Introducing Georgia, a courageous and tenacious shepherd mix who embarked on a challenging journey filled with both heartache and triumph. Initially found at a remote gas station, Georgia’s future appeared uncertain. But fate took an unexpected turn when her pregnancy was discovered, offering her a fresh start, albeit with its own set of hurdles.
Following her rescue, Georgia, a petite shepherd mix, received a thorough veterinary examination that revealed her impending motherhood, with the puppies expected in about a month. As days passed, Georgia acclimated to her new environment, basking in the freedom and comfort of a welcoming backyard.
Her excitement peaked on the fifteenth day as she eagerly explored her whelping pool. However, tragedy struck on the twenty-fifth day when she went into premature labor. The puppies, too tiny to latch, faced vulnerability and struggled to survive. Two of Georgia’s pups sadly didn’t make it past birth. In a desperate bid to save Georgia’s life, an emergency C-section and spaying were performed.
While Georgia physically recuperated from the ordeal, emotional scars lingered as she yearned for her lost babies. In an effort to offer her comfort and purpose, three motherless newborn kittens were introduced to her on the twenty-seventh day. Despite her grief, Georgia’s nurturing instincts kicked in, and she wholeheartedly embraced the kittens as her own. Even though not all the kittens could latch, Georgia diligently cared for them, bottle-feeding them until they could thrive independently.
Regrettably, one of the kittens passed away, leaving two healthy and thriving babies, named Graffiti and Gumball. Georgia’s dedication to her surviving offspring remained steadfast, providing them with the love and care they needed to flourish. Day by day, the bond between Georgia and her kittens grew stronger, and they found solace and contentment in each other’s presence.
On the thirty-second day, Georgia proudly christened her babies—Graffiti, Gumball, and the newest addition, Goober. The little family flourished, with the kittens opening their eyes, gaining weight, and reveling in the love and protection of their devoted mother.
However, on the forty-fifth day, a new challenge arose as Georgia developed a visible tumor. This brave shepherd mix was about to embark on a journey of cancer treatment and recovery, temporarily separating her from her beloved kittens. Despite this setback, Georgia’s prognosis was positive, and a full recovery was anticipated.
Day 50 marked a new chapter for Georgia as she transitioned to her adoptive home under the name Milo. Her new dad, @torbazorb14, provided her with love, care, and unwavering support throughout her cancer treatment. Day by day, Georgia’s strength and resilience shone through, and on day 70, she completed her final chemo treatment. This resilient little lady, who had endured abandonment, loss, and medical challenges, emerged victorious.
As Georgia continued her recovery, her kittens rapidly grew. They reached a healthy weight of 2.5 pounds and reveled in newfound confidence. While the author, a self-proclaimed dog person, acknowledged missing the mischievous kittens, they celebrated the happy endings awaiting them.
On day 95, a long-awaited reunion unfolded between Georgia (now Milo) and her kitten Gumball, now known as Toby. However, reality didn’t quite align with fairy-tale expectations. Milo displayed a hint of fear, serving as a reminder that animals express their emotions honestly. Nevertheless, it marked a genuine and joyous ending for Milo and Toby.
The pet I’ll never forget: Ella the puppy threw up on me, snubbed me and after 10 years decided to love me
Mum, Dad, my brother Michael: everyone in the family got more affection from our ridgeback-staffie cross. And guess whose bed she used to poo on…
I think the tone was set when Ella threw up over me on the way back from the Dogs Trust. She was three months old, rolling around on the back seat between me and my twin brother, Michael (we’d just turned seven), and wasn’t enjoying her first trip in a car. She could have been sick anywhere – over the seat, over the floor – but for some reason she decided to climb on to me first.
It was the start of a beautiful but strangely one-sided friendship. Ella, a ridgeback-staffie cross, was the perfect dog: playful, energetic, naughty and tolerant. She would let us poke and prod her without complaint, turn her ears inside-out or dress her up in T-shirts or the thick woollen poncho my Greek Cypriot grandma knitted her for the British winter. And she was endlessly loving, at least to the other members of the family. Me? Too often it was as if I didn’t exist. If Michael and I were sitting on the sofa, she’d bound up to him. If I came home after a day out with my dad, he was the one she’d jump at. If I tried to take her for a walk by myself, she’d drag her feet and insist that I fetch my brother.
To add insult to injury, about once a year she would do a poo in the house. Not just anywhere, though: she’d climb the stairs to my room and leave it in a neat pile on top of my bed.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t offended by Ella’s attitude – I loved her just as much as anyone. But it took me a while to realise that in her eyes we were both bitches fighting for our place in the pack. I read that dogs are 98.8% wolf, even yappy little chihuahuas. Ella was a definite she-wolf and my mother (she who opened the tin of dog food every night) was the undisputed alpha female. Ella could handle that fact, but she didn’t want to be the omega female. That was me.
Working out the reasons for Ella’s lack of sisterhood, understanding that her indifference was atavistic and not just casual, didn’t make me any less jealous of my brother, who always took great pleasure in the fact that Ella seemed to prefer him. But I resigned myself to the situation. And then one day (happy ending, anyone?) everything changed. I must have been 16 or 17, we’d been away for a fortnight in France, and when we got back it was me she ran up to first, whining and twisting with pleasure at seeing me again. After that it was like all those years of competition had never happened. We were best friends for ever, or at least for the couple of years she had left. Ella finally loved me.
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