Woofy was not rescued by Big Heart, but we were happy to contribute financially to this rescued companion when she needed to undergo a biopsy for suspected cancer. Unfortunately the biopsy came back positive.

Woofy and her Mom are strong and will still have many more moments of love to share in the coming months. They remain in our hearts as they begin a new journey together.

With warmest thoughts,
The Board of Directors

The Story of Woofy,

One crisp October Saturday, at 8:00 am, (early for me) I answered the phone to a very upset friend. Usually a steady, self-assured woman, Erica was frantic and in tears.

'I can't stand this anymore, it's cruel, it's torture, she's going nuts!'

Half asleep, I mumbled something vaguely sympathetic and asked her to tell me more.

Erica lived next door to a couple with a dog which they kept confined to a pen. In five years, she'd never seen this dog walked, played with, petted, taken inside the house or even talked to by her owners. Once a day, someone would bring water and kibble for her. Her shelter, a cracked plastic dog house, was grossly inadequate. It didn't quite cover her and from October to June, it sat in a puddle. She was wet all winter and roasting all summer.

Spluttering and crying, Erica chocked out the story. A dog lover, she had walked Woofy and played with her frequently for a couple of years, but for some reason, the owners had forbidden her to continue this kindness. In response, Erica had made a hole in the fence near the back of the property. Three or four times a week, she secretly visited, going eye-to-eye through the hole, talking to her and pushing a few bones her way. This was Woofy's only social contact.

In desperation, she frequently dug herself out, trotted over to Erica's front porch and cried at the door. Erica would call her humans. They would drag her back to her pen, all four feet splayed out in resistance. This particular morning, they'd come again and Erica just broke down. She felt the dog was suffering terribly.

'Erica,' I said, 'Relax. You know she's going to dig herself out again. She's been doing it for years. Next time she comes to you, put her in your car right away and get her out of there. Just take her away. They won't care.'

Erica calmed down and I went back to sleep.

At that time, I didn't like dogs. I was afraid of dogs. After being chewed up by a St. Bernard with a brain tumour, who weighed more than me, every dog and its brother figured I was an easy mark. I'd been chased and bitten while jogging, and each bark and snarl struck fear in my heart.

The next morning, around the same time, (very early for a Sunday) the phone rang again. Erica. Excited. 'I got the dog.' she exclaimed. 'Do you know anyone who wants a really good dog? She's so lovely and smart and so friendly and sweet.'

Woofy had made her great escape at 3:00am and Erica had been wakened by her whimpers at the front door. When she called the owners, she simply asked them, 'Let me take this dog off your hands. I can find a home for her today.' To her astonishment, they agreed.

I'm not sure why, but I heard myself say, 'How big is she?'

'Medium-sized!' assured Erica.

And then, 'If you bring her over on the ferry, I'll take her.' We arranged to meet at the Nanaimo terminal.

Once again, I went back to sleep.

En route to the ferry, I picked up a leash, collar and some kibble. 'Oh gosh, I am a dog-owner,' I thought, a bit shell-shocked. The cashier remarked on the purchases and I earned some Brownie points for accepting a rescue-dog, sight unseen. She became the first of Woofy's dogsitters.

Erica rolled into the parking lot and we waved. She opened the door and out tumbled a handsome black female, with brown markings and a gorgeous fluffy tail. A Rottweiller/Lab cross, she weighed 90 pounds. To me she looked humungous!

Clearly confused and frightened, poor Woofy was panting, and distressed-looking, but not in the least unruly. I stroked her head, and she immediately rolled over in submission, gazing up at me with melting brown eyes.

We went home. She barely slept for the first couple of days. Panting and drooling, she was understandably anxious, but her behaviour was exemplary. I took her for walks, and got down on the floor with her, nose to nose. I invited her up on my bed at night. She relaxed in a day or two and we bonded. We began to work out our routine and we both had a lot to learn.

We walked three times a day through the woods, to the beach, and around the neighbourhood. She loved the forest trails, and was delighted with the ocean. Having never been socialized, she didn't get on particularly well with the neighbourhood dogs. Our first two meetings went badly. I called a friend who knows about 'dog behaviour' and we worked at socializing.

We learned to read each other. She got my hand signals and I later understood her nose signals. We tweaked her diet. On raw food, kelp and marrow bones, she lost weight and her coat became glossy and beautiful. The vet pronounced her in excellent health.

Three weeks into our relationship, on one of our woodland walks, she suddenly began to prance and dance around me, dropping to the play bow stance, barking, running away and then back to me. Eyes shining, she was obviously a happy puppy. Perhaps she thought, 'This is my real life, my new life. No more pen.'

Four weeks after I acquired Woofy, I was suspended from my work on ridiculous and unfounded charges. Management would not back down. The road to arbitration was long and arduous and took another 18 months. I became ill from stress. But I had Woofy. She was an incredible gift. She forced me to walk every day, she was pleased and happy with me, and in turn, I always felt loving toward her. I wouldn't have survived this time without her.

Woofy has been with me for two and a half years now. We are great pals. She has grown even more communicative, loves to be around people and literally tries to talk. She still has problems with a couple of the neighbourhood dogs, some of the time, but she's also learned to play. She can be stubborn - if she makes up her mind to stop, go, ignore me, or stay in the car when I want her to come out, there isn't a lot I can do, except bribe her with treats. But I don't mind. She is a terrific dog and I love her to bits.

She is aging. We guess she is at least ten. She's growing deaf, is becoming arthritic and sleeps more than she used to. A fast-growing lump at the base of her tail turned out to be cancerous. I won't put her through another operation and before she suffers for very long, I will 'set her free'. So, she may not be with me for more than another six months or so.

On the up side, she's had a good long stretch of loving attention, excellent food and daily off-leash romps. I am so glad to have given her that. She has given me so much.