Sundance Canine Rescue Society

Dogs have long been used to control pests. The British courts of Queen Elizabeth I and Queen Victoria entrusted Manchester Terriers with the royal duties of ridding their castles of rats. Ratting duties continued in to WWI. One of Lt.-Col. Edwin Hautenville Richardson’s young pups, an Irish Terrier called Norah, was trained by Private Thomas Radford of the Canadian Veterinary Corps to become a ratter. She made headlines as “Champion rat dog of the western front” for having killed 628 rats in three years of service.

Gander was a Newfoundland dog posthumously awarded the Dickin Medal, the "animals' VC", in 2000 for his deeds in World War II,[1] the first such award in over 50 years.[2]

Gander, initially a family pet named Pal, accidentally scratched a child's face with his paw. Worried that he would be forced to have Pal put down, the original owner gave the large dog to the Royal Rifles, a regiment of the Canadian Army stationed at Gander International Airport, Newfoundland and Labrador. The soldiers quickly renamed him Gander and "promoted" him to sergeant. When the unit was shipped to Hong Kong in the fall of 1941, Gander went along.

The Battle of Hong Kong began on December 8, 1941, the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Gander helped fight the Japanese invaders on three occasions. The last time, Gander picked up a thrown Japanese hand grenade and rushed with it toward the enemy, dying in the ensuing explosion, but saving the lives of several wounded Canadian soldiers.[3]

After efforts by the Canadian War Museum, the People's Dispensary for Sick Animals awarded Gander the Dickin Medal on October 27, 2000, the first such award since 1949. The citation reads:

For saving the lives of Canadian infantrymen during the Battle of Lye Mun on Hong Kong Island in December 1941. On three documented occasions, Gander, the Newfoundland mascot of the Royal Rifles of Canada, engaged the enemy as his regiment joined the Winnipeg Grenadiers, members of Battalion Headquarters "C" Force and other Commonwealth troops in their courageous defence of the island. Twice Gander's attacks halted the enemy's advance and protected groups of wounded soldiers. In a final act of bravery, the war dog was killed in action gathering a grenade. Without Gander's intervention, many more lives would have been lost in the assault.[1]

At the insistence of survivors of the battle, his name was listed with those of 1975 men and two women on the Hong Kong Veterans Memorial Wall in Ottawa, Canada.[3]

(I will say it loud and proud--  CANADIANS KICK ASS...2 LEGGER AND 4 LEGGES ALIKE!)

The Toughest Part of Fostering a Dog is Letting Go.

(taken from the Dogster website-- email link below)

Fostering a homeless shelter dog is one of the most rewarding things you can do. But when the time comes to let go, it can also be wrenching.

Once you’ve become attached to a sweet dog, it can be difficult bordering on impossible to say goodbye. Many people, recognizing their limitations, have told me flat-out that they couldn’t possibly foster because they quickly form a bond and cannot let go.

This is why so many animal rescuers become “foster failures” – i.e. they wind up adopting a dog they initially planned to house on a temporary basis. How do you say farewell to a creature you’ve fed and played with, medicated and cuddled? As one rescuer I know memorably said, “Failure never felt so good.”

But that doesn’t mean foster success feels less good. It feels great – and it frees up room in your home and heart for the next needy K9. But before you can experience the joy of foster success, first you - the foster caregiver – must face some serious separation anxiety. And that ain’t easy.

As foster caregivers, we strive to do what’s in the best interest of the dog in question. And in the case of my beloved Lady Bug, the right thing to do was let go. So that’s what I did yesterday: I entrusted her to an excellent rescue group that already has a beautiful permanent home lined up and waiting for the perfect Chihuahua.

Which is precisely what Bug is. I’ll never forget how calm she remained when the ceiling in my apartment fell in. Or how perfectly housetrained she is. Or her adorable habit of jumping into my lap.

I’m a big-dog person, and I’m a sucker for a K9 in need. That explains how I came to have 6 large dogs, each of them clamoring for my attention 24/7. My mother never fails to let me know that each one of my dogs wants to the the only dog. She always delivers this line with a disapproving shake of her head, as if I’m subjecting the members of my pack to the worst kind of emotional torture imaginable.

Perhaps she is right – unfortunately, like most Moms, she’s almost always right.

In my defense, I’ll say what I always tell my Mom: That my big dogs enjoy each other’s company enormously. But Bug is a different story. Let’s just say she’s not a dog person; she’s a people person. She loves getting attention from members of the human species, and returns that attention a hundredfold. She fits my mother’s profile of a dog who wants to be an only child. Bug wanted me all to herself. And sadly, what with my prior commitment to my family of big dogs, this is not something I was able to give her.

I can, however, do my utmost to see to it that Bug gets exactly what she wants out of life: A wonderful, caring home in which she and her amazing, gravity-defying ears are the radiant center of attention.

As we waited on my stoop for the car to come and pick her up, Bug nestled sweetly in my lap. I buried my face in her neck; she gave me passionate French-Mexican kisses, slipping her tongue into my mouth. It was always difficult to photograph her because she’s a constantly moving target, wiggling at high speeds and moving her head from side to side to take in every detail of her surroundings.

This time, however, I was able to get some amazingly pensive shots of my little girl – that’s how relaxed she was. The most casual observer would’ve had a hard time not noticing how very attached to each other we’d become, my Love Bug and I.

Then her ride appeared.

I handed Bug over to the driver, then ran inside to get her paperwork, postponing the inevitable for just a few minutes more. As I came back down the steps of my building, I nearly called the whole thing off when I saw Bug sitting in the driver’s lap with her ears perked up, watching and waiting for me with laserlike focus. Her worried expression nearly broke my heart! She clearly expected me to join her in the vehicle. But I maintained my resolve, handed over the papers, kissed her two more times - then turned around and went back inside.

I’ll give you the Bug update as soon as I have it. It’s hard to believe a creature weighing just 9 pounds could leave my heart so heavy by her absence. That little dog will be missed in no small way.

(http://blogs.dogster.com/living-with-dogs/the-toughest-part-of-fostering-a-dog-letting-go/2011/05/)