Rottweiler Breeder, German Rottweilers, German
rottweiler puppies, Rottweiler Stud dog, Rotti puppies, British Columbia,
Many Rottweilers are abandoned each year, dogs who are wonderful examples of the breed
and whose only fault is being owned by people who no longer want or care for them. Like many
abandoned dogs, these animals may suffer from physical or behavioral problems that stem
from lack of training, unrealistic expectations, or a genetic predisposition. When housed
with committed owners, many of these dogs turn out to be fantastic pets. Breed rescue
volunteers make sure the animals receive veterinary care (shots, spay/neuter,
etc), house them (with some basic obedience training and just plain manners), and take on the task
of finding a new, permanent home for the dog.
If a person decides to adopt a homeless purebred Rottweiler, they can contact either
Rottweiler rescue or their local animal shelter. Rottweiler rescue volunteers are breed
experts. This breed-specific knowledge helps find a dog-owner match that is likely to work
long-term . Breed experts can reach a realistic assessment of the dog's qualities, good and
bad. Rottweiler rescue volunteers work with animal shelter volunteers, don't hesitate to
Anyone who is considering breeding their purebred dog should spend several months
working in breed rescue. Such work will help them better understand the complexities
of permanently placing the puppies they breed.
a list of Rottiweiler Rescues. If you are interested in giving a loving
home to one of the many homeless Rottweilers, please take a moment to go to one
of the following sites. Also, please take a look at our Dogs
Needing Homes Page, before it is too late, and they end up at the Rainbow
USA Nation Wide:
By Jim Willis 2001
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, I became your best friend. Whenever I was
you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" - but then
you'd relent, and roll me over for a bellyrub.
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 home comings, 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
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
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. 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.
The End - Jim Wllis
** A note from the author:
If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it,
as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the
millions of formerly owned pets who die each year in American and Canadian
animal shelters. Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a noncommercial
purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice.
Rescue Graphics used with Permission of Copyright Holder: Peggy Rose. www.laughingrott.com