Your pets are safe, healthy, and content today. But what if:

• you are in a car accident and transported to the hospital while your pet remains trapped in your vehicle?

• you experience a health emergency that requires hospitalization or long-term rehabilitation?

• you end up in rehab, jail, or deployed with no family members or friends to temporarily care for your pet?

• your pet bites a guest or intruder, resulting in a legal challenge?

Or what if you’re a good Samaritan who:

• finds an injured cat or dog?

• witnesses a pack of unhoused dogs behaving aggressively toward people?

• Sees a neighbor abandon unwanted kittens or puppies?

My guest in this MOM Moments episode is Cara Achterberg, co-founder of Who Will Let The Dogs Out. Cara has visited over 220 animal shelters and rescues with the goal of understanding why the animal shelter crisis continues to grow rather than improve, and how that crisis impacts human welfare and wellbeing.

One statistic we did not discuss during the interview speaks directly to the heart of the matter: the number of companion animals continues to rise. According to the American Pet Products Association 2023-2024 National Pet Owners Survey, 66% of U.S. households, approximately 86.9 million families, have at least one pet. That means there are nearly twice as many households with pets as households with children.

Many communities have created networks to support children and families by providing services such as child protection, food assistance, housing support, after-school programs, and parenting education.

While some communities also provide animal services, the burgeoning need for pet support far exceeds the resources available to the public.

As Cara toured shelters and rescue organizations across the country, she was struck by the strength, compassion, and dedication of staff members and volunteers who work tirelessly to help both animals and people, often while facing heartbreaking circumstances.

What she discovered is that awareness is the key to effective animal sheltering. An informed community is an engaged community, better equipped to create solutions for people and pets.

When shelters are hidden behind the landfill and viewed as a mere line item on a municipal budget, animals are often seen as someone else’s problem rather than a community responsibility.

Few people realize that animal services were originally intended to function as a community safety net supported through tax dollars. These services should be the place where someone can bring a beloved pet when they can no longer provide care, where stray animals can be safely received through open intake, where pets affected by emergencies can be protected while their human recovers, and where animals involved in legal proceedings can be housed temporarily and safely.

When communities are unable to meet the needs of people and their pets, nonprofits often step in to help. Nonprofits, however, operate under different funding models and policies than municipally funded animal services. As a result, they often approach both animal populations and human needs differently.

That intersection of differing missions, expectations, and resources lies at the heart of today’s growing sheltering crisis.

In my conversation with Cara, we explored the difference between local animal services, publicly funded local and regional shelters, and nonprofit shelters and rescues.

We discuss where your tax dollars go, what services you can and should expect from your community, and how you can help protect both your pets and the people around you.

My conversation with Cara is rich with insight, experience, compassion, urgency, and hope. I invite you to listen and consider the role each of us can play in strengthening the safety net for people and pets alike.

CONTACT CARA ACHTERBERG

Contact Cara on Substack

Contact Cara through Who Will Let The Dogs Out (WWLDO) cara@wwldo.org

GET OR GIVE A FREE BOOK

If you represent a shelter, rescue or animal services, you are eligible to receive a free copy of Who Will Let The Dogs Out: Stories and Solutions for Shelters and Rescues by Cara Achterberg. Order a copy here.

If you’d like to purchase a book and gift it to a shelter or rescue of your choice, click here.

ATTEND A STRONGER TOGETHER RETREAT - FOR FREE

If you are an animal shelter worker, volunteer, rescuer, animal services staff, or community advocate, join Who Will Let The Dogs Out at an upcoming Stronger Together event. Stronger Together events are free retreats to build community, connection, and hope that change is possible.

The next Stronger Together event will be held in Blountstown, Florida on Saturday, November 7, 9:00-3:00.

In March, Stronger Together will be offering a number of retreats across the state of Texas. More information coming soon.

I bet you know of a friend or family member deeply worried about their pet or working hard to positively impact the shelter crisis. Give them the gift of hope. Please share this post.

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REFLECTIONS FROM MOM LOVES THE DOGS MORE: CHAPTER 14 - SIDNEY

Yes, sometimes, it was easier to love the dogs. That didn’t mean I loved them more.

That was the main thought swirling through my mind as I patted the heads of Margo, Rascal and Sidney, trying to calm them and myself after the intense altercation between my teenage daughters.

Their pawing and whining was a form of canine communication I had learned to interpret well. I’m not ok. I’m scared. Help me. The best response was always a calm voice and gentle hands – much like what we learned from roly-poly pony Honeybun during our equine-assisted psychotherapy sessions.

Learning from dogs and ponies was straightforward because the feedback loops were immediate. Success manifested itself as connection; a paw on the knee, a wag of a tail, a nibble of treat from one’s hand. No connection? Adjust and try again.

Parenting teens, however, rarely offered that same frequency of feedback. It often took longer to understand what a behavior was communicating, develop a theory, and change my course of action. Compounding the challenge was my own upbringing, where emotions were bottled up until the contents exploded from the pressure of too much agitation.

But this old dog has learned new tricks while raising teens and fostering cats and dogs. I’m not a perfect parent, but neither my kids nor my pets need me to be.

Repairing a breach of trust can be just as powerful in building connection as modeling perfect behavior.

If you’d like to read more about the sibling altercation that led to the title of this book, visit this link to “Chapter 14 – Sidney” of Mom Loves the Dogs More or purchase an ebook or paperback.

NEWS NUGGETS…

PARENTING FOR CONNECTION WITH TEENS & YOUNG ADULTS

One of the most common questions I’m asked as an author is “why” did I write my memoir Mom Loves the Dogs More. The simple answer is to give hope to parents who feel overwhelmed, judged, ashamed, and mostly worried that their families are falling apart. While the teen years are hard, the end result doesn’t have to be a frayed or broken bond. The effort to repair is often the most effective glue. Thank you to David Krasky for sharing his professional insights with MOM Moments listeners on how he helps guide parents and kids through these turbulent times.

PAWS IN THE PARK

Pink sweaters. Pink ponytails. Pink tutus. Pink tongues. Pink was the theme at Paws in the Park in Champlin, Minnesota. Pups. People. Plenty of tasty food. All that fun had a bit of purpose, too. Lots of people stopped by the Leech Lake Legacy booth to spoil their pups. Proceeds will be used to provide low-cost spay/neuter and wellness services for pets of people living on the Leech Lake Reservation. Here’s a staggering statistic. Leech Lake Legacy, with one paid employee and many volunteers, provides the ONLY veterinary and surrender transport services on the Reservation – an area four times the size of New York City. If that moves you to help, please know your donation is greatly appreciated by the volunteers and people we serve.

CELEBRATE

• August 26: National Dog Day

• August 28: Rainbow Bridge Remembrance Day

Everyone knows someone with a pet or a kid. Give them hope in their caregiving journey. Share Like People, Like Pets.

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CHAPTER 14 - SIDNEY

Sidney was waiting for me at Life Care. Complications at work, however, were standing in my way of springing him from his kennel by closing. Mia, eager for her first taste of foster pickup eagerly offered to go in my place, so she could be the first to see Sidney emerge from the back room. Judging from the multitude of pictures Mia sent from her phone and pasted on social media, I knew she was squealing with delight over the nine-pound dog with waves of strawberry blond fur and a fluffy tail that gave him the look of a miniature golden retriever. I also knew it wouldn’t be long before I heard, “Can we keep him?”

Thankfully, she didn’t ask right away. Instead, she drove Sidney home, walked him in the back yard, introduced him to Margo and Rascal and lavished him with attention. She crated him with a peanut butter-filled Kong in the family room under the big ceiling fan rather than the normal foster spot in my office where the summer air was still and warm. Mia then left to carry on with her busy teenage day.

Later, when I entered the room to see the beautiful dog from Mia’s numerous texts, I immediately noticed the cover of the armrest dangling precariously from the sectional. It struck me it was out of position; it hadn’t moved once during its many years of service. Then I noticed the large holes chewed through the fabric, and one torn end protruding from Sidney’s crate. Instantly, an image of Charlie Brown trick-or-treating as a ghost in a white bedsheet with too many eyeholes popped into my head. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream until I saw wide eyes of desperation on Sidney’s face. I flung open the crate door. Sid sprang into my arms.

The destruction of the armrest protector was just one indication of Sid’s unease resulting from his abandonment. We learned quickly to be careful around open doors. He was smart enough to know people leave through doors; he didn’t want to be left behind. On the occasions he snuck past our feet, he ran to a car, waiting patiently to be invited inside. When crated, even with a tasty snack and plenty of toys, he howled his disapproval and shredded blankets and kennel pads. Eyes, noses, and squeakers would be ripped from toys. Spilling through the grates would be clouds of stuffing. Sidney didn’t challenge Rascal’s dominance; instead, both worrywarts followed me everywhere, stuck like June bugs on a screen door.

Oftentimes the worry reminded me of toddler Anna, who sat me down one day to tell me a story about her baby sister. She was tired of Mia taking my attention. She wanted Mia to go back from wherever she came. She was done wanting a sister much the same way Rascal’s worried eyes told me he was done with Sidney.

I suspect many parents hear similar stories from siblings throughout their years. Since Anna’s request was not practical, we had to devise scenarios where she associated Mia with fun. Walks to the neighboring barn, trips to the library, visits to Como Zoo, and lazy afternoons on the shore of a local lake filled our days.

Family vacations most often centered around water. Joe was happiest in a boat or walking a sandy shore. During one of our first trips to Florida, Joe took a predawn stroll following a particularly stormy evening. He placed his collection of shells on the dresser and climbed back into bed. We both awoke to the clicking of shell against shell as the treasures he had collected in the dim light scuttled about looking for the sea. Joe gathered the shells he once thought were abandoned and took them back to the beach.

From that day forward, we became beach glass collectors. When one of us took a solo walk, our return would be peppered with, “What did you find?” When we walked side by side, we would stop to admire the pieces each had plucked from the sand. We would often compete to see who could find the most. Years have gone by, and the piles have grown as we visited the shores of great lakes and oceans where relentless waves and sand transformed other people’s trash into our frosted treasures.

The glass is stored in clear bags. On occasion, we sit around the kitchen table, idly fingering the pieces, faint jingle of glass on glass, sharing stories and searching for one fragment that stirs a particular memory. We then begin to scheme and plot about our “someday” project, the perfect art installation to memorialize a lifetime of shared interest.

To help Sidney heal and to build Rascal’s trust, we spent as much time doing the things both dogs loved most—being outdoors. They could spend hours nosing between the fieldstones that bordered the gardens and harbored a scurry of chipmunks. As Sid recovered from neutering surgery, we began increasing the distance he could travel. He loved to walk miles with me and Anna through the woods and around the lake. He wasn’t interested in challenging Rascal, so three dogs on three leashes almost always pointed down the road.

This love of walking made him the perfect dog for our first-time participation in the White Bear Lake Manitou Days Parade. We’d been spectators sitting in lawn chairs on the parade route for many years. Streams of marching bands, firetrucks, and floats from community organizations would pass by while Anna and Mia ran to catch candy thrown from smiling float riders and clowns. Even as the girls got older, they enjoyed watching the parade, if only to catch up with friends and to sneak a piece of candy.

During the summer of Sid, a local group supporting the American Cancer Society’s Bark for Life division decided to walk the parade with their dogs to raise awareness for the healing role of animals. For a small donation, we could walk behind their banner with Sid and carry our Second Chance Animal Rescue signs. The timing was perfect; Sid was ready for adoption. What better way to let several thousand people know he needed a home?!

On the day of the annual event, I carried our Second Chance signs to the parade staging area. Anna, Mia, and Mia’s friend Shelby, took turns carrying Sidney so he wouldn’t tire before the parade. When we met up with the Bark for Life group on Clark Street, everyone was vying for a cooler position under the shade of a tree. Many dogs, large and small, were sporting their purple Bark for Life bandannas. An old gray poodle was curled on a blanket in a bright red wooden box set on wheels like a stroller. A few small dogs were riding in makeshift backpacks and wagons, one in a baby front-pack. Oblivious to the crowd of people, a giant black lab with a face covered in drool frantically ran from ball to owner and back.

Sidney, a recently neutered male still motivated by hormones to mark, walked over to a woman with her back against a tree. He sniffed her shoes, then her knees, then her shorts. The woman was nearly finished asking me if she could pet him when Sidney lifted his leg and “rained on her parade.”

Read more

I shifted my parenting perspective from copying how others parent to forging a path that would help my children become the truest versions of themselves. Our story unfolds in Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue.

The intent of the MOM Moments conversation series is to take listeners beyond my experience parenting teens by bringing in the voice of an expert. My guest in episode 8 is licensed school psychologist who specializes in helping children, teens, and young adults who experience anxiety, ADHD, autism and learning disabilities.

David is also the author of the award-winning book Raising Future Adults: How You Can Help Ensure Your Children Grow Up to be Thriving Adults.

Listen in as David and I explore:

• What parents focus on that matters less than they think

• The top worries of parents today (it may not be what you think!) and steps to address them

• Why “thriving” is a greater goal for our kids than success or happiness

• What parents underestimate when it comes to raising thriving adults

• When a child seems oppositional, angry or withdrawn, what might really be happening underneath that behavior

• How parents can support a struggling child and have thoughtful, productive conversations

• Family activities that forge connection

My favorite quote from David was central to our discussion.

“Am I helping my child build a life that fits them - or one that makes me feel comfortable?” - David Krasky

To connect with David Krasky:

• (Substack link)

• Raisingfutureadults.com

• Instagram

• LinkedIn

• Weston PsychCare

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NEWS NUGGETS…

SHILOH AND CHECKERS TAKE THE STAGE

I often share photos and videos of Shiloh and Checkers in Substack Notes, but deeper stories and lessons learned mostly come from my foster pets and parenting experiences. gave Shiloh and Checkers their due in his podcast “Every Pawprint Every Story” where we explored the profound ways my current resident pets and chief goofballs have shaped my life. You can read or listen here.

Every Pawprint Every Story

What 62 Foster Animals Taught Me About Raising Children, Building Resilience, and Letting Go

Over the course of these conversations, I’ve had the privilege of meeting inspiring people from all walks of life. Yet Cindy’s story stands out in a unique way. Through more than sixteen years of fostering animals, she has discovered profound lessons about resilience, healing, family, mental health, and the power of understanding individuals for who the…

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a month ago · 17 likes · 5 comments · Daniel Popovic

BACK TO SCHOOL SALE

If the start of the school year makes you feel hopeless and worried about becoming disconnected from your teen, grab a copy of Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue. I wrote about my family’s tumultuous journey through the teen years to help other parents feel less alone. It is not a “how to” book but a story to validate your feelings while giving you hope. In celebration of solutions, the book is 25% off through August 31 when using this link.

STORYTIME

Chapter 13 – Nina

Nina’s story troubled me right from the get-go. She’d been rescued once already in her young life after a concerned neighbor called animal control to report incessant barking from the house next door. There Nina was found with feces-matted fur and no food in a cramped kennel in the basement of an abandoned student rental house shortly after college graduation. She languished for a week at animal impound before being adopted into a family with an older rescued dog named Skye. Her new home had a fenced yard with plenty of room to roam. It was said Skye and Nina became an inseparable big dog-little dog duo, romping side by side and napping in a heap in the sun. All was good for the bonded pair until their family was rocked with insurmountable medical complications, and equally devastating bills. The family, forced to sell their home, moved to lower-rent housing where having pets was not allowed.

Before moving, they reached out to their longtime veterinarian at Life Care for help. In a role reversal, Life Care contacted Second Chance for assistance. Lynda worked her foster list and telephone magic and found each dog a foster home, helping the duo to avoid the stark, impersonal kennels of an animal shelter where many animals uprooted by human complications languish.

Nina, a four-year-old, fuzzy-haired Shih Tzu-poodle mix with a kink in her left ear was waiting for me at Life Care. Another foster family had already picked up Skye, an equally furry but much larger, older dog. While keeping them together would have been ideal, no one in our fostering system, including myself, could foster the pair together. Other than a brief, bright-eyed “I’m going for a ride” moment when she got in my car, Nina’s lowered head and expressionless face imparted mostly gloom. Neither Margo nor Rascal nor miles of walks with enticing smells would lift her spirits. Her hollow sadness rivaled that of April’s. My heart ached for her and Skye and the family uprooted to a pet-less apartment, worrying about the dogs they left behind.

My concern for Nina was amplified by the changes looming on my own horizon. We’d come to the part in our family play where Anna would exit stage left to begin a separate life at a college in another climate zone. We’d no longer be main characters in each other’s plays. Every time I felt clenching below my sternum, like a guitar string being tightened until near breaking, I tried hard to remember the sage wisdom of Jackie, the colleague from long ago who’d been the unyielding pillar that first morning I left infant Anna at daycare. She acknowledged my worry about letting go. She agreed Anna would fuss that day and many others. She assured me that with our guidance Anna would learn to lead herself and to let others guide and help her. “You’ll be sad when she is on her own. As you work through the grieving process, though, you’ll begin to see the gift of extra time to focus on yourself,” she calmly counseled.

Jackie’s were indeed wise words. I was not, however, ready to let go. I felt cheated. The roller coaster known as Anna’s early high school years often had us jerking left when it appeared the track was veering right. Her ADHD, anxiety, and cystic acne often left us gasping with trepidation and plunging into outright fear. During second semester junior year, the tide turned. We began to experience loop-the-loops of breathtaking weightlessness and exhilaration, and I wanted more time with my comeback kid.

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NEWS NUGGETS…

CONGRATULATIONS - TO ME

What’s one key lesson I’ve learned from publishing a book? Every author needs a coach. I was fortunate to find one that revels in the success she helped manifest. Thank you Next Step Book Coach for your encouraging words and helpful suggestions. Additional thanks to for introducing us through her book marketing class. It takes a village to launch a book!

BOOK AWARD FINALIST

While Mom Loves the Dogs More did not win the overall award, it was awarded finalist in two categories in the National Indie Excellence Awards for animals and pets and parenting and family. I’ll take it!

CELEBRATE

• July 26: Parent’s Day

• July 31: National Mutt Day

STORYTIME

Chapter 12 - Crosby

When I was a young girl, I accompanied my mom to the vet clinic with Brandy, our bull-headed Airedale Terrier. Brandy tolerated our constant attempts to soften her stubborn demeanor, but she never subscribed to mine or my brothers’ wish for a ball-loving, people-pleasing, snuggle-beside-you dog. On the clinic wall in a breed identification poster, I saw a dog I imagined would gladly live up to my expectations: the lamb-like Bedlington Terrier with its cropped coat of curly white fur, approachable eyes, and black marble nose which resembled the many smiley-faced stuffed animals on my bed. Surely this sweet-looking dog would enjoy my doting attention! I resolved someday to get my lamb.

Mousy clouds hung tight to the horizon the October day I left home to pick up our new foster dog from Life Care. Joe had reluctantly agreed to foster after intercepting Lynda’s plea on the answering machine. The shelters were overrun with dogs dumped before winter. We were the only foster home in the Second Chance family without one. Crosby, a three-year-old Bichon mix, had just been neutered, groomed, and given a name. Beyond that, he had no story, a common situation for the many abandoned dogs at animal impound. To skirt death, he needed a home. Eager as a birthday girl at her party, I stood on tiptoes at the counter straining to see what the veterinary technician would bring through the door.

When I first glimpsed Crosby, the image of the Bedlington Terrier from the breed identification poster flashed in my mind! My heart skipped a beat. A lump caught in my throat. There stood Crosby with a sheared coat of tightly wound white curls, bright pink skin, and a black button nose—my little lamb! My hands trembled as I took a quick picture for Anna and Mia. I knew it was time for them to step off the school bus and that they were equally anxious to see what surprise awaited. None of us could have predicted how quickly the little ten-pound package would warm our souls and turn our home upside down!

Crosby swaggered through the door securing his position as ringmaster and clown with confident playfulness. He brushed by Margo and Rascal and ran for the sectional, catapulting himself onto the seat cushions. I stood by the kitchen peninsula where I could easily spy into the family room. The stillness of the three dogs forced me to step forward, to see if there was a problem. It was then I realized Crosby enticing me into a game of peekaboo. He was seated on the other side of the sectional, one black eye barely visible above the top of the back cushion. As soon as he caught my eyes look his way, he flattened himself on the seat cushion. In a short minute, he had that glossy orb peeking at me again. This time, he leaped high above the cushion then fell flat in hiding. Once more, he leapt up, yipping loudly as he ran from one corner of the sectional to another, wide grin growing as Margo and Rascal joined the chase.

We quickly discovered that if you dared to engage Crosby’s mischievous eye, you would be sucked into a loud and rowdy game. With it came the possibility of waking a sleeping household or disturbing TV watchers and bearing the wrath. Crosby was so small he found nothing wrong with racing from one end of the sectional to the other while leaping over any object, cat, kid, or Joe, in his way. That game always caught the attention of Margo and Rascal, who also began to believe it was equally fine to run over people and around the sectional in a game of chase. These not-quiet moments, punctuated by laughter, were often made louder when the kids grew tired of the interruption and started yelling at the dogs to quiet down. Even if the dogs did oblige, any new catalyst entering the room, whether human or cat, would reignite the smoldering game. Crosby took no time in stealing our hearts. Soon the kids were boarding the “Can we keep him” train.

What they didn’t know was I had boarded the train as soon as I saw him. I’d never told them the story of Brandy and the picture of the Bedlington Terrier. They didn’t know I had searched my life for a little lamb. Crosby’s adoption papers were in a tidy stack on my desk. How easy it would have been to reach over and sign them! Yet, I didn’t. Instead, I retreated to my corner of the ring, waiting for time to guide me.

Time, however, remained suspended the day our little entertainer suddenly stopped entertaining. The mischievous marble eyes that started the morning with a game of peekaboo had become crusty and swollen by bedtime. Green goo sputtered from his nose as he tried desperately to clear his airway. When he stood, he wobbled. When he laid down, he whimpered. Panic filled all of us as Crosby’s illness rapidly overtook him.

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A petite girl with stiff braids peaked at me from beneath the hood of her oversized raincoat dripping from the morning’s downpour. Two shoeless brothers, identical toddlers in matching red t-shirts and shorts, babbled from a double stroller to which she held tight. Their grandmother, Mary, one hand on the stroller and one hand holding thin leashes attached to two tiny dogs, held a black card with the number five in the leashed hand.

The volunteers knew what black meant; homeless, houseless, untethered to security. Guests with black cards were seen before those with white—those fortunate to have a home, even if their situations were precarious.

Mary was a frequent attendee of The Street Dog Coalition pet wellness clinics held in Minneapolis. While she loved those grandchildren in tow, she adored her pets. Today, little Daisy, a Yorkie with attitude, was accompanied by daughter Mary’s puppy named Duke. It was a big name for a little fella no match for Daisy.

This was a family accustomed to waiting—for food, doctors, and any free or low-cost service, like pet care. Duke and Daisy would be examined by the vet, vaccinated, and provided vouchers for free spay and neuter surgeries. The rabies vaccinations they’d receive would be accompanied by rabies certificates: a required document for the landlord they hoped to meet later in the day for an apartment that would be their path out of the homeless encampment.

I did not meet Jim, my foster cat’s person, during that Street Dog clinic with Mary. Jazzy Girl came to me two months prior via a Street Dog volunteer who is an animal control officer. She had heard about Jim and his struggles as a first-time unhoused individual. During their meeting, she pointed Jim to a variety of programs that could help him navigate his situation. She also convinced Jim to let her bring Jazzy into the city’s safe pets program. She assured Jim she’d be well cared for while he got his feet on steady ground.

Officer B wanted more for Jazzy than for her to wait months in a kennel. She reached out to her network in hopes of finding a foster home for the five-year-old feline.

Jaz was a guest in my foster suite while Jim secured two part-time jobs and a full-time position with benefits. By working 60 to 70 hours per week, he was able to save money for the first month’s rent, pet deposit, and security deposit. Jim and Jazzy were reunited last weekend.

Before they left my home for theirs, Jim broke bread with me and my husband. It was during that meal that we learned just how tenuous Jim’s past months had been. Every night he had to find a safe place to park his car that would not raise suspicion. During those first nights, he slept seated behind the wheel. Eventually he rearranged the few items in his car, discarding more of his precious belongings, so he could lie flat as if sleeping in a bed.

During his days, he’d search for work and housing. It was difficult to get housing without a job. Without an address, it was tough to find a job. Food. Bathroom breaks. Showers. Laundry. Once daily rituals given little thought became anxiety producers. At one point, he was unable to pay the fee to renew the tabs for his license plates. A forty dollar annual bill became a $700 expense. The expired plates went unnoticed until they weren’t. He was served a fine on top of the expense. One step forward. Two steps back.

Four months of being homeless allowed this young man to witness his inner strength. Not once did he give in to the despair that knocked on his window in the dark of night. Every difficult decision, every extra shift, and every sacrifice moved him closer to being reunited with Jaz, his north star.

When I watched them leave together, I wasn’t simply witnessing a man reclaiming his pet. I was witnessing resilience, determination, and the power of the human-animal bond.

For many families experiencing homelessness, keeping a beloved pet isn’t a luxury. It’s hope. And sometimes, that hope is what keeps people moving forward until they find their way home.

If you’d like to support someone who needs help caring for their pets, please consider a direct donation to The Street Dog Coalition or purchase my memoir, Mom Loves the Dogs More. Profits from the book are donated to Street Dog to help the pets of people experiencing homelessness or at risk.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

  

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JOIN OTHER DOG ADVOCATES ON THURSDAY JULY 16

Calling all dog advocates. Join me on Thursday, 7/16 in conversation with Cara Achterberg, co-founder of Who Will Let The Dogs Out, to discuss why words matter in keeping dogs alive and thriving. Cara has visited over 200 animal control facilities, dog pounds, municipal shelters, regional shelters, non-profit shelters, and non-profit rescues. Their language is not all the same nor do they follow the same protocols. Yet they are forced to answer to a general population that only knows one narrative – no-kill. Oddly, what began with good intent has morphed into more dogs suffering. Together, we can be stronger advocates for change. 7:30 pm ET/6:30 CT/4:30 PT open.substack.com/live-…

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DON’T MISS THIS…

50 PETS SAW VETS

I recently volunteered at a pet wellness event hosted by The Street Dog Coalition Minneapolis Chapter. Five veterinarians and vet tech teams provided free veterinary exams, vaccinations, microchips, and spay/neuter vouchers to the pets of unhoused people and those at risk of homelessness. Fifty adult cats and dogs and five puppies were welcomed by the check-in staff (that’s me) then waited in line with their people for their turn to be seen. Nearly all received rabies vaccinations – the certificate being a required by landlords to rent an apartment or home.

JAZZY GIRL IS HOME AGAIN

Jazzy’s person is truly an inspiration. He lost his home and his job in the midst of a medical crisis. He navigated a job and apartment search while living in his car and learning how to access crisis intervention programs. While he focused his efforts on turning his life around, I cared for Jaz. Because of his perseverance, he found a a full-time job and 2 part-time positions. He saved enough to rent an apartment. The little family was recently reunited.

STORYTIME

Chapter 11: Odie the Fox

That yes came quicker than I thought when Lynda called two months after Annie’s adoption. Gray-tipped ears, dark ringed eyes, and a black button nose stood in contrast to Odie’s stark white coat. He looked like an arctic fox in seasonal transition. He was hardy and playful. In fact, he was one of the first foster dogs that enjoyed playing with Joe. Many before him had an aversion to Joe despite his best efforts. We don’t really know why but guess some dogs might have been abused by a man or lived in a house run by a woman. Odie, a ten-pound blend of this and that, had the spirit of a ball-loving retriever through and through. His eyes were constantly watching us, waiting for someone to engage. His legs, like Tigger’s, were always ready to pounce. He didn’t mind who threw the toy. If it was fuzzy and flying, he would chase after it, bring it back, and eagerly wait, tail wagging, to do it again. Odie, like Rascal, was easily entertained with toys.

Rascal, however, was not entertained by Odie. Odie was the first male foster to come through our doors since Rascal became king of the throne. Gobs of stretchy, stringy drool started flowing from Rascal’s mouth the moment I let all three dogs into the paddock. It wasn’t long before a flip of his head made the drool flop over his nose and dangle past his lips like a St. Bernard. Shortly thereafter, the mounting began. Rascal pursued Odie, trying to show him who was boss. Odie mounted Rascal not wanting to be outdone. Both were covered in drool and panting. Since neither was doing what I put them in the paddock to do, I leashed the three and took them on a walk. After a bit of jockeying for position, Rascal took the lead on his slightly longer leash. Once secure as the chief of his outdoor domain, his drooling and mounting ceased.

As the drama eased, allowing room for thought to enter my brain, a distant memory flashed across the IMAX screen of my mind. At the front of a beige-painted room cast in prison- gray from cheap fluorescent lighting stood the Early Childhood Family Education instructor. She held a colorful wood model of a strand of DNA. Her pointed finger gently pushed one side of the coil to set it spinning slowly. The other arm raised it to eye level. “Your life with two kids will be like this spinning DNA. Each strand represents the path of one kid.” She stopped it suddenly, and softness like warm bathwater, washed through her voice. “Look here. At this one point in time, the red dot of the left strand, representing child one, is in line with the orange dot on the right strand, representing child two. Alignment. Harmony. Calm. No fighting. Warm, fuzzy love wrapping you in a big bear hug.” She pushed the strand of DNA until it began spinning, her voice rising, tension growing like the tightening of a guitar string. “Nudge the helix and the strands twist. To your still eye, the dots appear to move independent of each other. Unalignment. Agitation. One kid in a time out for pushing, biting, taunting the other. Your nerves in fray. You want to scream, ‘That’s it. I’m done!’”

I turned to Joe and saw the same resignation darkening his eyes that I felt within. Mia was only six months old, and already Anna was asking to send her back. Joe and I grew up with siblings. Each of us born near the middle of our packs. We knew the anguish of never being the only child and felt a sympathy for Anna’s loss. And, our loss, too. For somewhere deep down we both harbored the same crazy hope our family would be different, free of strife, with two siblings living in harmony. We also knew that was a dream. The unraveling of it so early in our young family, however, was disconcerting.

“Not all is lost,” continued the teacher, her hand stopping the double helix, knowing that more parents than just Joe and I were struggling. “Look, you’re back in harmony. Red and orange on the same plane. A moment to recharge, embrace, be thankful.” An audible sigh bubbled through the room of young parents. “Life with two children will be exhausting and challenging but deeply rewarding. When the dots align, love will pour.”

Fast-forward to Anna’s junior year. Odie was safely in his kennel, lured inside by a peanut butter Kong. Margo and Rascal were lounging on their soft beds, working at their treats. Anna, Mia, and their friend Lily were running behind the wagon of straw bales on which Joe and I were riding. Loud laughter was punctuated by “Wait, my shoe is stuck!” from a screaming Mia. More giggles from the girls as each one propped up Mia while she tried to retrieve her white tennis shoe gripped tightly by sucking mud. “Ewwwww!” she screeched as she put clean sock into dirty shoe and scrambled after the tractor.

The girls arrived at the pumpkin patch like three mud wrestlers who’d lost the match. After instructions from Farmer Paul on how many pumpkins they could take (as many as they could carry back to the farm), mud no longer mattered. The three friends stood in place long enough for gears to turn in their minds, scheming. As they huddled in discussion, the tractor began emptying rapidly of kids and parents filling the pumpkin patch. “Let’s go!” yelled Anna, and the three leapt over rows two at a time to the other side of the field.

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“Wow, you foster? I could never foster. I could never give them up.”

That has been the number one response I’ve received whenever people hear I foster dogs and cats. I’ve tried to counteract the response with a spiel recited to me by many shelter and rescue leaders. “Shelters are overcrowded. Healthy dogs and cats are being killed to make space for the unending flow of animals. Would you reconsider?”

I wrote Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue in hopes of using my stories to invite more people into fostering. Fostering saved my family. Caring for rescue dogs helped connect us during the turbulent teen years by providing an activity we could engage in from the comfort and ease of our home. My kids learned job skills. They became more compassionate and flexible and learned problem solvering skills.

My book has inspired a few people to foster, yet most dog and cat-loving supporters have not raised their hands to try.

We need fosters now more than ever. The rising crisis of shelter overcrowding is leading to more pets being euthanized for space and a growing population of roaming animals causing dog bites, car collisions, and harm to resident pets.

How do we engage more people in fostering? My conversation with Cara Achterberg and Carrie Openshaw sought answers by exploring:

• Perceived barriers to fostering

• What makes first-time fostering work

• What organizations get wrong

• Unique programming to help rescues and shelters recruit and retain more people

ABOUT CARA

Cara Achterberg is the author of Another Good Dog, One Hundred Dogs & Counting, and Who Will Let The Dogs Out: Stories and Solutions for Shelters and Rescues, wrote and helped produce the Emmy-nominated short film, Ambers Halfway Home, co-launched the nonprofit Who Will Let The Dogs Out, where’s she’s toured over 220 shelters & rescues, and has fostered over 300 dogs and puppies and a few cats in her foster cottage.

CONTACT CARA

• on Substack

• Cara email

ABOUT CARRIE

Carrie Openshaw is the Vice President of Community Engagement for The Bond Between—the largest pet rescue in Minnesota. As VP, she oversees the pet food shelf that serves Minneapolis residents. She is also deeply embedded in advancing pet wellness in Minnesota’s tribal communities and is committed to advancing TBB’s efforts to develop non-traditional routes to fostering engagement, particularly growing their respite foster care programs.

CONTACT CARRIE

• Carrie email

PLEASE HELP SHELTER PETS! TAKE THIS SHORT SURVEY

Please complete this very short, anonymous, no judgment survey on why you do or do not foster. The responses will be shared with shelters and rescues to help create programming to engage more people in fostering. Pet Fostering Survey – Fill out form After you complete the survey, please share with your networks. The more responses, the more we learn.

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Welcome to a new issue of PetStack, a monthly post of pet tales submitted by readers of the newsletter Like People, Like Pets. PetStack illuminates our connection to the intelligence, compassion, inspiration, and love wrapped in four-legged, furry packages.

Perhaps the greatest gift an animal has to offer is a permanent reminder of who we really are.” - Nick Trout

Intro by Cindy…

My “awe” meter tipped into the red zone as I listened to talk about her book, Stay: My Forever Friendship with an Aging Dog, during the Dogs & Books Yappy Hour a number of years ago. After reading a copy I secured through a local bookseller, I absolutely agree with a review on her Amazon book page. It’s “the book about friendship with dogs that I’ve always wanted to read.”

I’ve since had the privilege to volunteer with Lisa during a Stronger Together event in Tifton, Georgia hosted by Who Will Let The Dogs Out. There, she provided a lunch of levity with her pet-focused comedy skit. Need a few laughs? Head to Lisa’s comedy website AFTER you read her contribution to PetStack below.

Short Story By Lisa Rimmert…

Every time I returned home, I’d find a warm, hairy dent in the couch cushion. My dog, Dakota, would be lying on the floor nearby, looking suspicious and very well-rested.

Tin foil. No-stay spray. Even a motion-activated beeper. Nothing worked. Then, one day, I told Dakota to “be good,” and pretended to leave. I backed out of the driveway, parked down the street, and snuck around to the back door. As expected, she was already curled up on the couch, so I burst in with an “Ah-ah, get down!” and startled her right off it. After repeating this several times over the next week, I soon grew tired of it and switched to a far superior training technique called “dealing with it.” For several months, I blocked the couch with laundry baskets whenever I left, until Dakota got out of the habit of jumping up on it.

As Dakota entered her senior years, I changed my mind and wanted her to lie on the furniture with me. She refused, as if certain it was some kind of test. Un-training her took months, but I did get a few years of couch snuggles before she passed away at age fifteen. It’s been six years now, and I have a new dog, a new couch, and a couch cover.

JUNE CELEBRATIONS

• June: Foster a Pet Month

• June: Adopt a Cat Month

• 6/14-6/20: Animal Rights Awareness Week

• 6/26: Take Your Pet to Work Day

PLEASE HELP ME

Overcrowding in animal shelters is putting many pets in peril. Fostering is a way to alleviate the stress of space and confinement. Please complete this very short, anonymous survey on why you do or do not foster. The responses will be shared with shelters and rescues to help create programming to engage more people in fostering. Pet Fostering Survey – Fill out form After you complete the survey, please share!

HOW TO HELP A HOMELESS MAN

My current foster cat, Jazzy Girl, is a temporary, or “respite,” foster. She is staying with me while her person gets back on his feet after a devastating illness, job loss, and eventual homelessness. Knowing that Jazzy is safe and they’ll be reunited has lessened his worry while he works towards a brighter future for the two of them.

In honor of The Street Dog Coalition and the hard working volunteers who have been helping to support Jazzy Girl, I am donating the proceeds from the sale of Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue to them. Every book purchased through this link will help pets of people experiencing homelessness or at risk for homelessness.

I bet you have a friend or family member who loves stories about pets. You’d make my day as a writer if you shared this post.

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DON’T MISS THIS…

WHAT HELPS PEOPLE SAY YES TO FOSTERING?

There are many pet lovers with generous hearts. Some foster. Many don’t. Cara Achterberg, a foster phenom who streams live footage from her foster cottage while juggling the co-founder demands of Who Will Let The Dogs Out, and Carrie Openshaw, VP of Community Engagement at The Bond Between, one of Minnesota’s largest rescues, will join me to discuss barriers to fostering, what helps people say yes, and what shelters and rescues can do differently to engage more people in fostering. Thursday, June 11, 7:30 ET/6:30 CT/4:30 PT https://open.substack.com/live-stream/197546

LOVING PETS, HERE AND HEREAFTER

The U.S. is a nation with over 70% of households caring for pets. We now have a common love around which to unite. The short lives of most pets, however, means we are often united in grief. E.B. Bartels joined me to talk about our bond with companion animals and the grief we feel before and after their passing. Join me in conversation with E.B. Bartels, author of Good Grief. On Loving Pets, Here and Hereafter.

I NEED YOUR HELP NOW

Overcrowding in animal shelters is putting many pets in peril. Fostering is a way to alleviate the stress of space and confinement. But why don’t more people foster? Please complete this very short, multiple-choice, anonymous survey on why you do or do not foster. The responses will be shared with shelters and rescues to help create programming that will engage more people in fostering. Pet Fostering Survey – Fill out form After you complete the survey, please share!

STORYTIME

Chapter 10: Annie

Annie was a pink tongue in a sea of toasted marshmallow softness and a whole lot of happy the day I met her at Life Care. Her stout body and stubby legs reminded me of the jolly Welsh Corgi at Mia’s vaulting stable who ran to meet every car with a broad smile. The slight curl to Annie’s fur hinted at poodle. Her perky, folded ears appeared to be golden lab. Only a DNA test could get us closer to the truth. It didn’t matter. Like all those before her, her lineage would remain shrouded in mystery and serve as an easy conversation starter, much like our Midwestern weather.

Cheerful Annie, with a spring in her step, walked assuredly to my car, large marble eyes glancing up at me, tongue dangling lazily, as if we were best friends. She wiggled her butt, uttered a soft grunt, and plopped her stoutness onto the back seat. I settled myself behind the wheel and placed her adoption folder in the passenger seat. Next stop: the pet shed to stock up on food and toys. I moved the shifter into reverse. As I turned my head to check the parking lot, Slurp! A big kiss from Annie was planted firmly on my cheek. “Oh, Annie. You’re silly,” I exclaimed as she beamed. You’ll be an easy win in our game of adoption! Sweet win number six!

Annie pushed past the door from garage to home and nudged her nose from Margo to Rascal. She followed Rascal’s lead and ran with him to the toy box, scattering everything, yet playing with nothing. She trotted to Margo. Slurp! Another big kiss doled out to a new friend. I leashed all three and began our first walk as a team. Halfway around the block, Annie stretched and arched her neck like a giraffe trying to nibble grass and backed out of her collar, darting swiftly across the road. With a big slurp, she planted a kiss on a very surprised neighbor kid. Annie slunk to the ground like a widening puddle as the girl vigorously rubbed her belly.

Annie’s affection was charming. Her lack of house-training skills was not. It was the one thing about Annie that had me befuddled. She’d pad along eagerly with Margo and Rascal, amusing herself for miles, nosing about in the weeds, her golden bottom wiggling like Winnie-the-Pooh when stuck in the doorway to Rabbit’s House. She’d smile brightly at every passerby. Yet, despite her outdoor eagerness, she preferred completing her dog business inside.

Her behavior didn’t add up with the story Lynda had relayed to me, which came from the notes read to Lynda by the shelter worker where Annie was surrendered. On her paperwork was a line written by her previous owner stating she was a “house-trained” dog.

My trust in the words “house-trained” and my lack of vigilance as a result meant a whole lot of work to clean puddles by the back door and piles in the basement. I became hypervigilant, watching Annie’s every move. If I saw any small gesture that suggested her need to go, we were out the porch door and into the dog run in a flash. Most times, she would look at me with her innocent grin and trot back in.

Read more

In session five of “MOM Moments,” Cindy Ojczyk, author of Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue, dives deep into conversation with E.B. Bartels, author of Good Grief. On Loving Pets, Here and Hereafter.

This quote from a reviewer of Good Grief sums up the most important lesson from all of E.B.’s research “…extensive and fascinating research reveals deep and transformative truths about the essential process of grieving.”

Pet grief is not a new phenomenon nor is the knowledge that it is imperative to make time for grieving. Humans have been mourning their pets for millennia. Celebrating death, in all its unique manners, is a way of cherishing a beloved friend.

Together, Cindy and E.B. explore

• the influence of childhood upbringing on how one views grief

• how people from different pet-related careers mourn and celebrate

• unique ways people remember their pets

• helpful ways to support people who are grieving

• things to avoid saying when someone is grieving

• anticipatory loss and its impact on people who foster pets

• E.B’s top 3 take-aways on grief and grieving

MORE FROM E.B. BARTELS

• Contact E.B. at E.B.’s Notes & News

• Read E.B.’s contribution to PetStack: Key Life Lessons We Learn From Our Pets

• Good Grief. On Loving Pets, Here and Hereafter

  

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There are several ways to read Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue.

1. Become a paid subscriber of Like People, Like Pets to receive a biweekly chapter release delivered to your inbox along with bonus material such as afterthoughts and behind the scenes photos. Subscribing would be greatly encouraging to this author, and it’s a simply awesome way to support my work.

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2. Like to hold a book or tablet in your hand? Order a printed or digital copy of Mom Loves the Dogs More.

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I bet you have a friend, family member or co-worker who would benefit from this conversation about pet loss and grief. Please share.

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FIRST THE NEWS…

TAKE A SURVEY. HELP A SHELTER PET

I need your help. Please complete this very short, multiple-choice, anonymous survey on why you do or do not foster. The more data I collect, the more I can help shelters and rescues create programming to engage more people in fostering. Pet Fostering Survey – Fill out form Another way to help is to share!

GOOD GRIEF

Join me Saturday, 5/30, 1:00 ET/12:00 CT in conversation with E.B. Bartels of She is the author of Good Grief. On Loving Pets, Here and Hereafter. More U.S. households have pets than kids. There’s a lot of grief going on. Don’t do it alone. Click here to join.

CHOOSE CONNECTION OVER CONTROL

It was an honor to have the wildly popular blog, Parenting Teens & Tweens, re-feature my guest post in their most recent newsletter. This Is How to Choose Connection Over Control with Teens

DOG DAYS DOWNTOWN

The annual Dog Days Downtown in White Bear Lake, Minnesota kicked off the Memorial Weekend. Enjoy the view from my table at the Lake Country Booksellers book signing with fellow author, Jo Prouty (The Love of a Dog).

STORYTIME

In recognition of Mental Health Month, the following chapter is free for all readers.

Chapter 9: Lizzie

“Get this damn dog out of my house. Now!” blasted the woman on the other end of the line. “I can’t have this destructive dog in my home. The wood floors! The curtains! The carpets! They must go. Everything has to be replaced because of this damn dog.” Like flame from a fire-breathing dragon, her voice exploded in intensity as she continued, “Either you do something this instant, or I will find a way to get rid of her!” My silent response was: What the heck? How could Lizzie, ten pounds of meekness and the light of this woman’s life become the target of such malice in such a short time?

Older dogs in need of a new home can be cursed. The number of people desiring a puppy far outweighs those willing to take in a dog with a shorter lifespan. Letting go is hard and few people are willing to do it sooner rather than later. I thought eight-year-old Lizzie’s path would be different. She came to us with a known history, making it easier to write her profile and find a match. Lizzie was one of several pets from a small breeder of favorable reputation who once fostered for Second Chance. The breeder’s health was failing quickly. She asked Second Chance to help her find loving homes for her dogs.

Lizzie was a Löwchen, a rare breed of royal lineage dating back to the mid-15^th Century. Her Bichon-like resemblance and compact size was the perfect fit for a pre-screened adopter on the Second Chance waiting list, a retired woman with a drawer-full of dog coats and hand-sewn pillows to pamper any pet through a Midwest winter. Her Bichon had died. She was in search of another small, white, female dog to fit the wardrobe. The Second Chance screener received a rave review from the woman’s veterinarian, reporting a glowing record of animal care and a fine reputation for her work in canine massage. Most importantly, the adopter was confident she could help older Lizzie break through her house-training struggles.

“Lizzie, c’mon girl, you’ve got to go,” I’d whisper into the night, into the daylight, into the dusk, without success. No matter what I did, no matter how much time I gave her outside, our new foster dog just wouldn’t go. She’d cower at the end of the leash, her head as far from me as possible, just her eyes peaking back.

“Lynda, I’m worried about Lizzie. What should I do?”

“Don’t worry now, but call me if she hasn’t gone for two days. Some dogs need time to get comfortable in their surroundings. Something must be really bugging her,” she mused as her voice trailed off.

Nearly forty-eight hours after coming to our home, Lizzie finally peed in the yard. I called Lynda to tell her of Lizzie’s small success. Lynda, however, had grown concerned that it had taken Lizzie that long to relieve herself. She called the vet at Life Care who reviewed Lizzie’s chart. Nothing indicated a possible urinary tract infection or other medical issue.

Lynda called Lizzie’s previous owner. She learned that Lizzie and her eight dog companions had lived in a dedicated dog room attached to the woman’s home with individual kennels and a dog door enabling them to go outside on their terms. The dogs had never been formally house trained nor had they been on a leash or taken anywhere outside her home. No walks on concrete sidewalks or asphalt roads. No excited car rides to a dog park. Lizzie had lived eight years in a small, sheltered world. Now outside of it, she was paralyzed by fear.

That information did not deter the adopter on our waiting list with the handmade dog wardrobe. She’d been through the house training of many dogs before. Her husband had already shoveled a wide path through the deep Lake Superior snow to a dedicated dog area just for Lizzie. The husband and wife were retired “with all the time in the world to coax Lizzie out of her shell.”

Ten days after Lizzie came to our house, she was heading “home.” The adopting couple lived three hours from me. We agreed to meet at a park halfway between. Lizzie trembled in my arms when she met the couple, shying away from the man. The woman took immediate control of the situation, sat down in the back seat of her car, and gingerly lifted Lizzie onto her lap as if she were handling a fine piece of china, cooing to her in hushed tones. She began to apply gentle massage techniques to Lizzie’s back and legs, inching her fingers in small, rhythmic circles towards her shoulders as Lizzie relaxed into the touch. The tension in my shoulders released.

The woman carefully placed a calm Lizzie into the portable carrier secured in the back seat. As the car drove away with two smiling adults, my waving hand began to shake. As if on cue from an imaginary conductor, every part of my body began to spasm. I hurried to my car, sinking into the seat as big sobs released. The windows began to fog in the bitter November cold. For reasons unknown, I sat for an hour paralyzed and perplexed, until confident I could start the engine and drive safely home.

The explanation for my unusual reaction came a few days later while lounging on the sectional in the post-foster dog calm with Rascal and Margo dozing next to me. Into my relaxed mind oozed the apprehension about the adopter that I’d shoved to its recesses. Bits and pieces of remembered conversations prior to Lizzie’s adoption began to knit themselves together. Through the flash of pointed needles twisting and pulling at the truth, out came the questions I wanted to ask, but didn’t. I’d given greater value to Lynda’s experience and that of our seasoned screeners than to my observations and intuition. I’d buried my fear of being wrong and took Lizzie’s well-being with it.

At first, I brushed off my reaction like a mere speck of white dust on a black sweater. How could I possibly think anything was wrong? The adopters were given a green light by our team. Lizzie had leaned into the massage and gone willingly into the crate in the back seat of the adopters’ car. The forty-eight-hour checkup was as syrupy as a Disney movie, with the retired couple gushing over their “sweet princess.” The longer I sat with my unease, the more the white speck on black sweater grew into a stain of bleach unable to be flicked away. Needing reassurance that Lizzie was well and my intuition wrong, I dialed the adopters’ home. Instead of responding with the calm voice from conversations past, the woman snapped like a dry twig under the weight of a twelve-point buck.

She was spitting obscenities at me at rock-concert volume over an accident Lizzie had had in the living room. Lizzie was not adhering to the “scheduled” outside time. She hadn’t peed or pooped since she left my home. When nature finally called, the door wasn’t open, so Lizzie used the floor. The adopter was livid. She had no patience for a dog that “took liberties” in her home. Lizzie could no longer be trusted. She wanted her “gone now, or else!”

The woman’s thundering behavior attracted the attention of her husband. He quickly took control of the phone. Through profuse apologies he confessed of his wife’s recent diagnosis of dementia and onset of erratic behavior. He assured me Lizzie was safe, then asked if he could give her back.

The husband drove three hours to my house. Alone. As I took a trembling Lizzie from the portable crate, tears streamed down his cheeks with the heaviness of his wife’s newly diagnosed disease. He wanted a dog as much as she did and realized her new reality made that impossible. I held Lizzie tight as she trembled wildly, hoping the husband had someone he could turn to for comfort.

Lizzie’s return was just one of the week’s browbeatings. I grew up in a rural area on the edge of suburbia with a sensible education in personal security. When I went for a walk or run, I was taught to turn into a neighbor’s driveway and walk right into their house if I feared for my safety. At the mall, I used the bathrooms in the department stores said to be safer alternatives than the mall restrooms typically located at the end of long, dim hallways. The myriad of people comprising college campus security became my friends after many nights escorting me from library to dorm.

Nothing, however, prepared me for the verbally abusive bully with a pedigreed background and upper-class home. I was a residential interior designer then working for homeowners Jim and Mary on what I thought was a dream job, the ultimate kitchen remodel for my portfolio. The couple was sparing little expense: custom cabinets with artisan-designed glass inserts, rare stone countertops, contemporary crystal chandeliers.

They seemed nice enough, respecting my time during meetings and completing their homework to prepare. That is, until Mary showed up during a final approval session without Jim. It wasn’t unusual to me as Jim was an executive at a prominent business. In fact, I was impressed he’d made it to our meetings at all. Mary seemed agitated, checking her watch, looking over her shoulder, barely engaging in conversation. After ten minutes of uncomfortable chitchat and growing unease, I asked if something was wrong. Tears welled in her eyes and her voice choked on fear as she divulged a secret; Jim was so opposed to the project that he had become threatening. “This is my hard-earned money paying for your project. One little mistake and you’ll pay dearly,” were his final words before storming to his car. Tears fell onto Mary’s shaking hands clasped in her lap as she asked for a guarantee we’d neither encounter, nor create problems during remodeling. Mary lived in a twenty-year-old home. I couldn’t give her that guarantee.

I should have untangled myself from their web of dysfunction. But I didn’t. My design vision had already begun to unfold into reality. I could clearly see the final photograph as a centerpiece of my design portfolio. Demolition had begun. Cabinets were ordered. The glass artist had delivered her first beautiful renderings. Mary had come to the meeting to cancel the project but couldn’t. She was as drawn to its possibility as I.

All went well for quite some time. Jim rarely appeared on site. When he did, it was usually with his head down, quiet. Demolition uncovered a few hurdles, but Jim handled the change orders and payment quickly and without challenge. Mary was a hit with the contractors, making them coffee in the morning and bringing treats and sodas in the afternoon.

Everyone was looking forward to the date on the calendar with the big red star: countertop installation day. It meant the worst of the demolition and construction challenges were over. The plumber was scheduled to follow. It was a milestone on the project timeline to be celebrated. Feeling victorious, I left the jobsite as the workers were wiping away the last bit of errant caulk from the seams of the gleaming countertop. One more giant piece to the puzzle had been set in place. The picture I’d created with Mary in digital reality was coming true, and it was stunning.

I returned to my office to make a few sales calls; my experience taught me that the best time to sell something was when I was feeling successful. I was adding a new client meeting to my calendar when my phone rang. Jim’s number popped onto my screen, immediately taking me back to the day’s earlier events. I was so eager to hear the accolades from him that I was totally thrown off guard by his verbal slaying. He’d gone home early from work to inspect the countertops. Finding the seams unacceptable, he kicked everyone off the jobsite, then called to inform me just how angry he was.

Numb, I sat there taking punch after punch as he swore at me, called me inept, and damned every beautiful thing that’d been done. He couldn’t see my tears, and I couldn’t steel my courage. I let him bellow until his sails were empty. I should have calmly said, “I understand you are upset, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me this way,” exactly what I hoped the girls would do in the face of a bully. Then I wondered if I ever gave them those words and the permission to use them. In the world of fight or flight, I’d done neither. I cowered like Lizzie in the shadow of her bully.

Worse yet, it wasn’t the first time that week when I was at a loss for words and unable to lift my forearms to block a punch. I’d been at a design event with a few acquaintances when I shared my story about Anna and Mia’s diagnoses of ADHD. In a brazen display of judgment, one person told me the girls’ ADHD was my fault; God was punishing my children for my sins. Another woman in the group who volunteered in her child’s elementary school classroom claimed all the teachers believed ADHD was a fake ailment perpetuated by money-grubbing doctors to medicate difficult kids. Puffing out her chest with self-importance, she accused me of being “like every disinterested parent sending an out-of-control kid to school to force the teachers to babysit.” Not knowing how to reply, I didn’t. I’d taken a risk talking about ADHD. Instead of welcome arms and open hearts, I got sucker punched. With nothing to counter their attacks, I sat silent.

While Jim was throwing his punches, I had an image of a ring announcer hollering to the crowd through a gleaming chrome microphone, forefinger thrust into the air: “Remember, folks. The client is always right.” Isn’t that what the sales training classes and books preached? Yet, I couldn’t recall any instruction on how to respond to a man hell-bent on bullying a woman. With my nose to the mat and no energy for piledrivers or backbreakers, I gathered what composure I could muster and met the countertop contractor at Jim’s house. We needed a fix, and fast.

Jim didn’t show. He should have. He’d been right to complain, just not the way he did. The rare stone turned out to be too heavy for the approved supports. As the supports sagged under the weight of the stone, the perfect seams separated while the day progressed. By the time Jim got home, the seams were noticeable, as was a slight downward tilt to the plane. The contractor immediately removed the pieces. Two days later, a wood craftsman installed four bigger custom supports. The countertop was replaced with a scowling Jim present to approve them.

The countertop installer tried to apologize to Jim, taking responsibility for approving my design and not knowing the stone well enough to know the type of support it would need. Jim told him to stop defending “that bitch of a designer.” As the installer opened his mouth to speak for me, Jim spun on his heels with his nose in the air and abruptly left the kitchen. The last I saw of the executive in the designer suit and power tie was his middle finger trailing his body as he rounded the doorway to the garage. The rest of the work was completed quickly and quietly by a deflated crew. A few months later, Mary steeled her courage and left Jim.

I thought about Mary as I stroked Lizzie’s fur, wondering if Mary’s marriage had always been toxic or if Jim had changed over time. Is this what unattended ADHD looks like in an adult? I hadn’t a clue, but Jim’s erratic behavior seemed to match that of Anna’s behavior prior to her diagnosis and intervention.

The more I thought about Jim and his reaction to the countertop, a fog began to cloud my brain, obscuring the image I had of Anna growing into a happy veterinarian. Would Anna be like Jim or Lizzie’s first adopter? Will others walk on eggshells or distance themselves from her fury? Anna’s medication and counseling were tempering her mood and behavior swings. Dr. Bonnie, however, cautioned there could come a time when effectiveness would wane. We’d need new strategies to keep her hyperactive behavior under control. Maybe Jim’s medication was no longer working? It was all conjecture playing games in my mind.

Adding to my heavy heart was Lizzie’s heightened distrust. I stopped thinking about the win of adoption and settled solely for the comfort of routine instead. For the next three weeks, Lizzie was just another dog in the house, taking walks with me, playing her version of catch with Anna, and snuggling under the covers with Mia. The relaxed pace gave us a chance to get to know her better.

Like Anna, Lizzie was an introvert. A few solid, dependable people in her circle was all she needed. Lizzie warmed to women but had a deep fear of men. Joe was determined to break her of that fear. I often found him sitting with his back against the refrigerator, tossing dog treats to Lizzie, attempting to earn her trust. Despite his best efforts, theirs was a tenuous relationship.

Lizzie had spent her first eight years freely moving in and out of her kennel amongst eight dog friends, so I thought putting her in a kennel when we were gone would provide comfort. Nope. That smart, observant dog learned Rascal and Margo had free reign of the house; she wanted the privilege as well. Like a protesting Shelby with the messenger bag, Lizzie was all stiff legs and thrashing head when I tried to put her in the kennel. If I asked her to go inside on her own, she ran to another room.

The only tactic I had to counteract her protests was peanut butter training. She responded eagerly. Three dogs would sit with hind ends trembling in the kitchen while one of us would stand at the counter smearing peanut butter into the hollows of empty Kongs or bones. Three dogs would race to Lizzie’s kennel where her treat would be placed inside, luring her like a feral cat into a live trap. She’d nudge big Margo and swift Rascal, sometimes giving a little nip on the way, to get to her treat. A few days of this solid routine, and Lizzie claimed the kennel as home.

When Lizzie began to smile on a regular basis, run to the door for a walk, and budge her way past Rascal to sit on my lap, I knew it was time to look for her next home. She’d moved from a place of fear to one of “seeking”—defined by Dr. Grandin as the pleasure of looking forward to something.

I posted Lizzie’s profile on Petfinder.com, hung up posters in grocery stores, and did my usual social media blast. In less than a week, I got a response. Carol, a soft-spoken widow with a heart brimming with patience, fell in love with Lizzie and her insecurities.

Carol lived in a quiet house on a tiny lake with a bench near the shore where she liked to watch the birds. She imagined herself sitting there with Lizzie. Framing her side yard was a secure fence where Lizzie could hide in the fern garden to keep a watchful eye on the chipmunks and birds.

I said goodbye to Lizzie after enjoying a cup of tea at Carol’s dining room table, warmed by a small crackling fire. A striped cat named Mack, curled on the buffet, kept a wary eye on Lizzie. There were no red flags signaling mental instability. I felt no tension or trouble. Lizzie wasn’t sure about Carol and Mack, but Carol seemed undaunted by Lizzie’s past and the task of making friends with a cautious companion.

As I drove home, I reflected on the need for Joe and me to be similar advocates for Anna and Mia, to be willing to learn, to trust our intuition, and to give second chances while navigating the challenges of ADHD. I’d have to do better at modeling self-advocacy while learning to deflect people with too much self-importance. Even though adolescence was supposed to be a time to loosen our parental reins, we’d need to remain covert dance partners in their marathons, balancing stamina, and exuding grace. For two people whose last big dance had been at their wedding decades before, there’d be a lot of stepping on toes before we’d win any awards.

AFTERTHOUGHTS

Lizzie’s person had long been a trusted advocate within the Second Chance Animal Rescue community—both a foster and a champion for animal welfare. When she was diagnosed with a terminal illness, she turned to that same community to help find homes for her beloved dogs.

Surrendering a pet, for any reason, is heartbreaking. To do so while still fully aware—choosing it, planning it—is its own kind of love. As a foster, I’ve seen too many animals land in frightening, lonely shelters or pushed out the door when their humans hadn’t, or couldn’t, make arrangements for their care.

When I began fostering Lizzie, I felt an added responsibility: to offer reassurance to a dying woman. I wanted her to know that Lizzie was safe, settling in, and loved.

So when that fragile relief was shattered—when an adopter’s hidden aggression, complicated by dementia, came to light—I felt gutted. Betrayed.

I had been completely honest about Lizzie’s needs and temperament. Not receiving that same honesty in return was infuriating. What hurt even more was knowing I could no longer give Lizzie’s former mom the peace of mind she deserved—that her dog was thriving.

At the same time, my own family was navigating uncertainty. My daughters had been diagnosed with their own mental health challenges, and we were learning to live in a space where stability wasn’t guaranteed. In some ways, we weren’t so different from Lizzie’s first adopters.

I brought Lizzie back home. And eventually, I found a measure of grace. I chose to believe the adopters acted with good intent.

I was still angry. But understanding—even partial understanding—helped me begin to heal.

FINAL NOTE

Every chapter ends with a shadow photo for two reasons. One is to imply that the four-legged friend featured in the chapter is never gone from our hearts. The other is to remember we are never truly alone with a pet at our side. Pets give us unconditional attention. They can also help us forge greater connections with people.

I bet you know of a dog lover or parent navigating mental health challenges. Give them a gift of hope. Please…

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Read MOM Chapters: Paid subscribers will have access to all content on Like People, Like Pets plus enjoy the bi-weekly release of chapters from Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue. Each chapter concludes with bonus content not available elsewhere, including afterthoughts and extra images. Looking for a heartwarming story? This is it!

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Yesterday was my day of “crabby.” Interruptions disrupted the neat path from the first to last checkbox on my to-do list. My mood lingered as I opened the refrigerator looking for something to eat, folded freshly laundered clothes, and swept up the dirt tracked in by the dog.

Then I remembered why my list remained unchecked.

Jazzy.

My foster cat needed vaccinations. A rabies certificate was the piece of paper her person would need to secure housing.

Dr. Stefan with The Street Dog Coalition’s Minneapolis team met me in a newly created veterinary exam room at one of their partners, The Bond Between. He had just driven across town at the end of a full day caring for other people’s pets—to give free care to Jazzy.

Five-year-old Jazzy has lived with her person since she was seven weeks old. He had been employed but became ill, lost his job, and then lost his home. With no safety net, the two of them moved into his car. When the weather warmed to unsafe temperatures for Jazzy, they became couch-surfers at the home of an acquaintance.

Then something happened.

Jazzy’s person had to return to his car without her.

The people in the home grew tired of caring for a cat that was not theirs. Eventually, Jazzy became a ward of animal control.

When the officer met Jazzy’s person, she saw how deeply loved this cat was—and how hard he was trying to make things right. Instead of sending Jazzy to an overcrowded shelter and severing their bond, she looked for another option.

Would someone be willing to care for Jazzy temporarily while her person got back on his feet?

Two days after that question was asked, a brave little tabby arrived in my foster suite.

Here’s what I’ve learned about Jazzy: this girl has been spoiled in all the right ways. She trades trust for affection. Her favorite place to snuggle is pressed against my left shoulder like a newborn, my arm cradling her feet. She plays. She pounces. A pheasant feather gifted by my neighbor is her favorite prize.

Here’s what I also know, after years of fostering and rescue work: there are many loving, playful Jazzys sitting in overcrowded shelters because their people ran out of options.

Some are surrendered with tears and promises that couldn’t be kept.

Some find new homes.

Others are euthanized to make space.

And some never make it inside at all. When shelters close intake due to overcrowding, pets are left behind—abandoned to circumstances no one planned for. (I can’t stress how important this article by Who Will Let The Dogs Out is for enlightening the general public about the crisis.)

So, should people who can’t afford pets have pets?

I don’t think that’s the right question.

A better one might be: how do we show up for each other when life falls apart?

Because it does. Jobs are lost. Illness happens. Safety nets fail.

And yet, love remains.

Next time you open your refrigerator, fold your clean clothes, or step into a warm shower, think of Jazzy and her person.

Could you temporarily foster a pet for someone in crisis?

Could you donate a few dollars to a pet food shelf or community pantry?

Could you volunteer—just a few hours—to support the people already elbow-deep in care?

I know this, too: humans have an incredible capacity to solve hard problems—especially when we do it together.

Love pets?

Help someone else keep loving theirs

RESOURCES TO HELP YOU CARE FOR YOUR PET

Each bullet point below is a general heading to use in an internet search. Below each general heading are some ideas to spark further research specific to your location.

• Local community food shelves often offer pet food

• Local shelters and rescues often have pet food pantries for community use

  • The Bond Between pet rescue offers a pet food pantry to Minneapolis residents who meet qualifications

• Local animal welfare organizations

  • The Street Dog Coalition’s mission is to provide free veterinary exams and vaccinations to the pets of the homeless and those at risk for homelessness. They have clinics in many communities across the U.S.

  • Leech Lake Legacy offers low-cost veterinary help in northern Minnesota.

• Local veterinary and veterinary tech schools often offer on-campus clinics or pop-up clinics

  • VeTouch is a free veterinary clinic offered by veterinary students at the University of Minnesota

• Crowdfunding resources

  • Furlanthropy is a nonprofit crowdfunding resource that enables people to donate cash and non-cash assets, thus expanding funding options.

LIKE PEOPLE, LIKE PETS BLOG POSTS WITH ADDITIONAL RESOURCE LINKS

• Is It Cruel to Abandon a Pet?

• Affording Veterinary Care

• Affordable & Free Routine Veterinary Care for Your Pet

• 30 Ways to Fund Veterinary Care

• 5 Steps to Fund Emergency Vet Care

• Help for Your Pet When You are in Crisis

• 5 Resources for Free Pet Food

RESOURCES WHERE YOUR TIME, TALENT, & MONEY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED

• Local community food shelves

• Local pet food shelves

• Local shelters and rescues

• Local animal welfare organizations

  ---

  My book, Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue, doesn’t just tell a story—it turns love into action. With every copy sold using the links below, $5.00 in net profits will go to the nonprofit partners listed who support pets and the people who care for them. Use the link to purchase a meaningful gift for someone else or a good beach read for yourself. Buy a book. Make a difference.

  From a reader who bought Mom Loves the Dogs More as a gift: “Just a quick note to say that my mom really enjoyed your book. She gave it back to me yesterday, saying that she didn't expect to see me until I had finished reading it because she didn't think I would be able to put it down. She really liked the tone of the book and the stories in it.”

The Street Dog Coalition

The Street Dog Coalition provides free veterinary care to pets of people experiencing homelessness or at risk of homelessness. I’ve been a volunteer at Sunday wellness clinics for several years. I currently have a respite foster sheltering in my home while her person gets back on his feet.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

Who Will Let The Dogs Out

The mission of Who Will Let The Dogs Out is to raise awareness and resources for animal shelters nationwide, supporting homeless dogs and the heroes who fight for them with practical solutions that save lives. I’ve been a volunteer for several years and coordinate all the Stronger Together events that bring communities together to solve animal sheltering challenges.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

Leech Lake Legacy

Leech Lake Legacy is an animal welfare organization that empowers Native American communities to enrich the lives of animals by providing resources and sharing information. I’ve been a volunteer at monthly wellness clinics for the past five years.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

Please share this post far and wide. Every share expands the circle, every book purchased multiplies the impact. Together, we can strengthen the organizations that support pets and people.

Share

Welcome to a new issue of PetStack, a monthly post of pet tales submitted by readers of the newsletter Like People, Like Pets. PetStack illuminates our connection to the intelligence, compassion, inspiration, and love wrapped in four-legged, furry packages.

Perhaps the greatest gift an animal has to offer is a permanent reminder of who we really are.” - Nick Trout

By Cindy…

“Hello?” I muttered with the angst of a teenager rousted out of slumber.

“This is Will County Animal Control. Brandy is here AGAIN!” The caller’s frustration countered my sullenness. Of all the crazy things our stubborn Airedale Terrier did, running TO animal control was tops. My parents supplemented the government-funded program with the bail they frequently paid to retrieve her.

When I first read Holly B. Gutwillinger’s contribution to PetStack, sharp memories of bull-headed Brandy rose from the murky depths of years long buried. My brothers and I tried to train that reluctant girl. She never did succumb to our ineffective and inconsistent methods. We were kids. She was smarter.

When I met Holly two years ago, she was managing her newsletter, Ramblings From the Little Shed, writing a book, and tackling an MFA. A year later, wooosh! A flame ignited, North of Broken & Furever Home was launched, and so too, was her podcast Ramblings from the Little Shed co-hosted with her son, Rogan. This gal is on fire! And smart. Although, her story below makes me wonder!😊

By Holly B. Gutwillinger…

Whoever named our rescue dog Johnny Cash must have had the foresight to know this dog would live up to his namesake. When we met the one-year-old bouncing ball of fur in 2015, he was all black except for a few white spots and exuded confidence.

After three days with us, Cash unexpectedly jumped out of the second-story window of our four-level split house. Our neighbor told us he saw Cash land on the deck, cross the creek, and kept running. We found him an hour later, safe and happily chasing a squirrel. This was just one of Cash’s many shenanigans. His adventures were frequent, and no matter how organized we tried to be, he always stayed one paw ahead.

We blamed his nose for leading him on early spring swims to chase ducks. Fortunately, our canoe broke through the thin ice cover, and we paddled like his life depended on it. Even in his senior years, his vitality is contagious and inspires me to be the best human I can be so he can enjoy a full life.

The Animal Humane Society in Minneapolis, Minnesota holds the state’s largest pet parade during their yearly fundraiser The Walk for Animals. I volunteered at the Leech Lake Legacy booth, selling pet supplies and copies of my book, Mom Loves the Dogs More to raise funds for the organization. Enjoy a few of the highlights of the pets who stopped by to say hello.

BUY A BOOK. MAKE A DIFFERENCE

Today, you have three options to buy Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue to supoprt organizations making a positive impact on people and pets.

1. Every book purchased through this link will help save lives: a $5.00 donation will be made to The Street Dog Coalition Minneapolis Team to help pets of people experiencing homelessness or at risk for homelessness.

2. Every book purchased through this link will help support the pets of community members living on the Leech Lake reservation. The net profits, $5.00 donation, will be made to Leech Lake Legacy and their effort to provide veterinary care and surrrender support.

3. Every book purchased through this link will help Who Will Let The Dogs Out (WWLDO) raise awareness and resources for rural and marginalized animal shelters. That’s a $5.00 donation per book! WWLDO’s team has visited 220 shelters and counting. The animal sheltering crisis is not slowing. Please help.

Like People, Like Pets is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and show your support for my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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I bet you know someone in love with their crazy pet. It would brighten my day to know you shared this post.

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FIRST THE NEWS…

THREE CELEBRATIONS

• Be Kind to Animals Week, May 3 thru May 9

• Dog Mom’s Day, May 9

• Mother’s Day, May 10

PLEASE HELP MY DREAM GROW LEGS

My dream has come true! My book, Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue, is no longer just a story—it now turns love into action. With every copy sold, I am donating the net profits to the nonprofit partners listed below where many of the staff and volunteers are moms. Make a difference. Use the link to purchase meaningful Dog Mom’s Day and Mother’s Day gifts.

Not One More Vet

NOMVs mission is to transform the status of mental wellness within the profession so veterinary professionals can survive and thrive through education, resources, and support. My resident and foster pets have been cared for by many veterinarians and their teams. It’s important to me that those professionals and my veterinarian daughter have access to mental health support.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

The Street Dog Coalition

The Street Dog Coalition provides free veterinary care to pets of people experiencing homelessness or at risk of homelessness. I’ve been a volunteer at Sunday wellness clinics for several years. I currently have a respite foster sheltering in my home while her person gets back on his feet with a secure job and housing.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

Who Will Let The Dogs Out

The mission of Who Will Let The Dogs Out is to raise awareness and resources for animal shelters nationwide, supporting homeless dogs and the heroes who fight for them with practical solutions that save lives. I’ve been a volunteer for several years and coordinate all the Stronger Together events that bring communities together to solve animal sheltering challenges.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

Leech Lake Legacy

Leech Lake Legacy is an animal welfare organization that empowers Native American communities to enrich the lives of animals by providing resources and sharing information. I’ve been a volunteer at monthly wellness clinics for the past five years.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

STORYTIME

Chapter 8: April

I was leaning against the counter at Life Care while the vet tech went to retrieve April from the back room. A memory of enthusiastic Rascal leaping into my arms like a circus dog gave me a hearty chuckle and a yearning for another spirited foster dog. That wish was quickly extinguished when a listless dog shuffled behind the vet tech. The silver Shih Tzu, with closely cropped fur and broad shoulders, stopped at my feet, and cautiously peered around my ankles. She looked past me with paralyzed eyes, barely able to keep her chin from dusting the floor. April had no response to my high-pitched attempts at encouragement.

The same could be said over the following weeks. Very little of anything we tried ignited her spirit. No amount of peanut butter, hamburger, scrambled eggs, or tuna got a response. She ate without joy. She went on walks with Margo and Rascal with no spring in her step. She snuggled next to Mia, Anna, and Joe with what seemed like a burning need for quiet and comfort. April was a good little dog. No accidents in the house. No budging the other dogs. No barking. Her body was alive, but her spirit wasn’t.

April did have one peculiar habit. April could beat anyone in a stare-down contest. I would position myself opposite her and look deeply into her glossy black eyes. She would gaze intensely into mine as if searching my soul. Minutes would go by without her breath stirring the silence. The only movement was her little pink tongue slipping past her lips to hang just above her chin. I indulged her in these games daily. Oddly enough, she warmed to me. Soon, I was receiving soft kisses.

I turned the corner to the kitchen one afternoon and found Joe frozen in a crouched position like an offensive lineman waiting for the snap. Opposite Joe was April, motionless, eyes fixed on Joe’s, her pink tongue dangling. My presence did nothing to break their concentration. A few minutes passed, and Joe cried “uncle,” caving to her doggedness. He patted April’s head and handed her a treat. She welcomed him into her trust. He, too, was soon on the receiving end of her friendly little kisses.

Try as they might to have a stare-down contest with April, Anna and Mia gave in quickly. Their lack of patience was no match for April’s determination. She was the victor in all the challenges yet rewarded them for their participation—kisses on their cheeks and guarded smiles when they walked in the door.

April’s slow progress in shedding her layers bugged me, so I reached out to Lynda to see if she could provide more information about April’s history. I knew Lynda had rescued April from animal impound the day she was scheduled to be euthanized. Her five days had been spent cowering in her kennel, uninterested in engaging with workers or visitors. Without intervention, she wouldn’t live to see another meal. Lynda, equally concerned about April’s well-being, offered to call animal impound to see if there was something in her records that’d been missed.

Nothing more was written in April’s records. A part-time intake worker, however, overheard Lynda’s call to the director. She told the director that April had been surrendered by a middle-aged woman who agreed to watch two dogs while a co-worker went on vacation. The co-worker bought a one-way ticket and never returned. The woman with a short-term offer ended up with two dogs she had no intention of keeping forever. When she realized she had been duped, she brought the dogs to the shelter. April’s young buddy, possibly her pup, was adopted quickly, leaving older April behind. That was it. We had no more clues to help this troubled girl.

When Mia was in fifth grade, her class made a town. Each kid was given a milk carton to fashion into a house. All the houses were placed on two 4’x8’ pieces of plywood set end-to-end. Over the course of a semester, yards, roads, sidewalks, parks, lakes, businesses, hospitals, and schools were added until a multi-layered town rose from the smooth wood. Students “graduated” from high school, got “married,” raised “families,” got “jobs,” and “volunteered.” They learned about banking and insurance and paying bills. When discretionary income allowed, some kids added solar-powered hot tubs and purchased RVs for travel. They discovered how people follow different paths through life, that various influences such as education, career choice, family size, personal desires can impact outcomes. Their efforts yielded a vibrant town of unique homes, businesses, and recreational opportunities. Alongside the “things,” an abundance of conversation and helpfulness grew.

One common thread throughout the neighborhoods was the telephone line connecting home to home and business. While cell phones were already commonplace, and one student had built a cell phone tower in her yard, the students said the telephone line was necessary. The teacher quoted the kids as saying, “A community needs to communicate to grow well and be happy.”

I was stroking April’s soft fur as the memory of Mia’s fifth-grade town converged with the teachings of Dr. Temple Grandin. I learned of Dr. Grandin’s work while doing research on ADHD and mental health after Mia’s diagnosis. As a prominent scientist with autism, Dr. Grandin gained a following by applying her insights from a lifetime living with autism to advance the humane treatment of food production animals. Her many years of research and experimentation were communicated via research papers, academic lectures, and boots-on-the-ground efforts. She helped livestock farmers, food manufacturers, and executives of global restaurant chains understand how animals have emotion systems in their brains much the same as humans. They can’t communicate in our human manner to tell us what they are experiencing, but they do communicate—if we pay attention. Grandin believed that knowing what drives positive emotions and reduces negative ones can improve mental well-being and the physical health of confined animals. Grandin connected the dots for others, transforming animal welfare from a touchy-feely, do-good waste of time to a business imperative. Livestock welfare and good mental health became a means to improved business outcomes.

Dr. Grandin also wrote Animals Make Us Human, the book I bought for a buck at the local library on the way to the beach the day after Anna’s runaway incident. The goal of Grandin’s book was to help people understand what animals need to thrive and be happy in human settings such as homes and hobby farms. Her writings don’t teach people how to “talk” to animals in a Dr. Doolittle sort of way, but rather to observe behavior, to understand what’s considered natural and abnormal, to share and compare to create a more complete picture.

She suggested ways to change personal actions or physical surroundings to help one’s pet. According to Temple Grandin, happier animals with fewer behavioral issues result in better person-pet relationships. Yellow highlighter mixed with sand as I sat at the beach and moved through the book, hoping to use Dr. Grandin’s insight with our foster dogs. It was the dog-eared pages near the beginning, those in the chapter titled “What Do Animals Need” that kept pulling me back month after month. I wondered if they might offer clues to help Anna with her reoccurring struggles.

We started fostering April during Anna’s first semester of sophomore year in high school. Not much had improved in my relationship with Anna since our summer beach vacation; we couldn’t seem to lose the elephant that’d followed us home. Anna’s behavior was on a steady decline with increased static in our lines of communication. Joe and I continued to walk on eggshells, fearing Anna would run again. We were receiving phone calls from teachers and the school counselor for offenses such as texting during class, throwing pencils during exams, and truancy during math class. She’d asked for a bathroom pass on several occasions and never returned, opting instead to sit idly in an empty classroom, lift weights in the weight room, or chat with the school nurse.

“Anna, what were you thinking?” My voice rose, fuming against the frustration deep within. “Where’d you get the idea it was okay to leave class?”

Read more

Snappp. Jhissssssssssh. With each can of food I opened, the final tear of lid from base was followed by the meowwwww of a hungry feline. I quickly scooped food into bowls as the other volunteer, Judy, opened kennel doors to feed the noisy bunch. When the room settled into the quiet of contented cats, the screech of laughter from a toddler in a playpen just feet away filled the cat care and wellness building. His mom, a veterinarian, was examining a community member’s pet as part of the low-cost wellness event at Leech Lake Legacy.

Today, women make up a greater percentage of veterinarians in the U.S. and an even greater percentage of veterinary students. The gender makeup of people working and volunteering in animal welfare, sheltering, and rescue is dominated by women.

Those women who are moms are like every working mother—juggling jobs and family, illness and daycare.

Dr. Stacy’s son had a cold. Daycare wasn’t an option, so she packed his toys, playpen, diapers, clothes, and food for a weekend of volunteering in northern Minnesota.

There was no shortage of babysitters eager to watch the rosy‑cheeked child while mom attended to cats and dogs. Judy, cat care volunteer extraordinaire, was one of them. She spent the weekend caring for a room full of surrendered cats while entertaining the toddler and feeding him when fussy. Multi‑tasking came easily. She’d been a working mom and was now a part‑time caregiver for her granddaughter.

Watching Judy care for Dr. Stacy’s son reminded me of the days I carted Anna along to photo studios during my food‑styling years. While I prepped recipes for the following day’s shoot, another adult would entertain her. I once found her sitting in a roasting pan filled with water, wooden spoons in hand, splashing and singing with the studio photographer. On another day, a different photographer helped my daughter decorate cookies with colored frosting and sprinkles. It took a long bath to clean her sugar‑crusted hair and face.

This Mother’s Day, I’m celebrating the women staffers and volunteers who work with pets and the people who love them—veterinarians, vet techs, executive directors, admin and operations staff, kennel cleaners, laundry folders, rescuers… These dedicated moms keep our pets healthy, help us navigate grief, manage the feeding and care of surrendered and abandoned animals, make impossible decisions about euthanasia, raise funds, foster pets, and work magic to move animals from shelters and rescues into loving homes.

I’m asking for your help in two ways.

1. My book, Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue, doesn’t just tell a story—it turns love into action. With every copy sold, $5.00 in net profits goes directly to the nonprofit partners listed below who support pets and the people who care for them. Use the link to purchase a meaningful Mother’s Day gift, or two or four, that gives back.

   

2. Share this post far and wide. Every share expands the circle, every book purchased multiplies the impact. Together, we can strengthen the organizations that support animals, families, and the moms who show up every day—for all of them.

   Share

Not One More Vet

NOMVs mission is to transform the status of mental wellness within the profession so veterinary professionals can survive and thrive through education, resources, and support. The health of my resident pets and foster animals depends on many veterinarians and support staff. The least we can all do as pet lovers is to support the people that support our pets.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

The Street Dog Coalition

The Street Dog Coalition provides free veterinary care to pets of people experiencing homelessness or at risk of homelessness. I’ve been a volunteer at Sunday wellness clinics for several years. I currently have a respite foster sheltering in my home while her person gets back on his feet to secure a job and housing.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

Who Will Let The Dogs Out

The mission of Who Will Let The Dogs Out is to raise awareness and resources for animal shelters nationwide, supporting homeless dogs and the heroes who fight for them with practical solutions that save lives. I’ve been a volunteer for several years and coordinate all the Stronger Together events that bring communities together to solve animal sheltering challenges.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

Leech Lake Legacy

Leech Lake Legacy is an animal welfare organization that empowers Native American communities to enrich the lives of animals by providing resources and sharing information. I’ve been a volunteer at monthly wellness clinics for the past five years.

• Learn more

• Book purchase

MOM FEATURED IN NOTRE DAME MAGAZINE

The making of Mom Loves the Dogs More was the subject of a Q&A session led by writer Brigid Iannelli. How did fostering dogs help my family navigate newly diagnosed mental health challenges in my teens? What do I hope parents will feel after reading the book? Click here.

MAY 2, 9:00-1:00 WALK FOR ANIMALS

They’ll come on leashes, in halters, in cages, in carriers, in wagons, in strollers, in backpacks. It’s the annual Animal Humane Society Walk for the Animals—their largest fundraiser of the year. Food. Vendors. Entertainment. A one-mile pet parade! I’ll be at the Leech Lake Legacy booth, helping to sell anything and everything you’ll need for a dog and cat. Have fun. Help raise funds.

FIRST THE NEWS…

WHY DO YOU VOLUNTEER?

I was honored to be featured in the recent The Street Dog Coalition newsletter.

AFFORDING VETERINARY CARE

During my recent MOM!!! Moments monthly interview series, I interviewed , DVM and Adam Spencer, founder of Furlanthropy to get their insights and recommendations for affording veterinary care.

PAWS FOR A CAUSE

Mom Loves the Dogs More is partnering with the following nonprofits to help them help people and pets. I am donating the net profits ($5.00) per book purchased by their supporters using the special links below. Please share far and wide to help raise funds for their missions. (P.S. MOM isthe perfect book for Mother’s Day giving.)

Not One More Vet

NOMVs mission is to transform the status of mental wellness within the profession so veterinary professionals can survive and thrive through education, resources, and support.

• Learn more

• Book Purchase

The Street Dog Coalition

The Street Dog Coalition provides free veterinary care to pets of people experiencing homelessness or at risk of homelessness. I’ve been a volunteer for several years.

• Learn more

• Book Purchase

Who Will Let The Dogs Out

The mission of Who Will Let The Dogs Out is to raise awareness and resources for animal shelters nationwide, supporting homeless dogs and the heroes who fight for them with practical solutions that save lives. I’ve been a volunteer for several years and coordinate all the Stronger Together events.

• Learn more

• Book Purchase

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STORYTIME

Chapter Seven: Rascal

I doubt the girls were thinking of kid games and Candy Castles the day we told them they had to haul dirt. Joe and I were beat. He and I’d spent a difficult week cleaning the yard after the last piece of heavy machinery was secured to a trailer and hauled away, leaving behind a replacement drain field for the young septic system that’d failed. Most of our driveway had been pulverized, displaced, or scattered down the road by muddy wheels of massive dump trucks and trailers carrying field stones, backhoes, bulldozers, and rich black dirt. Plants we’d dug from the garden had wilted in their temporary buckets and needed replanting. The back door, the side door, the service door, the walls, and windows on the back of the house were all splattered in stinky, sticky, gray clay.

No sooner had we tidied the yard when the rains came. Pounding, pouring deluge. The mound that once sported a beautiful layer of rich soil to nurture the seeds we hoped would grow into grass was washed clean to its clay core. Out came another company with yet another dump truck and yards and yards of soil—piled at the end of our battered driveway.

“Max, how’d you like to make a few easy bucks,” joshed Joe, hoping to soften the edges of a tough job enough to entice Max.

“Sure, sure,” he quickly answered. “Tell me what to do, boss. When do I start?”

Anna and Mia weren’t thrilled to find they’d been assigned to Max’s team. Each began to petition why she should be excused. As was typical, the banter began like a quick poke in the Pillsbury Doughboy’s belly. When each realized their soft approach wasn’t working, they pulled Mohammed Ali punches.

“Mom, it’s too hot,” they’d bellow.

“Mom, my friends don’t have to do stupid stuff like this,” they’d whine.

“Mom, you could be put in jail for child labor,” they’d threaten.

Monday morning Joe left for work. I directed Anna and Mia’s efforts for the day, showing them how to conserve energy by taking turns shoveling dirt into the wheelbarrow, pushing the wheelbarrow up the mound, and spreading dirt. The process would be theirs to manage the next day with Max. I wanted to be sure they had it right. Grumbling and heat plagued the work. By the time Max arrived the next morning, both girls were in a foul mood. His cheerful smile, gentle ribbing, and hearty laugh, “C’mon you babies. What’s your problem? This will be easy,” did not bring a smile.

After reviewing with them the tasks that needed to be done, I settled into the peacefulness of my air-conditioned car and left their thick gray cloud behind. I was glad to pass the dirty work to the younger crowd while equally curious to see what would be accomplished in my absence.

As I drove back over our busted driveway, I stopped short. Before me was an updated chain-gang scene from the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou? Anna, Mia, and Max were singing rap songs in unison as they shoveled dirt into their own wheelbarrows, pushed them up the hill in a single-file line, then spread dirt. Three wheelbarrows? I’d left them with one. Where did they get two more? Poet, once white with black spots, now all black, trailed the long lunge line through the loose soil. Margo, the lone white star on her black chest now coated to match, looked one with the dirt as she ran up and down, barking.

Just great! Now the dogs need a bath. I could feel tension rising through my spine, my cheeks tightening. I wanted to scream, “What were you thinking?” and would’ve if it weren’t for Max.

“Hey, boss lady. How was your day? Me and the girls’ve been doin’ just fine.” Throwing his head back, he laughed the short series of chuckles we came to know as his signature.

Anna and Mia rolled their eyes, trying to make it look like they’d had a torturous day. I tried to not look pissed. The dogs were a mess, but the dirt mound at the end of the driveway had been greatly reduced. I owed it to them to be happy.

“Where did you get the extra wheelbarrows?” I asked, my voice rising with curiosity, picking words I could make sincere.

“Max went home and borrowed one from his dad. Jane let us borrow hers,” exclaimed Mia, beaming with resourcefulness.

“With three wheelbarrows, we raced each other to fill and dump ’em,” added an excited Anna. “Hey, Max. Let’s go get that ice cream you promised us. Loser!” She gave Max a teasing punch to the shoulder.

“No way, man. I beat your sorry butts up the hill!” bantered Max.

Twenty-four hours earlier the girls were ready to mutiny. Had it been my job to lead the day, it would’ve been disastrous. Max, however, found the key to guiding his crew through the maelstrom! It was a challenge conquered, and neither Joe nor I did the work. My former colleague Jackie’s lesson of letting go to let others lead wasn’t lost on me that day.

The weather finally cooperated. The grass grew green and lush. Within weeks Poet was back to racing circles in the backyard, lunge line trailing, nipping at Margo’s ears, using her like a trampoline when she’d lie down. From Margo was a steady stream of woofs, yaps and grrrs as she rubbed her face and wriggled her back in the soft, young blades.

With the big drain field project complete and the dirt tucked under soft grass, I resumed my efforts to convert Poet to a “good citizen”—a term Loree used to define a dog with good behavior. Poet was food motivated, making it easy to teach him “stay” and “come” in the house. At issue? He lost all interest in treats and training when outside. His ears were cute Papillon, but his short-cropped fur and unyielding fixation on squirrels, rabbits, and virtually anything that moved pointed directly to terrier.

Undeterred, I worked with him often, convinced his stubbornness could be cured by patience, consistency, and Margo’s good influence. She found great pleasure in being a pleaser and enjoyed every enthusiastic word, vigorous rub of her belly, and crunch of a small treat. On occasion, Poet would let his eyes wander to Margo, following her moves. On those days, I felt like a champion trainer, both dogs’ eyes on me, attentive, watching for hand signals, responding when asked, chomping on treats when successful.

One beautiful summer evening, the kind I wished could be bottled and uncorked when winter cold seeped into short, gray days, I took Poet outside with Margo. He’d been exhibiting good citizenry of late. I unhooked the lunge line. He ran circles until Margo was wound up and trailing him. As she closed in, Poet doubled back and ran for her ears, grasping her thick, long fur, tugging until she barked. Margo tossed her head, throwing Poet in the air. He shook his head vigorously when he landed, sat back on his haunches, then leapt at her again. Margo laid down, letting Poet jump over and on her while she rolled and wiggled with a grin.

Both dogs ran to the garage to drink from the large metal pasta pot now serving as a water dish. I knelt to gather the training treats that had fallen from the bag and curled the long lunge line into a tidy circle. As I stood, I caught the tip of Margo’s black tail rounding the corner on the outside of the garage, heading for the front yard.

“Stop” I shrieked.

Read more

MOM Moments are monthly SubStack Live conversations between Cindy Ojczyk, author of Mom Loves the Dogs More, and an expert in parenting people and/or parenting pets. The goal of these MOM Moments is to provide listeners with knowledge and resources to create loving, enriching, and lasting relationships.

Betty, Apil, Lizzie, Annie, Nina, Isabelle, and Shiloh were the dogs who found temporary home in ours when their families could no longer keep them in theirs. They were surrendered with hope that another family would provide the care they couldn’t.

The other eighteen dogs we fostered carried no papers describing their histories, their families, or the reason for the predicaments in which they were found. They had been dumped and left to survive on their own.

Being a human can be hard. Job loss. Housing instability. Medical crisis. Deployment. Domestic violence. Death of a family member. The list of reasons people find themselves unable to care for a pet grows ever longer. And when life turns upside down for a person, it can be life-altering for the animal who depends on them.

At the center of so many of these stories is the rising cost of veterinary care. To explore that reality, I sat down with Dr. Melanie Moore, DVM, and Adam Spencer, founder of Furlanthropy to talk about the challenges—and the solutions—around affordable pet care.

We began with Adam and his nonprofit crowdfunding platform, Furlanthropy. What sets the organization apart is its nonprofit status. As a 501(c)(3), Furlanthropy can accept cash AND non-cash donations—everything from stocks and bonds to IRA gifts, donor advised funds, employer matches and so on. Donations are tax deductible eligible and can be directed to either the general fund or to a specific campaign.

Furlanthropy stands apart from other crowdfunding platforms in their efforts to prevent fraud. Fundraisers are verified to ensure they are truly seeking help in the care of their pets. Funds raised are paid to the service provider, such as the veterinarian or the pharmacy, not to the individual seeking help. In cases where bills have already been paid, reimbursement is possible with proper documentation.

Once a campaign is created on the Furlanthropy site, fundraisers are guided through the process of creating a complimentary Facebook Fundraiser page, dramatically expanding both reach and impact.

Dr. Melanie Moore, DVM, brings deep experience in community medicine, delivering care in marginalized communities with limited resources. Through that work, she’s developed a strong appreciation for prevention as a cornerstone for both health and affordability.

She spoke about essential vaccines for dogs and cats, as well as the growing importance of Lyme disease prevention. Many pet supply stores now offer low-cost vaccine clinics, helping to make preventative measures affordable and accessible. Dr. Moore emphasized the value of sharing vaccination records and schedules with a pet’s primary veterinary clinic to support continuity of care and better health outcomes, especially during emergencies.

When the conversation turned to the role of unhealthy weight, Dr. Moore stressed the importance of compassion over shame. The goal is solutions, not judgment. While a pet may present as healthy in the exam room, excess weight over time increases a pet’s risk for costly conditions such as cardiovascular disease, diabetes, kidney and liver disease, and joint issues.

Spay and neuter were discussed for their value in preventing costly health-related issues such as uterine infections and cancer in female pets and testicular cancers and prostate problems in males.

The ASPCA (American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals) was highlighted as a highly credible resource for identifying common household and garden toxins. They offer comprehensive, easily navigable guides covering poisonous plants and decorative flowers, seasonal hazards, foods, medications, and everyday household products—tools that help pet parents prevent emergencies and avoid the emotional and financial burden of urgent veterinary care.

From preventative care to emergency support, both discussions underscored the same reality: when humans are struggling, pets feel it too—and thoughtful, accessible solutions can change the outcome for both.

HOW TO REACH ADAM SPENCER

• paws@furlanthropy.org

• https://furlanthropy.org

  Adam's Substack

  My personal Substack

  By Adam Spencer

HOW TO REACH DR. MELANIE MOORE, DVM

There are several ways to read Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue.

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Welcome to a new issue of PetStack, a monthly post of pet tales submitted by readers of Like People, Like Pets. PetStack illuminates our connection to the intelligence, compassion, inspiration, and love wrapped in four-legged, furry packages.

Perhaps the greatest gift an animal has to offer is a permanent reminder of who we really are.” - Nick Trout

This woman has a creative gift, was my first thought after reading one Substack story and perusing her website. Then I read the reviews of her book Good Grief: On Loving Pets, Here and Hereafter. It was clear E.B. Bartels, who writes E.B.’s Notes & News, knows how to connect heart to heart. Sprinkle a baby and two turtles onto her stories and the recipes grow richer. The tale she submitted to PetStack reader stories reminds me of the famous quote by swimmer Lewis Pugh. “If you get the basics right, everything else falls into place.” Caring for pets helps one to practice consistency in the actions that matter. E.B.’s tale below is truly a like people, like pets story.

“Nothing prepared me for motherhood quite like having a reactive rescue dog. There are so many parallels I hadn’t expected––Luca, my two-year-old son, also loses his mind every time a truck drives by and comes running whenever he hears a bag of his favorite snacks crinkle. Luca’s special place on the couch is the same spot where our dog Seymour used to perch: leaning on the back of the sofa, nose pressed against the glass of the window, watching the neighborhood activities.

Above all, though, a dog like Seymour required patience and creativity. The first night he spent in our home, Seymour––a stray who had been shipped north from a St. Augustine, Florida shelter––looked at the steep stairs in our old New England colonial with wide eyes. He didn’t know how to climb them. We carried him upstairs to our bedroom that first night, and the following day, every day for that first week, I left treats on the steps, higher and higher each time, until Seymour eventually could zoom up and bomb down the stairs with joyful confidence. I’d never before had a dog so fearful and confused, and it took creativity to figure out how to work with him on his issues, and patience to stick with it, troubleshoot, and try new techniques if the first trick didn’t work.

Luca, too, didn’t know how to use the stairs at first. It takes a lot of patience to stand with him as he insists “Luca do it self” and then takes his sweet time climbing up each step on his hands and knees. So many things now would take two seconds if I did them myself, but “Luca wanna help” and so I take a deep breath and let him put one sock at a time in the washer machine, reminding myself he is learning important skills. And creativity is always necessary when it comes to getting a toddler to eat: Luca refuses his morning yogurt? Throw on some sprinkles and call it “breakfast ice cream.” When Luca recently refused to take his bubble gum amoxicillin for an ear infection, I thought of how I’d hide pills for Seymour in chunks of cheese or hot dogs. Eventually I figured out that Luca was happy to take the “pink medicine” as long as he could sip it up with a fun straw.

Creativity and patience, patience and creativity. Every day, over and over. I had no idea that having a reactive rescue dog would make me a better mom, but taking care of Seymour helped me learn how to take care of Luca, and I know now that taking care of Luca is helping me prepare to care for another future dog, whatever his issues may be. - story by E.B. Bartels”

MIDNIGHT & SNICKERS GOTCHA DAY APRIL 16

As I drove north to Cass Lake, Minnesota, for a Leech Lake Legacy volunteer weekend, I replayed past pet surrender stories in my head—families displaced by fire, children rehoming pets after a parent’s death, the inevitable wave of kittens that comes with spring. Every weekend brings surprises, but none more than Snickers and Midnight.

The two senior boys—brothers from other mothers—were sharing a triple kennel. Skinny Midnight paced frantically, desperate for attention, while plump Snickers huddled in the center litter box, golden eyes fixed anywhere but on me. Their family could no longer afford their care. A foster plan had fallen through, and no one had stepped up for two elderly cats needing medical help.

That Sunday, after more than ninety surrendered pets were loaded into transport vans, I buckled Midnight and Snickers into my car and headed home.

For eight months, they were mine. Midnight made frequent vet visits to manage his hyperthyroidism; Snickers needed surgery to remove an infected canine tooth. As they healed, their personalities blossomed—vocal Midnight, snuggly Snickers—and both imprinted firmly on my heart.

After months of care and a growing social media following, they found their forever home. One of the greatest gifts of fostering is staying connected with adopters who share stories of new love and laughter. It’s been a year since the boys found Kris. I’m forever grateful to their mom.

Happy Gotcha Day.

EMPTY NEST NEXT CHAPTER GIVEAWAY

Big kids. Big transitions. Big emotions. Whether you’re preparing for an empty nest or already in it, you deserve support (and maybe a prize). From now until April 14, 2026, you can enter to win one of four giveaway prizes designed for empty-nesters and parents of older teens and young adults. A small celebration for a big life chapter! Click here to learn about the prizes, the authors and writers who are collaborating, and the details on how to enter.

BUY A BOOK. MAKE A DIFFERENCE

Today, you have two options to buy Mom Loves the Dogs More: A Memoir of Family Rescue to supoprt organizations making a positive impact on people and pets.

1. Every book purchased through this link will help save lives: a $5.00 donation will be made to The Street Dog Coalition Minneapolis Team to help pets of people experiencing homelessness or at risk for homelessness.

2. Every book purchased through this link will help support veterinary mental health: a $5.00 donation will be made to Not One Move Vet and their effort to honor and elevate sustainable well-being in veterinary professionals.

   

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