The garden is increasingly grey and brown – beginning its descent into winter slumber.
The lens finds little of the magnificence of our spring, summer, and fall. We were spoiled this year with temperate weather while most of the country suffered through heat waves, hurricanes, floods, and more.
The garden bears the telltale signs of a glorious season now gone. Every gardener knows to accept the decay and leave it until spring…
to find beauty in its unsightliness. For underneath, awaits a rebirth and a spectacular first bloom.
Lou came to us by way of San Francisco Animal Control Services. He had been found wandering the beach alone. It was hard to see the photo they shared, but we could not look away. We also could not turn him away.
His face was covered with old war wounds; his ear partially torn off. Whatever happened to Lou occurred some time ago. These wounds were long healed. And, as we would soon discover, so was the dog inside.
Affectionate and friendly, a confirmed ball dog who loves a good game of fetch – Lou is the epitome of a Lab with a loyal heart and love of people.
He surprised all with his acceptance of other nice dogs and even his indifference to cats. He soaks up attention and kindness and shares it back. This boy was loved by someone once.
Lou has no idea and doesn’t care that his appearance is different from other dogs. Neither did the people who saw straight through to his heart and took him home last weekend.
“Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.” ~ Kahlil Gibran
Lou’s heart could not be more beautiful or filled with golden light.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees them. A man walking down the middle of the street holding a dog. Moments later, she looks again. The man is gone; the dog stands in the street – alone. She goes to investigate. There is no sign of the man. The dog stays in place – unsteady, but unmoving. The dog is blind.
He could have safely left her at our door. Our rescue is only a few miles away. Perhaps he had no way to know or to get her to us. The Good Samaritan does. Her gait is wobbly. Within a couple of days, the reason becomes clear: seizures.
How frightening the world must be for Betsy. Unable to see, her body and brain wracked with quaking.
We have to try. And we do, despite experience telling us that this will not end well.
On a good day, Betsy enjoys the safety of our company, immersed in the scents and sounds of the garden. She runs zoomies in the wide-open park. On a good day…she can almost see what forever looks like.
But it is not to be.
Betsy’s forever is at the Bridge. Perhaps someday reunited with the man who knew not what else to do. Or perhaps with all those whose hearts she stole when the goodbye came.
If someone, in their ultimate wisdom, had to invent voles, couldn’t they at least have made them enjoy Bermuda grass?
The treasured rice fields that once surrounded the rescue, teaming with mini frogs, beneficial snakes, and birds of prey, have been turned into dry wastelands. Construction for a planned development has already forever altered our peaceful oasis. It has chased out natural predators, including coyotes, hawks, and owls. And with their absence – we have been invaded by voles.
Our founder, Jody, used to say that every year brought a new plague. Mosquitoes, beetles, wasps, gnats, and more. But never before have we experienced this kind of infestation. They tunnel in – or simply stroll through the fence – from the adjoining fields, finding plenty of lush roots, foliage, and tubers to feed on in our well-maintained haven. They defy our feral cats to keep up with their massive reproduction and underground hideaways. Too bad we can’t unleash all the dogs on them at once!
They have decimated the back half of the Memorial Garden, eating their way through even things they are not supposed to enjoy, like allium, mint, sages, and daffodil bulbs (which they dig up, bite into, and abandon…how rude!). Gone are the iris, Santa Barbara Daisy, salvias, daylilies, rudbeckia, bee balm, and verbena. All 100 of the Liatris bulbs succumbed. Everything special that marks summer’s progression has vanished.
The White Garden: DevastatedThe Asters: Gone
Then, the little beady-eyed critters began their march forward, turning their attention to stripping the garden’s structural plants: rosemary, lavender, asters, and roses. Their tunnels threatened our beloved shade trees. And they set their sights on the prized dahlias I so lovingly nurse each year from bulb to shoot at home before transplanting. I declared war.
I have never been a neat freak gardener. A little bit of decay feeds the soil if it does not invite pests and disease. The pests have arrived. And since they seek cover for their ill deeds, all cover has been removed.
I have always taken a “live and let live” and organic approach to other creatures, pests, and diseases in the garden – happily bargaining with the birds, snakes, snails, and occasional field mice and eschewing any toxic fertilizers or treatments. But these furry creatures and their voracious appetites have pushed me too far.
Since I can’t exactly wall off the one-acre garden with hardware cloth and gravel, and one of their most effective repellents, castor oil, is toxic to dogs, my approach is multi-pronged – keeping the safety of the dogs, feral cats, and birds in mind. That includes the family of turkeys that have taken up residence on the property. Too bad they don’t eat voles. (BTW dear voles…the turkeys earn their keep by eating snails!)
I dug up and brought home what was left of my most prized plants. They are in the infirmary recovering until the coast is (hopefully) clear to return next year.
I wrapped the dahlia stems in steel wool and aluminum foil. It looks ridiculous, but so far, it has deterred them.
I spread hardware cloth near trees and shrubs to discourage tunneling. It slows but does not stop them. However, it buys me time while more brutal measures do their work. Mouse traps baited with apple pieces are lined up behind gates along the fence line – cleaned and re-baited twice daily. They are highly effective if gruesome. A few buried baited traps are out of the reach of other critters with a lure that is just toxic enough for voles but has no record of secondary impact. Peanut butter and baking soda balls are dropped into any new tunnels before I seal them with fresh soil. It’s supposed to be a slow death. I am, sadly, beyond caring.
I understand that the scourge is not ours alone this year. The voles have invaded other yards and gardens from adjacent fields throughout the region. I can’t blame them for seeking food, water, and shade in this summer oven. Still, if they hope for peaceful coexistence, they could be a little more grateful, less gluttonous, and a lot less promiscuous.
I’m under no illusions that this will resolve quickly. Voles are everywhere on the property, but in the garden, it appears I have slowed the pace of destruction. The line of mouse traps filled with dead bodies at the field perimeter surely sends a signal to their compatriots: enter at your own peril.
In 2019, I wrote of a very special rescue – 19 Labrador Retrievers living in squalor who found new lives and hope through Homeward Bound Golden Retriever Rescue. Our founder, Jody Jones, and her transport companion went to Oregon expecting to bring back a few dogs from a breeder neglect situation. What she found so shocked and saddened her that she rented a trailer to bring all 19 back at once – unwilling to leave one behind for even a day. We called it the Lab Lift.
One dog’s story was especially touching. Minnie was an older girl with worn down teeth and mammary cancer from too many litters. We removed the cancer, but it had already metastasized. The prognosis was six months. Shut down and untrusting of humans, she did not present well to potential fosters much less adopters. We assumed she would be sanctuaried with us. But one couple saw something in Minnie that others missed. She touched their hearts, and they took her home – perhaps initially out of charity but she would come to mean so much more to them than that. “Minnie gave me a renewed sense of purpose in this life. I am forever thankful for finding her,” wrote her new human dad.
This week, her people wrote to tell us of Minnie’s passing. Six months had turned into four and a half years. The power of love.
In January of 2020, we saw Minnie on Homeward Bound’s Facebook page. She was the very last of the so-called “Oregon Labs,” a large group of Labs rescued by Homeward Bound from a very tough situation. Everyone else had been adopted, but Minnie was still waiting for her forever home. Something about Minnie’s eyes drew us in.
The Homeward Bound team told us that Minnie had metastasized cancer. She was not expected to live more than six months. We decided to visit her at the Homeward Bound ranch and see if there was a connection. Minnie was aloof and detached, scared and confused. She had pretty much given up on humans. She basically ignored us as we tried to get to know her. There was no spark. There was no meaningful look from her eyes. There wasn’t even one wag of her tail. I (Elaine) felt we ought to leave her at Homeward Bound because she seemed too far gone and because the whole situation seemed like a lot for us to take on. Jay felt very, very strongly she was ours. We took her home that same day as a medical foster, and we began our journey together.
Minnie didn’t know a thing about living in a home, basic commands, or love and trust. We didn’t know a thing about raising large dogs, but as empty nesters, we sure had love and trust and time in spades to pour into her. So, we spoiled her rotten, fed her all of the cookies, and checked off her bucket list. Three months in, we called Homeward Bound and asked to sign paperwork to officially adopt her. No more fostering for our girl.
We went to the ocean, and she ran in the waves. We went to the snow, and she jumped for joy. We swam in the river and in the lake. She celebrated holidays. She had more sweaters than most teenage girls. She slept deeply in her beds (one upstairs and one downstairs, both beside fireplaces). She enjoyed warm baths. She knew exactly when whatever we were baking (which would somehow end up as one of her many treats for the day) would be ready in the oven, alerting us to the one-minute warning beep. She suddenly had a human brother, sister, Grammy, aunts, an uncle, and cousins. She had a dog cousin and cat siblings. She had human and dog neighbors. She blossomed right before our eyes.
Along our journey together, we found that we needed her just as much (or more) than she needed us. She was a special needs dog who loved especially well.
Minnie conned us all in terms of her expected time on this earth and was still with us until just last week (4 1/2 years!), when we made the very hard decision to help send her to heaven.
Minnie is the sweetest soul, and we know her soul is still with us.
We wanted to extend a profound thank you to Homeward Bound for not only changing Minnie’s life, but ours as well. Bless you all for the work you do.
In Honor and Memory of Minnie Joy Andersen, Loved Forever and Always 5/19/11 – 6/11/24
With Thanks and Joy,Elaine and Jay A.
The next time you go searching for a new companion, allow your eyes and heart to see that shy, timid one who does not come forward. You may just find a dog like Minnie – filled with gratitude for an unimagined life who loves exceptionally well.
After a month without a raindrop, it looked like history would repeat itself prolonging the drought. Instead, we are graced with another pounding of rain and snow. Thankfully, in our area, the rain and winds are not as torrential as late December/early January…just a cold, heavy soak in the valley. But for the first time that I can remember, the Sutter Buttes to the west are covered in snow.
Not technically a butte or mountain range, the volcanic lava domes climb only 2,122 feet at their highest point. But snow – visible from our rescue – is very rare. This circular complex rises above the flat plains of the Sacramento Valley. Before levees and dams were built to contain the rivers and spring run-off, the Valley would become a flooded inland sea. The Buttes became an island refuge for California tribes, settlers, and wildlife.
Happily, the freezing temperatures have remained at higher levels (good for holding the record snowpack in place!). Down in the valley, the fruit trees are in bloom. And the daffodils signal spring. Just one freezing night ahead. Paws crossed.
Taking advantage of a couple days of sunshine, I started the miserable process of removing the Bermuda grass from the garden beds. It is the bane of my existence. There is no eradicating it without chemicals (which I will not do)…so the war begins early and continues all season long despite crowding the plants and heavily mulching the beds. Two beds down. Weeded. Compost added. Mulched. Only twenty more to go. Sigh.
With the storm cutting my work short…the rest will wait.
The guys built handsome, sturdy arbors to replace the leaning towers of aluminum. It meant a heavy cutting back of the climbing roses, but they will be back – and these stunning beauties are made to last.
Snickerdoodle’s puppies are growing quickly. All 11 will be adopted to their new families next weekend. Mom is already away at foster. She put up with them for about seven weeks and then let us know she was done. She is resting, being spoiled, and learning the ways of a house dog.
We’ll be sad to see them go, but litters are a lot of work over almost ten weeks. We’re all grateful to the extra large puppy team that stepped up to help!
Since late December, we have now welcomed 17 adult dogs from the Ohio puppy mills – and we are only one of a wide rescue group. Here area a few of our puppy mill survivors.
Our dogs are experts when it comes to fostering puppies. They welcome them with open paws and are happy to show them the ropes. Our fosters learn lots of helpful things by following their example like potty training; crate training; how to sit, wait, and come; how to share; and most importantly – how to sleep through the night! But there are a few tricks our boys might keep to themselves.
Jackson is the OG. At nearly 15, he quietly administers his private lessons of “don’t mess with the old dog.” There are no growls or snarls involved. He just stares at them, and they get the message. All our foster puppies adore him but know better than to mess with him. Good lesson…well delivered.
Yogi is now eight…I can’t believe it. For many years, he was the foster puppy playmate and self-appointed supervisor. He is very patient and extremely tolerant to a point, issuing kind but firm corrections when needed. He is the first to comfort sick or recovering pups and they all look up to him.
All good…except Yogi is a world-class counter surfer. And puppy see; puppy do. Pretty much any puppy that can reach counters has to unlearn this when they go home. With apologies to their adopters.
Yogi on counterGiant Puppy Milo on counter
Skye – now three – has taken over as the primary puppy playmate. He’s happy to meet everyone and immediately engages the new arrivals in play. It’s great for their socialization and confidence, but Skye sometimes regrets the monsters he unleashes. Skye seriously miscalculates by forgetting three things: 1) puppies have dagger teeth; 2) puppies grow bigger and stronger; and 3) puppies have four times his stamina.
While Yogi is bigger and better able to correct with authority – the puppies just won’t take Skye seriously. They figure turnaround is fair play and he is their play toy. Our four- to five-month-olds are almost as big as Skye who comes screaming for mom when the roughhousing gets too ruff!
Every single puppy in our home learns to get on the furniture. That’s my fault and I proudly own it. These kids have been bounced around. They need comfort, security, and love. Yes…I too contribute to the delinquency of our minors.
Yesterday was our Milo’s going home day. This giant puppy arrived at 15 weeks with ear infections and double entropion – a condition that causes the eyelids to grow inward causing the eyelashes to poke the eye. He goes home following surgery with his eyes now wide open and a clean bill of health
– FINALLY (hopefully) potty trained and ready for adventures.
Of course, on my way home from Milo’s adoption, I got the call that another puppy needed our home for a bit. I turned around and picked him up. Yes…he’s already on the couch. That’s just how we roll around here.
Heaven got a little brighter, and our world, a little dimmer, today. Our beloved Carla McCreary – warrior princess – lost her long battle with cancer. She was part of the fabric of Homeward Bound from the start, rescuing, connecting dogs to humans, and connecting humans to humans to humans to save animal lives.
Fearless, she would go anywhere and to any length to help an animal in need. Respected and trusted by animal advocates in shelters and law enforcement, she ferried dogs from horrible circumstances to us as part of our witness protection program. She wanted to personally provide their freedom rides while reassuring them about better days ahead.
She was the voice of the dogs for as long as I can remember, and probably long before that. Thousands of them. She spoke as them without sugar coating because she knew that there was a match for everyone but the best path to “forever” was through honesty. Her empathy always resonated, and she helped others see into the dogs’ souls, however damaged.
We worked together weekly to get her dog profiles to the website. She would write the bios, then go to chemo. I don’t know how she had the strength to carry on. A couple of months ago, she started asking for assistance. Until then, I knew better than to adjust her words or veer out of my lane. And then, in December, she shared a grim prognosis. She insisted that she wanted to keep writing – and rejoiced in spending the afternoon with her new great grandson. But she could not keep writing. And she did not object when I stepped in.
It looks like it falls to me to channel Carla for the dogs. I will hear her voice as I write, do my best to do her and the dogs justice, and likely steal from her huge volume of tales.
I’m glad that there is no more pain for her. But she leaves behind many broken hearts. I believe she was greeted at the bridge by her beloved husband and a very long line of animals whose lives she made better.
Fly free, dear friend. You will be remembered always.
I thought by leaving before daylight, that I would miss the worst of the wind and rain. I was mistaken. California’s latest deluge – round five – poured down on me as I hurried past wind battered trees and leaning power poles. Weekends bring early morning puppy duty and Mama Snickerdoodle and her rapidly growing brood were waiting. Adorable, right?
Unless you are the mom they constantly seek out!
Eyes and ears are open now and the kids are cruising everywhere. It will be at least two weeks before the yard drains enough to allow them outside. Right now, they would be swimming. Just imagine the poop show we’re in for!
Mother Nature has thrown everything at us…water, wind, hail, and snow in the mountains. We have been incredibly fortunate here compared to the rest of the state. At the low-lying rescue, there is water everywhere, but our buildings have stayed mostly dry. Our pond has become a lake. The chair in this photo is actually attached to a dock. It’s under there somewhere.
We have lost a number of trees, the saddest of which is this huge pine.
And the dogs return a muddy mess every time they go out. They much prefer the puddles and mud to being cooped up all day, but the laundry and baths…oh my!
South of our home, a levee failed in numerous places flooding out three small towns. But most of our region has been spared – especially compared to those on the coast. Receiving three times our rainfall, they are underwater and losing homes and roads to mudslides. We wished for rain. We got it.
The historic park near us has taken a pounding. William Land Park was established more than one hundred years ago. The 238 acre parcel was originally used as “flood spill” – a polite name for sewage overflow. Maybe that’s why the trees grew so well there. These storms have taken a toll. More than 50 trees have been toppled in the park – many of them a century old. Across the city, the estimate is more than 1,000 – dropped to the ground in high winds and saturated soil that is simply too much for the roots to hold on after three years of drought.
It will take months to clear all, leaving a changed landscape.
The good news for our region is that Folsom Lake – our reservoir – has quickly refilled. Our system of improved levees, weirs, and the Yolo Bypass have held…and thanks to the dedicated crews that walk and inspect them every day. The mountains are snow-capped – potentially signaling a decent snow melt this year. The agricultural land around our rescue will absorb this standing water, sending it back to the aquifer…which means hope for the Memorial Garden this summer. And the local egrets are happy! Take your blessings where you can find them.
The unexpected strength and resolve of a country attacked by its hostile neighbor. The awakening of some that they have been had and used – and that the man behind the curtain is no wizard at all but a propped-up clown. Torrential rains and flooding gives rise to the possible retreat of three-year drought.
And an Ohio puppy mill shuttered by family misfortune means freedom and new lives for 45 dogs. If you follow us on social media, you’ve read the story. But here it is for the rest of you.
In December, Homeward Bound was part of a coordinated rescue of 30 dogs – 12 of them pregnant – and 15 puppies. Their freedom rides were courtesy of Golden and Labrador rescues across the country. The request to accommodate a very expectant girl came from our rescue partner in Oregon who took a pregnant mom themselves. Her litter of nine is being hand-fed around the clock as the mother required emergency surgery.
Traveling cross country just before a record cold snap, the trip was harrowing for our mom. A beautiful Goldendoodle, she spent her entire four years of life producing puppies in an Ohio puppy mill.
She arrived at dawn on December 22nd, stressed and terrified – unsure what to make of her indoor accommodations. Warmth, heaping bowls of food, clean water, and soft blankets…these were all new to her. She didn’t have a name, so we chose something appropriate for her breed and the season. We named her Snickerdoodle.
Her labor began the next afternoon. Six hours in, we felt sure the babies’ arrival would not be until morning. But as soon as she had a moment’s privacy, the process began. Snickerdoodle was obviously accustomed to giving birth alone. Life in a puppy mill is a lonely existence.
Monitoring her on a remote camera, our president and birthing mom turned right around and returned to be by her side. By 1AM, she had delivered seven beautiful puppies. Waiting another hour, she felt safe that mom was done. However, when I arrived early the next morning, I found nine puppies. I cleaned and fed her and left her room for about an hour. Upon my return, I counted again: 12! Then I literally caught the last, number 13.
An experienced mom, only the last little one needed some assistance – if only because it was so hard for mom to reach over the other 12. Exhausted, she ate, drank, and slept while the newborn babies created a constant chorus maneuvering for a suckling turn. They were born into a thick blanket of fog.
Two very tiny ones struggled and came home with me for every two-hour feedings. Heartbreakingly, I could not save them. Adversity still followed the others when record rain and hurricane force winds knocked out power forcing their overnight evacuation to our vet clinic that runs, with the kennel, on generator. But mom and the 11 thrive.
A few days later, two more of the breeder girls also came our way. There will be no more litters for these three moms. Each will be carefully placed in loving homes to live long, spoiled lives.
Today, I ordered Dahlias for the 2023 garden. I had about given up on these old-fashioned beauties; not native or usual in our typically drought-tolerant Memorial Garden – but they had always been a special blooming gem in the early years of the garden. Between increasing temperatures and the blazing sun of our Sacramento Valley, the army of snails that quickly gobble up tasty first cotyledon leaves, and failed attempts to overwinter the tubers in our climate, I was sure it was time to throw in the trowel. Then I came across a series of articles about starting Dahlias in pots.
In our region, Dahlias ship in late February. By mid-March last year, I had 20 potted in my backyard where I could keep a close watch out for snails, moisture and drainage needs. By the first week of April, all had sprouted. I began succession planting in mid-April after they grew mature leaves less appealing to the voracious snails. Their new home is in the filtered shade of a tree where they receive full sun from sunrise until midday but are well protected from the blazing afternoon sky. I fed them monthly with 10/10/10 organic fertilizer and they get admitted special treatment with an extra drink when the weather turns too hot. The result: they bloomed all summer and into November except for ungodly heat waves in August and September.
A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.
May Sarton
This week, we celebrated the move of our last three Parvo litter puppies to foster. It is the next-to-last step on their journey to forever homes.
Volunteer Pam B fostering the three recovered pups.
It’s the kind of victory that will sustain us for a long time. Hopefully, we will see them all again in a year for a happy reunion.
While we cared for them, we also welcomed a litter of five Golden pups from a Midwest puppy mill supposedly going out of business. Thankfully, they were all relatively healthy and able to be adopted within a couple of weeks. Another triumph.
Sadly, efforts to secure the breeding pair failed. A great loss. With the economy suffering, we are seeing puppy mills and backyard breeders shedding their puppies at rates not seen since the 2008 recession. Unfortunately, these operations are too easily restarted when the breeding dogs are held.
A few triumphs…set against a series of losses thanks to a network of fellow rescuers who persevere.
Stop the purchase of puppies from puppy mills, the retail stores they sell to, and disreputable breeders, and we can put them all out of business for good. It’s as simple as that.Spread the word.
When the forecast calls for rain in our parched Northern California – I am always a believer. This weekend – it did not disappoint. You can almost hear the trees and plants breathing in the good soak.
However, when it comes to rescue, I have learned to adopt a healthy bit of skepticism – if only to prepare my heart.
Recently, one of our volunteers connected with a woman looking to “rehome” Golden Retriever puppies on Craigslist. In fact, she of course meant to sell them claiming they were an “oops” litter. Our volunteer was surprised to hear back from the woman several weeks later, asking to surrender the pups…ten in total. It was suspicious that they had gone unsold, but, of course, we said ‘yes.’
I was not there the day they were delivered. The photo seemed to reflect that they were bright and alert. Then someone mentioned that one was worrisomely lethargic. My mind immediately went to Parvo. I’ve been through it before.
We isolated them as we do all puppies. My fear was confirmed the next morning when one puppy was rushed to the vet. The heartbreaking decision was made to let her go. In the final stages, Parvo is very painful and it was the kindest thing. The next day – two more were lost.
Parvo is deadly to puppies. Protection requires four rounds of vaccinations which is why we always caution that puppies cannot go to public places – even sidewalks – until fully vaccinated. The mortality rate for puppies is a devastating 80%.
Strict isolation protocols were put in place with a tiny team to watch over the others. We were determined to save the remaining seven. Under guidance from our dedicated vet, we established two isolation areas – one for those showing symptoms (lethargy, vomiting, diarrhea among them) – and a separate space for those without. Our president personally took all shifts for the three in greatest danger – administering their care and watchfully waiting. The other four progressed well, learning what regular access to food meant and quickly gaining weight.
When it was safe, we sent the four to foster and celebrated the day when the three could be released from their separate isolation. They are now on the rebound.
This is where my skepticism creeps in. We try to give people the benefit of the doubt and to be genuinely grateful for the chance to help, but I suspect that the surrenderer knew what she delivered to us. Honesty might have helped us save more.
We offered to spay and neuter her dogs – something she said she wanted to do but could not afford. We sent her education about Parvo and why future litters were likely to suffer the same fate. We never heard back. After a Parvo litter, homes and yards cannot be used for up to a year after complete disinfecting or removal of surfaces. I grieve for her next litter – those that will suffer the same fate and those that go to unsuspecting families destined for heartbreak.
I have no issue with responsible breeders who truly care for their dogs, puppies, and the families that purchase them. But please help spread the word about how to identify them versus backyard or puppy mill breeders who create tragedies like this. This is a resource you can share.
Gardens For Goldens 