shepherd was not just a triumph of human kindness—it was a testament to the power of compassion and the resilience of the human spirit. And as Peggy took her first tentative steps towards a new life, she carried with her the unwavering support of all those who had rallied behind her—a reminder that no soul is ever truly alone as long as there are hearts willing to open and hands ready to help.
So here’s to Hope in the Paws, an organization built on the belief that every life is worth saving and every creature deserving of love. Thank you for your tireless dedication, your boundless compassion, and your unwavering commitment to making the world a better place—one rescue at a time.
And to Peggy, may your journey be filled with warmth and joy, and may you always know that you are loved beyond measure. You may have been abandoned and trapped in the depths of a river, but today, you are free—free to run, free to play, and free to bask in the boundless love that surrounds you.
This is the story of Peggy the German Shepherd—a story of hope, redemption, and the enduring power of love. And as her tale spreads far and wide, may it serve as a beacon of hope for all those who find themselves lost and alone in the world.
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