Uncle Arthur

Yesterday I helped transport two dogs to a rescue place in Tavistock. One was a loud wriggly pup called Colin: the other was a grand old man Staffy called Arthur, who was very gentle and cuddly, and just wanted to snooze. They were both strays whose time was up in a Northern pound. Strays get 7 days for their owners to collect them, then they are put to sleep if the kennel space is needed for more strays.

Luckily the Devon rescue had a couple of spare spaces. 5 people formed a chain to drive them from Lancashire to Devon.

Today I got a call to say that Arthur had to be put to sleep because this morning he was breathing badly and an x-ray showed that he had a massive lump in his lungs.

14 other staffies died today as well, young healthy ones, because they ran out of time at the pound. This time there were no rescue spaces and no transport run.

Sometimes life is really poo.

I'm sorry I'm doing so many pet posts at the moment, I know it's a bit much, I'll try to cut back.