Owner Surrenders

Do You Really Have to Give Up Your Dog?

The reality is that MABBR is contacted daily by shelters, animal control officers, humane societies, owners, and rescuers from all over the United States asking for our assistance to save the life of a Pit Bull in need. We can’t come close to keeping up with the number of dogs that need us. There are thousands of homeless pit bulls in Midwest shelters alone, and most of them won’t make it out alive.  There simply aren’t enough homes or resources for them all.  If you plan on taking your pet to a shelter, it is an almost certain death sentence for them, especially when that dog is a pit bull.

We  realize that owning a pet is not easy and at times if can feel completely overwhelming. We also understand that at times things truly do feel impossible. Half of the animals on deathrow in the shelter were owned bypeople who cared about their welfare and felt they had no other options. We believe that nothing is impossible if you put your heart into it.

There are limitless resources available to help you manage your pet and find a way to keep them in your home. Please visit the many training links available on our site. If you don’t see what you’re looking for contact us and we’ll be glad to find the information you need. MABBR is dedicated to doing everything we can to help you KEEP your pet as a part of your family.

There is nothing we want more than to help you find a way to keep your pet. We will gladly help you through every step of the way. The resources available to help you keep your pet are endless. We beg you to take the time to ask for help and keep your family together. We are committed fully to helping you do so. We’ve successfully helped hundreds of families stay together.  The solution is out there if you look for it!  We’re very willing to help you find it.

The following poems are the reality of what happens to the dogs that are abandoned.

I found your dog today

Author Unknown

I found your dog today.

No, he has not been adopted by anyone. Most of us who live out here own as many dogs as we want. Those who do not own dogs do so because they choose not to.

I know you hoped he would find a good home when you left him out here, but he did not.

When I first saw him, he was miles from the nearest house and he was alone, thirsty, thin, and limping from a cactus burr in his paw.

How I wish I could have been you as I stood before him. To have seen his tail wag and his eyes brighten as he bounded into your arms, knowing you would find him, knowing that you had not forgotten him.

To see the forgiveness in his eyes for the suffering and pain he had known in his never ending quest to find you…

But I was not you.

And despite all my persuasion, his eyes beheld a stranger. He did not trust and he would not come to me.

He turned and continued his journey, one he was sure would soon bring him to you.

He does not understand you are not looking for him. He only knows you are not there. He only knows he must find you.

This is more important than food or water or the stranger who can give him these things.

Persuasion and pursuit seemed futile. I did not even know his name. I drove home, filled a bucket with water and a bowl with food and returned to where we had met.

I could see no sign of him but I left my offering under the tree where he had sought shelter from the sun and a chance to rest.

You see, he is not of the desert. When you domesticated him, you took away any instinct of survival out here. His purpose demands that he travel during the day. He doesn’t know that the sun and heat will claim his life. He only knows that he has to find you.

I waited, hoping he would return to the tree. Hoping my gift would build a an element of trust so I might bring him home, remove the burr from his paw, give him a cool place to lie and help him understand that the part of his life with you is now over.

He did not return that morning and at dusk the water and food were still untouched. And I worried.

You must understand that many people would not attempt to help your dog. Some would run him off, others would call the county and the fate you thought you saved him from would be preempted by his suffering from days without food and water.

I returned before dark. I did not see him. I went again early the next morning only to find the food and water still untouched.

If only you were here so you could call his name. Your voice is so familiar to him.

I began pursuit in the direction he had taken yesterday, doubt overshadowing my hope of finding him. His search for you was desperate. It could take him many miles in 24 hours.

It is hours later and a good distance from where we first met, but I have found your dog. His thirst has been stopped. It is no longer a torment to him. His hunger has disappeared. He no longer aches.

The burrs in his paws bother him no more. Your dog has been set free from his burdens.

You see, your dog has died. I kneel next to him, and I curse you for not being here yesterday so I could have seen the glow, if just for a moment, in those now vacant eyes.

I pray that his journey has taken him to that place I think you had hoped he would find.

If only you knew what he went through to reach it….

…..and I agonize, for I know that were he to awaken at this moment, and if I were to be you, his eyes would sparkle with recognition and his tail wag with forgiveness.

How Could You?

By Jim Willis 2001

A man in Grand Rapids, Michigan took out a full page ad in the paper to present the following essay to the people of our community. It really touched my heart and i hope it will tours too.

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, age I became your best friend. Whenever I was”bad,” you’d shake your finger at me and ask “How could you?”-but then you’d relent, and roll me over for a belly rub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams,and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because “ice cream is bad for dogs,” you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a “dog person”-still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.

Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a “prisoner of love.”

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch-because your touch was now so infrequent-and I would have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me.

These past few years, you just answered “yes” and changed the subject. I had gone from being “your dog” to “just a dog,” and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You’ve made the right decision for your “family,” but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said “I know you will find a good home for her.”

They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with “papers.” You had to pry your son’s fingers loose from my collar as he screamed “No, Daddy! Please don’t let them take my dog!” And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.

After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home.

They shook their heads and asked “How could you?”

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you- that you had changed your mind-that this was all a bad dream … or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.

When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.

I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room.

She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her.

The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured “How could you?”

Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said “I’m so sorry.” She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn’t be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself-a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my “How could you?” was not directed at her.

It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.

May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

Do I Go Home Today?

By Sandi Thompson

My family brought me home cradled in their arms.
They cuddled me and smiled at me and said I was full of charm.
They played with me and laughed with me and showered me with toys.
I sure do love my family, especially the girls and boys.
The children loved to feed me, they gave me special treats.
They even let me sleep with them – all snuggled in the sheets.
I used to go for walks, often several times a day.
They even fought to hold the leash, I’m very proud to say.
These are the things I’ll not forget – a cherished memory.
I now live in the shelter-without my family.
They used to laugh and praise me when I played with that old shoe.
But I didn’t know the difference between the old ones and the new.
The kids and I would grab a rag, for hours we would tug.
So I thought I did the right thing when I chew the bedroom rug.
They said that I was out of control, and would have to live outside.
This I did not understand, although I tried and tried.
The walks stopped, one by one; they said they hadn’t time.
I wish that I could change things, I wish I knew my crime.
My life became so lonely, in the backyard, on a chain.
I barked and barked all day long to keep from going insane.
So they brought me to the shelter but were embarrassed to say why,
They said I caused an allergy, and then they each kissed me goodbye.
If I’d only had some classes, as a little pup.
I wouldn’t have been so hard to handle when I was all grown up.
“You only have one day left.” I heard the worker say.
Does that mean I have a second chance?
Do I go Home today?

A Dumped Dog’s Prayer

Author Unknown

Don’t close the door! Don’t push me away.
Why are you leaving? Don’t make me stay.
Slow down the car, I can’t keep up.
This pavement is hot and my pads are cut.
I’ve got to quit running or my heart will pop.
Every muscle is aching. Why don’t you stop?
I’m so hungry and thirsty. Darkness is near.
But I shouldn’t leave, he will come for me here.
Several weeks have passed, I am dead on my feet.
They call me a nuisance because I eat off the streets.
Every car that passes, I chase it to see
If it’s my master coming for me.
Though I approach those that come near
With trust in my eyes and no sign of fear.
With hate in their voices and a cold, heartless stare,
They threaten to kill me – they don’t even care.
Batter my body with rocks that they throw,
I will not leave, he will come, don’t you know?
Overtaken with weakness, my body is numb.
I’m sick and so lonely. Oh please, let him come!
I will go back where he first threw me out.
I’ll wait for him there, he will come, no doubt.
My thoughts are fading. My chest feels like lead.
I’m sleepy, so sleepy – I can’t lift my head.
It’s so quiet, so peaceful — all remains still.
There is my master at my home on the hill.
Yes, I can see him, he’s calling my name.
His voice is so gentle, his hands are the same.
He decided he wants me. Things will be fine.
I really do love him, that master of mine.
My tail wags with pleasure. I can’t catch my breath.
He came in my dreams, but so did my death.

Get Adobe Flash player