Boxey is one happy pup. He's one of those pups who kinda runs around in circles super excited to be outside but when I call out to him, he stops on a dime and looks at me, looking for interaction. Luv his spotty nose.

A lot of the northern Quebec dogs which have been rescued from an uncertain life outdoors surprise me with how well-behaved they are and Sophie's no exception. She's not leash trained but she hardly pulls on the leash. She's alert to her surroundings but still attentive to me. When I pull out the treats, she knows to sit and wait though judging from how skinny she is, I can tell she must have known hunger for much of her life.

I only manage to take three pictures of her and then my camera battery gives out. One turns out to be out of focus and the other two are almost identical so here's one of those two. She's doing her puffy cheeks look at me, waiting for more cookies.

A few weekends ago, I took some photos of dogs with Santas for a Speaking of Dogs charity event. These are rescued dogs all with homes, in case any of you were wondering. Here's a few of them:

Here's an update from Penny's owner along with some super happy dog photos:

You know how there's always a seemingly perfect child in every household? Smart, obedient, responsible, eager to please... Well, that's not Lou (the SharPug formerly known as Penny). Lou's quite happy to let her big sister, Nico, claim that title, 'cause the 'problem child' always has more fun - destroying her sister's toys and stealing her food, chasing the cats around the house, roaming off at the leash-free, barking at strangers...

Mind you, like most rebels, she's not without significant charm. In the year-ish since we adopted her, she's gone from shy, sad, puppy mill rescue to - pardon my French and know I say it googly-eyes lovingly - our Little Shit. From her jump-out-of-her-skin-bumwiggly happy dance, to her insistence on sleeping on Nico's, or our daughter's butt (one family member once remarked that she'd probably never be a cuddlebug - ha ha ha), to her obsession with the cats' laser pen (hilarious and tragic to watch as she's blind in one eye), and her gremlin voice, or the ecstatic grin on her face when she catches up with us at the dog park - she is perfectly imperfect. And then, of course, there's that face. 

(This post was written last week. The two dogs, Albert and Layla, mentioned in here have been adopted since then.)

Sunday afternoon at Toronto Animal Services South. I'm upstairs in the office with Jen and Shannon talking about the new restaurants in the neighbourhood. Someone brings in a cardboard box.

Jen looks inside.

"It needs water," she says. "Looks like it's been poisoned or something."

I look into the box and see a black cat, bone thin, tear encrusted eyes, trying to hold itself up against the side of the box.

"We need to get it to the emergency clinic," Jen says. "Are you a boy or a girl?" she asks and checks as she gently transfers the cat to a proper carrier. "Oh, you're a girl."

"How do you know she's been poisoned," I ask.

"Dilated pupils. She can barely stand. She's dying. It might be something else but it looks like poison. The vet will find out and let us know."

There are no drivers available to take the cat to the Veterinary Emergency Clinic downtown so Jen decides to take the cat herself. It'll take an hour and a half to make the return trip so she'll have to stay late that night at the shelter to finish her work there.

I walk downstairs with Albert, a Poodle, and on the way see Layla behind the front desk. Layla is a small, fragile white Maltese who had been used as a breeding dog for her whole life of seven years. She looks up at me, curious, not nearly as shy anymore as the last time I saw her.

Layla is still on pain killers and is waiting on an all-clear from the vet before she goes into adoption (update: please note that as of this posting, Layla has been adopted).

James walks in through the front door. It's his day off so he's wearing civilian clothes. He's got a cat carrier and I look inside but the dark silhouette doesn't look feline.

"What've you got?" I ask.

"Domestic duck," James says. "There's a bunch of them out by ---------."

"What do you mean, domestic?"

"They were kept by someone and then dumped. They don't know how to take care of themselves on their own."

"You must've had a fun time catching them."

"The first bunch were easy. I just stood there and they came running to me biting at my legs because they were all starving. Now the rest are a little more skittish. This one I had to spend the afternoon out there, trying to tempt it with food and then I netted it." As he walks away to the temporary duck pen, James says, "The other ones brought in have already been rehomed. I'll have to find a place for this one."

I take Albert outside. Albert was found with 13 other poodley dogs in an apartment where the original call to the city was for a bug infestation. All the others have already been adopted or fostered out. Albert is the last one. He's a sad little guy with a quizzical expression on his face. It had taken him weeks to come out of his shell and take his first intrepid steps outside. Now he's still a little uncertain at times but mostly trots along beside me as we walk.

It's cold out. I've put Albert's Christmas sweater on him and he seems to be doing okay. I'm pretty sure he'll be home before Santa comes calling (update: please note that as of this posting, Albert has been adopted).

I haven't been spending as much time at the shelter these last few weeks and sometimes I ask myself why I keep going at all. Is it guilt? A sense of responsibility? No, if it were just that, I would have abandoned the cause long ago. I go because there are the animals, of course, and the sense of groundedness they provide me. There are the photos and the writing which are a creative outlet and make me think I may be doing something useful when I post them online. But a large part of it, something which I hadn't thought about until recently, is that it allows me to be around people who care, who spend their lives caring and who act upon that care. It's a shelter not just for the animals but also against a world fixated on selfish things. In many ways, it's a shelter against the momentum of my own life.

I don't usually post dogs I've never met before but I'm making an exception for Moogly because I've got a soft spot for Great Danes and also because I know Michelle from IFAW and trust her judgment.

She just returned from a dog rescue mission to bring back dogs from some northern Quebec communities and came across this emaciated Great Dane who had been living outdoors for two years now. Anyone who knows Great Danes knows they aren't made to be outdoors dogs, especially not outdoors in northern Quebec winters, and I'm surprised Moogly had managed to survive this long. Given how thin he's looking now, I doubt he would've been able to survive another cold season. The thought of a Great Dane out in the frozen night is not something I want to imagine, knowing how much Stella (my own previous Great Dane) shivered and needed layers of blankets in the winter even when she was indoors.

From Michelle:

His name is Moogly, and we’ve been trying to get him out for a while. He is from Mistissini, and when I was here in April he’s one of the ones we spotted and photographed. He was thin, thin, thin and people we spoke to said he was owned but that his people were not caring for him and that he just roamed the community. We spent the better part of a day looking for his owners, but never found them. Months later he was given to Manon, our rescue partner in Chapais and she rehomed him. The new home did not work out because they didn’t care for him properly either. So, here we are, finally getting him and looking to place him in a super duper home. He is a big Dane, but sweet and friendly and great with other dogs. His photo, taken in the community in April, is attached. He is, sadly, just as thin now.

Max spent the whole ride down from Northern Quebec, where he was rescued, to Toronto Animal Services, where he is now in adoption, with his head resting on the shoulder of Michelle, the driver. To say Max is happy to be around his people would be an understatement. It constantly amazes me that dogs like Max are at risk in their original environments. Toronto may have its faults, but we can be pretty proud of the way we generally treat our companion animals.

Layla is behind the front desk looking up at everyone who peers over the gate to say hello. She's far removed now from the place where she'd been used as a breeding dog for her whole life of seven years. As with most puppy millers, expenses were kept to a minimum and health care was an expense. In Layla's case, the result was that during her visit to the vet, after her arrival at Toronto Animal Services South, it was determined almost all her teeth had to be pulled because they were so badly rotted and deteriorated. When Layla opens her mouth in a dog smile, I see she's got at least one tooth remaining - her canine.

Charlie keeps stopping at the end of his leash and waits for me to catch up. He's excited about being outside but polite enough to slow down so he's not pulling the whole time. I like this guy. A good energy level but calm and just the right mix of reserve and friendliness.

He was left at TAS South by his owners who said they were moving.

Albert was found with thirteen other Poodley dogs in an apartment where the original call to the city was for a bug infestation. All the others have already been adopted or fostered out. Albert is the last one. It took weeks for him to come out of his shell and take his first intrepid steps outside. Now he's still a little uncertain at times but mostly trots along beside me as we walk.