Our friends Dick and Helen are keeping busy these days. A few weeks ago, they adopted Promise, a lovable cocker spaniel. Promise’s arrival was greeted by Lily, her new 2-year-old “sister.” Until Promise joined the family, Lily was inconsolable after losing her buddy, B.B., who crossed the rainbow bridge last year. Lily cried almost nonstop whenever our friends left the house. While there’s some sibling rivalry, Lily seems content to share her space.
Dick and Helen adopted Promise through Rock Star Cocker Rescue located in Fulton, Illinois. Rock Star specializes in puppy mill rescues. These unsavory businesses mass-produce puppies and are known for overbreeding dogs to maximize profits.
Puppy mill dogs are usually kept in small wire cages with little chance to play, exercise or socialize. By six to eight weeks, most are sold to pet stores or online. Little wonder mill dogs can develop health and/or behavioral issues and are often abandoned or euthanized.
Helen says that Amari, their seventh rescue, was in a puppy mill for 11 years.
“Considering her life in a cage for that long, she was a sweetheart,” she said. “Sadly, we only had her for 30 months when she passed.”
Rock Star rescues are available for adoption after they are spayed or neutered and have the opportunity to socialize with other dogs and humans. Adoption fees are based on age — the younger the dog, the higher the cost. Promise was three years old, and the fee was $450.
Dogs come with documentation, which ensures new owners are adopting a healthy pet with all its shots. There’s also a peace-of-mind guarantee. If, for any reason, the dog doesn’t work out, Rock Star will take it back, but if you spend any time at all with Dick and Helen, you will see that Promise isn’t going anywhere.
I can relate to what is happening in their lives. Bringing a new pet into your family can be challenging, especially if it’s a rescue dog. I did that three times in my Fox River Valley days and am quite sure I won’t be doing it again. For one thing, Jon is allergic to animal fur. More importantly, my experiences with man’s best friend did not end well.
I was 6 when we adopted Brownie, a collie-shepherd mix Dad got from a neighbor. We kids played with him, but he was not a pet or family member in the contemporary sense. He was a canine farming assistant, a natural herder who rounded up the cows and brought them in from the pasture. Brownie earned his keep until he was too old to work. I assume Dad did what had to be done, and Buttons took his place.
Years later, Casey came into my life. He was a rescue my first husband, R.J., brought home the day after a doctor (erroneously) told me I couldn’t have children. Casey was a shepherd-lab mix, and it was love at first sight. He was beautiful, smart and affectionate.
My high school students knew I had a dog because I occasionally talked about him. Eighteen months after we adopted him, Casey disappeared one night when R.J. let him out at bedtime. We searched everywhere; no dog. I was heartbroken but hopeful he’d come back on his own.
Two weeks later, I was doing crowd-control at a wrestling match. A student approached and said he’d heard a kid bragging that he’d shot Casey in retaliation for the F he got in my English class. He said his body was in a wooded area some distance from our house.
I was stunned. What? No way. Though it was cold and dark when I got home, I had to find out if it was true. We put on warm clothes, grabbed a flashlight and went to look. An hour later, my worst fears were realized. The police said we had no proof, so there was no point in pursuing the matter.
My second dog, Brandy, was another shepherd-lab mix and the most lovable mutt ever. Though I insisted we keep Brandy leashed, R.J. liked to let him run when he was working outside. We lived on Highway 55 in Kaukauna so you can guess what happened. I was devastated and swore I’d never have another dog.
After we had the kids, R.J. took them one day to visit a farmer who had puppies in the barn. Somehow, Copper came home in my son Jeremy’s arms. R.J. built a fence around the yard, yet he too mysteriously disappeared. The kids were overcome with grief, and that was the last straw.
I still love dogs — other people’s dogs, like Lily and Promise. They’re always welcome to visit, but for their own sake, they won’t be moving in. It’s brutal, but the truth is my home is the place dogs go to die.
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
