God has a sense of humor. Of all the things I thought I would be doing at this stage of my life, I would never have guessed I would be a full time POMERANIAN rescuer.

I have to chuckle at the looks people give me, when they see my PomRescue.com T shirt or I mention what fills my life 24/7. Why couldn’t it at least be a breed that doesn’t conjure up pictures in the mind of orange, fuzzy, cartoon like, ‘foo foo dogs’? I mean- I have had German Shepherds my whole life! Think how noble one is to rescue German Shepherds. Or Goldens. Or Labs. etc etc. One can be taken seriously. But Pomeranians?
I frequently am asked by people with bewildered looks, “Do Pomeranians need rescue?” Then the door is opened for me to explain that not all Pomeranians are loved, cute, and sit on a pillow all day. Oh how I wish that were true! My computer hard drive is filled with images of the old, blind, deaf, sick, neglected and abused.
Every day I sort through hundreds of emails that read like this: ‘Urgent! Last day!’ and ‘Senior Pom dumped at kill shelter after owner dies’, then ‘Blind Pom in animal control, only has until tomorrow’, and ‘Puppymill Poms in humane society need rescues today, they are out of room- PTS tomorrow!’ (PTS is the abbreviated way of saying put to sleep)All are urgent. All are worthy. All need rescue. That is where I come in. I get the call, or read the email. I have to make the heart calls. Who can I help? Who is beyond my help? Do we have room? Do we have the money to care for the dog when we get it?

The adrenalin starts pumping. I send off a quick responses. Telling them to hang on, to pack their bags, I am coming. I pull on the silly PomRescue.com Tshirt and slip my feet in to my old bleachable ’shelter shoes’. I call one of my sisters or my husband and ask if they want to ride ’shot gun’. Most times they do, but sometimes it is just me and TomTom(navigational system). I load the car with cameras, crates, towels, Capstar(for fleas) leashes, emergency Nutrical, food, water and paperwork.
When I look at my hands they clenched in to fists as if I am going to do battle. I have to shake the tension from my shoulders. This is going to be a long day…….

Part 2:

After I get the call or email, and make the decision that we can rescue the needy Pom- I am a bundle of energy until I get the dog safe back home. Experience has shown me that there are just so many things that can happen between the time I get the information and the time I hold the pupper in my arms.

To explain a little further, Poms do TERRIBLY in a shelter environment. Because of their small size, many times they will get backed in to a corner of the cage or kennel and when the worker goes to reach for them – they may try to defend themselves.

A growl, a lifted lip, or (Heaven forbid) a bite, can mean the dog is put to sleep. The shelters do not want to assume liability for a dangerous dog. Many times I have been asked to go back and get the dog out of the kennel as the workers do not want to have to deal with them. I take a heavy towel and drape it over the head of the dog and then lift it up. When I am standing upright again, I can then just drop the towel off of their head and wrap them in it for security.

Often they have sat in a steel cage or crate with out being taken out to go to the bathroom, so they are soaked in urine, and poop is stuck to their hindquarters. The fluffy skirts of a Pom are really bad to cause the mess to stick to them. On one shelter pick up, I had to pull over and stop at a Dollar store to buy a pair of scissors, cleaning gloves, paper towels & air freshener for the car. I actually had to cut the mess off the poor Pom in the parking lot, just so we could stand to ride in the car. I cannot imagine how he stood it for so long! Now I carry paper towels, scissors & gloves on all my shelter runs.

Because the Poms do so badly in the shelters, they may not have eaten or drank water in a long time. I had one little Pom boy(remember Moppet?) actually flop his head over on my arm and pass out as I was walking out to the animal control parking lot. I thought it was too late for him. He was in horrid condition. Nothing but bones and smell. Thankfully I have learned to carry Nutrical and Nutridrops in the car so I was able to revive him pretty quick. That was a close call.
When I first walk in to a shelter, I stand in front of a counter and wait for someone to help me. Often the waiting area for rescue pick ups is in the receiving area for people to leave their pets.
So many times I have been scarred by watching the thoughtless, ignorant and uncaring way that people turn in their faithful animals. These are the same animals that would run in to a burning building, or jump off a cliff after them. The dogs just trustingly walk by their owners side as they are handed over, sometimes to a certain death.
Even after the employee tells them in no uncertain terms that the animal they are leaving will most likely be put to sleep(PTS) because they have no room and are over crowded. Owner turn ins (OTI) have the least time in a shelter before they are PTS. Strays may be held a little longer to give the owners a chance to find them.
The very worst I can remember was a lovely silver haired lady that looked like someone’s Grandmother. She walked in with an immaculate tri-color Beagle. I was amazed at how white his white was. He was older and a lot of that white was around his muzzle. I knew before the shelter employee said a word, that this old, trusting boy didn’t have a chance. The owner signed the document and walked out with out a second glance.
No! I wanted to scream. You can’t do this to him! Don’t you know what is going to happen to an old dog in an already crowded shelter!? She knew.The shelter employee had explained it to her. And she left him anyway.
There was nothing I could do but add another scar to my collection.
Sadly, I stepped up to the counter and with my eyes full of tears said,
“I am PomRescue.com. I am here for the Pom”. The employee – disgusted with the last transaction – looks at me with a bit of incredulance, almost like she is having trouble understanding the words I said, and walks to the back.
It is time for our little miracle to begin.
I am a Pom rescuer and this is what I do.
Elaine Harris

Part 3
The animal shelter worker comes back out and hands the Pom across the counter. Usually they are shivering and shaking – scared to death. Most of the time the dog looks nothing like what I could make out of the tiny poor quality picture I was sent. I don’t have high expectations. If the dog was young and cute and fluffy, they would not need rescue.They would be adopted on the spot.

I always bring a towel so I can bundle them up and help them to feel safe, not to mention to keep my shirt from becoming stinky for the ride home. After re-assuring the Pom for a while I put them him inside my crate and ask the shelter employee if I can leave the Pom behind the counter as I do a walk through. Most of the time this is not a problem.

This is when I transition in to a ’shelter walker’. I take my video and still cameras and walk the rows and rows of kennels and cages, taking pics, videos and gathering as much information as I can about each dog. I pet, and talk to each one and try to remember as much as I can. There was a elderly German Shepherd(GSD), an energetic Akita, a white Spitz, a large black Lab, a senior Jack Russel(JRT) and the list goes on. When I get home I will take the pics, info & videos and send out emails on each dog to the breed rescues, general rescues, and regional rescues, as well as posting on Facebook. Some times that little extra bit of exposure is just what the dog needs to get a rescue group interested in coming for him.
After I am finished with the walk through, I promise myself I will do all I can for the ones I have left behind and I go back up front to retrieve our little rescue.
One little dog. It is not much, but it is much to that one little dog.
I feel a warm glow inside as I pick up the crate, go through the doors and walk out in to the fresh air. It feels so good to be outside. You just cannot imagine how good the air smells when you leave a shelter.
I can’t wait to get home and get our dog in the sink to get him all clean!
At the car I take the canned food I have brought, break open a Capstar and feed it to the Pup. This kills the fleas before we get home. I learned the hard way that a drowning flea can easily jump from a soapy wet nose to the closest dry object….usually me!
Then I offer a drink of water and a little walk about to stretch their legs and let them go to the bathroom.
We have already started bonding at this point. I have become their provider and protector, thus I am their leader. It is almost mystical how this happens. It is like there is a silken thread is woven from their heart to mine and we will always be connected in some way – even long after they have gone to live with their forever families.
I am a Pom rescuer and this is what I do….Elaine Harris

Part 4:
As I drive home my mind wanders back to past rescues.
Once there was a whole Pom family turned in. A teenage daughter had been given a gift of an unspayed female Pom. She thought it would be fun to have puppies. After the fun wore off, the puppies were left to fend for themselves in the back yard. Tired of feeding them, the father of the girl loaded the Mother Pom and the three near feral, almost adult puppies(Stormy, Thunder & Bailey) up and left them at the shelter. They were a matted, nasty, wild mess. That day I brought four rescues home.
Then the very worst came to mind. It was when the shelter employees at our local humane society rolled the two Poms I was to rescue out to me in a grocery cart with a wooden lid on it. They did not even want to touch them. They were Coal and Baxter. Their skin looked like it had a life of its own as it literally crawled with fleas. They were being eaten alive. I still don’t understand why some one didn’t give them something to kill the fleas and relieve their suffering. They had dread locks of fur just hanging off of them. They were so malnourished you could see their hip bones and count their sunken in ribs. Supposedly the owners had left them saying they were moving and could not take them.
From what I could surmise, these dogs must have been left in crates for weeks with out food. They had no muscle tone at all and had pressure sores everywhere.
I remember the feeling of blazing red hot anger rushing to my head. I wanted to hurt somebody and hurt them badly. If I could have gotten my hands on the people that did this to them, I would have had no mercy.
That was in the early days of rescue.
I try not to waste too much energy on anger anymore. If it helps then I can get angry, but most of the time it zaps me of the energy I need to help heal the ones that are hurt by mans stupidity and lack of compassion. I don’t have the time to stay angry.
Now I get pupdates and pictures regularly from Baxter’s family, and I smile every time I think of him and how spoiled he is.
Coal had a wonderful home too, but sadly, crossed over a few years ago.
So many little fuzzbutts over the years……..
My stomach growls and I realize it is time to stop for a chicken sandwich. I roll through the drive through before sharing my meal, the first of many, with our new rescue. The time for spoiling has begun.
I am a Pom rescuer and this is what I do….Elaine Harris