A Small Furry Prayer: Dog Rescue and the Meaning of Life [NOOK Book]

Overview

Steven Kotler was forty years old, single, and facing an existential crisis when he met Lila, a woman devoted to animal rescue. "Love me, love my dogs" was her rule, and Steven took it to heart. Spurred to move by a housing crisis in Los Angeles, Steven, Lila, and their eight dogs—then ten, then twenty, and then they lost count—bought a postage-stamp-size farm in Chimayo, New Mexico. A Small Furry Prayer chronicles their adventures at Rancho de Chihuahua, the sanctuary they ...
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A Small Furry Prayer: Dog Rescue and the Meaning of Life

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Overview

Steven Kotler was forty years old, single, and facing an existential crisis when he met Lila, a woman devoted to animal rescue. "Love me, love my dogs" was her rule, and Steven took it to heart. Spurred to move by a housing crisis in Los Angeles, Steven, Lila, and their eight dogs—then ten, then twenty, and then they lost count—bought a postage-stamp-size farm in Chimayo, New Mexico. A Small Furry Prayer chronicles their adventures at Rancho de Chihuahua, the sanctuary they created for their special needs pack.

While dog rescue is one of the largest underground movements in America, it is also one of the least understood. An insider look at the "cult and culture" of dog rescue, A Small Furry Prayer weaves personal experience, cultural investigation, and scientific inquiry into a fast-paced, fun-filled narrative that explores what it means to devote one's life to the furry and the four-legged. Along the way, Kotler combs through every aspect of canine-human relations, from humans' long history with dogs through brand-new research into the neuroscience of canine companionship, in the end discovering why living in a world made of dog may be the best way to uncover the truth about what it really means to be human.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Kotler (West of Jesus), owner of Rancho de Chihuahua, an organization that treats dogs with special needs, offers a joyous, almost spiritual chronicle of his journey from L.A.-based apartment dweller to owner of a dog sanctuary in New Mexico. He introduces readers to Leo, a destined-to-be-euthanized German shepherd who becomes his first rescue; Gidget, a dancing dog with mange and epilepsy; and Ahab, who appears to contemplate suicide while balanced on a three-story ledge. Kotler lays bare the challenges he and his wife face as their brood grows and his attachment to his pack grows: he suffers separation anxiety on an out-of-town trip and is devastated when placing rehabilitated dogs in loving homes. His nurturing is returned ten-fold when a rescue saves his life and, when he is taken ill, a dog vomits in his mouth to--as he believes--nourish him. Brimming with humor, gratitude, and grace, this is a remarkable story. (Oct.)
From the Publisher
"Brimming with humor, gratitude, and grace, this is a remarkable story." —-Publishers Weekly Starred Review
Library Journal
Dog rescuers remove dogs from shelters and care for them until they are ready for adoption, focusing on those most likely to be overlooked and sometimes ending up with them as "lifers." Kotler (West of Jesus: Surfing, Science, and the Origins of Belief) became involved with dog rescue when he became involved with novelist Joy Nicholson, a committed rescuer; in a matter of weeks, they were compelled to move their dogs ("One dog is a pet, eight is a pack") from California to Chimayo, NM, a rough neighborhood but the only place they could afford that offered enough room. As he recounts their life in Chimayo (the pack at times approaches 50, all entertainingly delineated), Kotler seamlessly blends a history of Chimayo, a well-articulated understanding of how humans and dogs coevolved, and background on animal welfare efforts in this country with his witty, sharp-edged, and rewarding reflections on life. VERDICT Kotler defiantly proclaims his love of Chihuahuas (he's hilarious), then shatters our hearts and ends by laying down a real ethical challenge. Highly recommended not only for dog lovers but for readers of memoir, biology, and anthropology and seekers generally. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 6/15/10.]
Kirkus Reviews

A journalist and lifelong dog lover attests to the joy and the emotional fallout behind animal-rescue work.

In the poignant preface, Kotler (West of Jesus: Surfing, Science and the Origins of Belief, 2006, etc.) movingly describes his psychologically exhaustion after the death of seven dogs in as many weeks at his New Mexico canine sanctuary, Rancho de Chihuahua. The altruistic author, who has battled Lyme disease, recounts his many years of selflessly caring for special-needs dogs ("the very old, the very sick, the really retarded") with his wife, Joy, a fiercely devoted dog lover who spearheaded the effort. Kotler backtracks to early 2007 when he and Joy (then his girlfriend)—both writers, both broke—were unceremoniously booted out of their tiny Los Angeles home and immediately drove to Chimayo, N.M. Tucked in a dusty valley north of Santa Fe, Chimayo has a 60 percent poverty rate and is a regular target for federal drug raids. The region is also "the black tar heroin overdose capital" of America, a religious hotbed of miracle healings and supreme outlaw territory for "bikers and bandits and beatniks." Amid isolation, uncertainty and overcrowding, it became home for Kotler, his wife and their amassed pack of rescues. Kotler lovingly describes pups like Gidget, rescued at barely two pounds; Ahab, formerly abused and harboring separation anxiety; Squirt, an obese "dachshund-pug hybrid"; and Salty, a "shell-shocked" three-pound Chihuahua with heartworm. Then there was Leo, a mangy pit bull who became the author's first rescue in New Mexico, was euthanized before he could become adopted. In the strongest scenes, the book drives home the agony of pet loss. Kotler offers a touching account of Chihuahua adventures alongside interesting blurbs on the history of pet ownership, canine ethology, the semantics of the dog-adoption process, homosexuality in nature and the intricate science behind canine domestication.

A heartfelt example of humanitarianism at work.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781608193042
  • Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
  • Publication date: 10/3/2010
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 320
  • Sales rank: 162,465
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author


Steven Kotler is the author of the bestselling novel The Angle Quickest for Flight and the nonfiction work West of Jesus, a 2006 PEN West finalist. He also writes "The Playing Field," a blog about the science of sport, for PsychologyToday.com.

Kevin Foley has over thirty years' experience in radio and television broadcasting, commercial voice-overs, and audiobook narration. He has recorded over 150 audiobooks, and he won an Earphones Award from AudioFile magazine for his narration of Cognitive Surplus by Clay Shirky.

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Read an Excerpt

A SMALL FURRY PRAYER

DOG RESCUE AND THE MEANING OF LIFE
By STEVEN KOTLER

BLOOMSBURY USA

Copyright © 2010 Steven Kotler
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-60819-002-7


Chapter One

Not too long ago, I took all the money I had in the world and bought a postage stamp of a farm in Chimayo, New Mexico. It was an impulse buy. I didn't know much about country living, had never entertained secret pastoral fantasies. One moment I was a money-grubbing bastard, the next a guy negotiating for a donkey. Sure, there was the recent conclusion that nothing in common remained between the life I had imagined and the one I was leading—but did farm animals solve this particular problem?

It wasn't much of a problem. Just another existential crisis in the early spring of 2007, and they were in fashion that year. It was the season of nowhere to hide. The economy was lousy, the ice caps melting. There were water wars on the horizon and oil wars under way, and those bees kept dying. Global pandemic came back on the menu. We were freakishly short of food. And this, the experts said, was just the warm-up round. The term scientists have coined for our current planetary die-off is the "Sixth Great Extinction." I couldn't remember ever not feeling tired. All that seemed clear was that at some point we had butchered the job and begun to call up down and right left, and just about everybody I knew could no longer find their way home.

Like others, I had learned the necessary stagecraft. During my waking hours I was a competent enough act as far as such things were concerned: a journalist by trade; a taker of notes, meetings, and an acceptable level of nonprescription pharmaceuticals; a waterer of house plants; fully capable of handling most cutlery; able to recall Spencer Tracy's advice on thesping—"remember your lines and don't walk into the furniture"—during those times of need. As I turned forty that year, there had been plenty of times of need.

In four de cades I'd managed to accumulate some hard facts, but little true wisdom. I can say for certain that the Fifth Great Extinction was the one that killed off the dinosaurs, but didn't think to ask anyone a question about Chimayo before moving there. I was unaware that my new home sits in the heart of the Española Valley and that the Rio Grande Sun is the newspaper that serves that valley. I did not know that the Sun's weekly police blotter had lately become something of a national amusement. Jay Leno liked the woman who smuggled heroin inside a burrito to her boyfriend in jail. National Public Radio liked the man "in a white Dodge chasing people around with a sword" and the guy wearing "a blue sweater and blue pants talking to the robotic horse in front of the grocery store," and the one who "challenged his entire family to a fight and was presently hitting his mother."

It had also escaped notice that Chimayo has one of the highest rates of drug addiction in the country and that a significant portion of the local population was arrested in September 1999 when Operation Tar Pit swept through town. Nor did I hear the August 18, 2005, NPR broadcast that included the commentary of local clean-living activist Dr. Fernando Bayardo, who pointed out that such abuse has been entrenched in this area for over fifty years. "You have a grandmother shooting up with a grandchild. You have family members shooting up together. It's not something the teenage son hides from other family members. How are you going to change those unhealthy lifestyles and habits and develop new norms?"

I had no idea how to develop new norms. All that was certain was that my girlfriend and I had been thrown out of our house in Los Angeles with no other options beyond the just plain dumb. In our case, the just plain dumb was deciding to bet everything on a bunch of dogs and a pie-in-the-sky list of homesteading desires. The dogs we'll get to in a moment. The desires were organized into a wish list of sorts, written the night after we'd learned we were being booted, in a state of not so quiet desperation. A number of the items on that list were critical. My girlfriend had lupus. I had Lyme. Together we were two tenors with multiple sclerosis shy of an autoimmune quartet. We needed long days of brilliant sunshine because we needed to walk. Few zoning restrictions and lots of space were also important because we had a bunch of animals and plans for more. Unfortunately, what we didn't have was all that much money.

The only location in America that fit all our desires was Santa Fe, New Mexico, but Santa Fe was nearly as expensive as Los Angeles. Maybe an outlying community that had escaped the housing boom was the pipe dream. Oprah Winfrey had a ten-million-dollar mansion in the only outlying community we'd heard about, so maybe this was the crack-pipe dream. There were forty items on our wish list. We had the bud get for ten. The thing about Chimayo—we got thirty-nine. I should have known there was a pretty good reason for this, but by the time that puzzle was solved, talking to a robotic horse in front of the grocery store made as much sense as anything else I could think up.

Chapter Two

About six weeks before I bought the farm, I decided that life weighed too much. So I gave away three thousand books, six garbage bags of clothing, four bookcases, three chairs, three backpacks, two tables, two pairs of skis, two surfboards, two computers, an old skateboard, a torn tent, a packed filing cabinet, a small comic book collection, some entomological gear left over from the bug-collecting phase, a bit of pornography—two-thirds of everything by the end. I had decided to move in with my girlfriend. She lived in a very small house.

My girlfriend's name is Joy. Her small house sat just south of the Santa Monica Mountains, just north of Hollywood, in the township of Los Feliz—two words that translate from Spanish to English as "the happy." Nearby is the Griffith Park Observatory, the Greek Theater, and the three thousand other acres that collectively make up Griffith Park. The park was bequeathed to the city of Los Angeles in December 1896, a sort of Christmas present from the appropriately named Griffith J. Griffith. His gift came with only one condition: "It must be made a place of recreation and rest for the masses, a resort for the rank and file, for the plain people." We were the plain people and—for a short while—we lived in the happy.

Our house was rented, cheap, possibly haunted, and measured out to exactly 666 square feet. It perched atop a steep cliff, surrounded by a dense thicket of tall trees. Inside, a small living room gave way to a smaller bedroom and on into a kitchen the size of a ship's galley. Everywhere, the paint peeled and pipes broke. There were cracks in the walls, holes in the floor, and doors that wouldn't quite shut. Even the stairs leading up that cliff were not much more than a makeshift ladder of rotting wood, but life at the top was quiet and calm and the living room was a wall of windows. We had fallen in love looking out those windows, looking at our view of the happy.

Mahatma Gandhi once said, "There is more to life than increasing its speed," and while I agree completely, two weeks after Joy and I moved in together, we moved out together. There was no other choice. Our landlord had bought too many properties back when the getting was good. In person, he'd told us ours was the last he'd planned on developing. "Two years at least—and a six-month warning before I give you the boot," was what he'd said. We had been going on faith here, as none of this was in writing. In writing was an already expired lease followed by a month-to-month contract. That contract gave us thirty days to vacate and no recourse. When we mentioned lawyers, he mentioned the ASPCA. That, as they say, was the end of that.

Our problems were more than a few. The first was simple economics. We were broke. Certainly I had the money to buy that house in New Mexico, but that was the entirety of my savings account, and we'd been living off that savings account for much of the past year. We were both writers. The magazine industry was in the tank, and the publishing industry wasn't far behind. It was a silly time to try to make a living out of words, but it was a silly time in general. Anyway, our real problem was the dogs.

The reason we lived in a broken-down house atop a steep cliff was that that house came with an exceptionally large yard and exceptionally few neighbors and we needed both because there are seven animal shelters in Los Angeles and dozens more in surrounding communities. At capacity the bigger ones hold about two hundred animals, and they're almost always at capacity. There's only one way to make more space. Canines may be man's best friend, but most of these shelters still have ninety percent kill rates. They euthanize more than a thousand dogs a month in the City of Angels, and Joy spent much of her time trying to even those odds.

Dog rescue involves plucking a dog off death row in the hopes of eventually finding the animal a home. Most of these animals arrive in pretty poor shape. Rehab takes months of hard work. It often takes thousands of dollars in medical care—much of which comes out of the rescuer's pocket. Occasionally, after all that, some of these dogs end up too sick or too difficult to be adoptable. Dog rescuers call these "lifers." In my late twenties, an old girlfriend awoke one morning to end our relationship. "I want eight kids, you don't want any," was her reasoning. While I couldn't fault her logic, she'd long known of my antipathy toward children. It had taken her over a year to realize there was no changing my mind. Not much later, for advertising purposes, I printed up a T-shirt reading Dogs Not Kids. I still feel that way—but lifers add a whole other dimension to the equation.

Years back, Joy had started out rescuing English bull terriers. For those unfamiliar, these are squat white beasts created by some eighteenth-century madman intent on crossing a bulldog, a pit bull, and a Dalmatian. They were bred for bull baiting, a process that involved leaping at the underbelly of a bull, clamping jaws to testicles, and applying something like sixteen hundred pounds per square inch of pressure to said testicles. Eventually the bull fell down. Then the dogs released the balls and tore out the throat. Until it was outlawed in 1835, this is what passed for fun in Britain.

Afterward, bull terriers became fighting dogs, meaning they were still bred for aggression. Their albino coats are highly prized, but the inbreeding required for such coloration leaves them with compromised immune systems and limited social skills. They also have an extremely short intestinal tract, which leads to bad digestion and worse gas. The results are an aggressive, easily agitated, stubborn, single-minded fireplug of a fart machine so damn macho that the only other dogs Joy's bull terrier wouldn't attack on sight were Chihuahuas—thus she had five of them.

And there was also some kind of dachshund-beagle hybrid, and then my half-husky, half-Rottweiler got added into the mix. We totaled out at eight—and they were all lifers. This was a little tricky since Los Angeles's canines-per-household law specifies three as the legal limit. Trying to find a landlord willing to bend this rule under the best of circumstances was difficult. Then the real estate market stalled and the rental market soared. The city's occupancy rate stood at 96 percent. Under such conditions, finding an affordable apartment that took eight dogs was right up there with world peace and ample leg room in coach class on the list of things that weren't going to happen anytime soon.

It was a Sunday when we found out our house was being sold. I came back from running errands to find Joy crying on the couch. She told me the landlord had dropped the hammer, and then told me she had made a decision. She was moving to Mexico, where life was cheap and they didn't care how many dogs one owned. I had no desire to live in Mexico. I had no chance to revive my career in Mexico. This wasn't, it is worth pointing out, her first choice. It was her last chance. She knew I couldn't move to Mexico with her, but it had taken over two years of constant looking to find our small house and we didn't have two years. We had less than a month—and almost no money. She couldn't stand the thought of being a burden. "You want a life in the city, a great career, and you're not going to get that with me and my dogs."

All of which might be true. It was also true that I didn't want those things anymore. What I wanted was to feel like something in this world mattered, even if it had been a long time since that had been the case. What was the case was that I've been downright silly for Joy ever since the day we met. I gave away a lot of stuff to move in with her, and truthfully, it all could have gone. Most days, my gal and her dogs were the only things around worth keeping. So no, none of us were going to Mexico, though all of us were going somewhere—that much for sure.

Chapter Three

"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons" are nine words that T. S. Eliot once wrote. During the period of time I'm talking about I would often repeat these words to myself as some kind of talisman, meant to ward off ... well, I was never quite sure. They were often stuck in my head when I was stuck in traffic, among the hundred-foot billboards, the thousand-dollar haircuts, the everybody with their shopping bags, the endless repetition of strip malls and strip clubs and suntans—this whole mad crush that was often Los Angeles. These words were my way of putting into perspective the feeling that had become much of my day. I was forty years old and no longer sure my life meant much of anything.

I had come into adulthood equipped with the essentially romantic delusion that life would get easier. It had not gotten easier, but had gotten something. I began making choices. I gave up cooking for thirty seconds in the micro wave. I wrote books but stopped reading. I missed the days when the drugs did the work. I wasn't unhappy so much as unsure. Just the constant sensation that whatever else might be true, this was definitely not what I'd ordered.

It was a time when I wasn't alone in questioning the way I was living. Joy and I had been having philosophical differences. When being polite, we called these differences "art versus altruism." We were not always polite. I believed in creativity, the act of making something from nothing, the high-minded transfer of inspiration, and other such claptrap. She felt the making of art was inherently selfish, and instead trumpeted the quiet generosity of laying it all on the line for every blessed creature. It doesn't sound like much of a fight—but it was.

What seemed to be at stake was the best way to live in the world; what was really at stake was the best way to live together. Dog rescue is often emotionally exhausting and physically time-swallowing, while freelance writing is more of the same. Love doesn't always hold up under those conditions. Joy's had both ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands grow jealous of her dogs—which helps explain how they became exes—while I hadn't managed a long-term relationship in de cades.

Then there was our financial future. Neither of our causes came with a great paycheck, a downside I combated with the traditional metaphysics: do what you love and the rest will follow. But with both of us doing what we loved, would the rest really follow? And if one of us had to get a real job? Since her higher calling involved living creatures and mine involved putting words together in a straight line, common sense said I should be the one to make the sacrifice. Unfortunately, in my experience, common sense and higher callings are contradictions in terms.

It was into this debate that a dog named Damien arrived. He was not much over ten pounds, flea-bit and back broke. His entire life had been spent tied to a radiator, his home range a two-foot patch of hard-packed dirt, his collar a thin metal chain dug so deep into his flesh it required surgery to remove. There were plenty of available comforts lying around; Damien was past the point of available comforts. For his first three months with us, he stayed beneath the house, living inside an old truck tire, trying to kill anything that came close. And more and more, I was coming around to his perspective.

It was clearly time for a change. Joy's side of the argument hinged on the crucial fact that besides doing animal rescue she was also a writer, with two books to her name and more success than had ever come my way. She had lived the art and preferred the altruism. Until I'd done the same, in her opinion, my opinion remained suspect.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from A SMALL FURRY PRAYER by STEVEN KOTLER Copyright © 2010 by Steven Kotler. Excerpted by permission of BLOOMSBURY USA. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 30 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 30 Customer Reviews
  • Posted January 11, 2011

    Not just about the dogs

    This is such an interesting story. Steve Kotler went from being dogless to dog rescuer all because of love. When his girlfriend states that he needs to love her dogs as well as her, he jumps in, well, with reservations, but he is quickly won over by four legged furries that warm his heart. He gives up everything in Los Angeles to follow his love and his heart to New Mexico where he helps found a sanctuary for dogs. It is wonderful that this man found his purpose in life through dogs. People underrate the fulfillment that dogs (and other pets) can bring to someone's life. Any one who love dogs and memoirs are going to find this heartwarming story a true pleasure to read.

    11 out of 12 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted September 21, 2011

    Amazing Read

    This book became a true spiritual journey for me - not at all what I expected, but one of the most profound and enjoyable books I have read in a very long time. [Full disclosure: I bought the book for it's cover - I love dogs - but this way surpassed my hopes.] Kotler manages to carry the reader through some unexpected terrain, all within the difficult and challenging framework that is dog rescue. You will end up knowing much more than you ever anticipated learning, on unimaginable levels. His wit and timing are entertaining, his pace and language really delightful (at times, colorful!) You know there will be somber passages, but the author moves quickly and deftly through without minimizing or glossing over some of the hurdles and setbacks. I laughed out loud through many chapters - and was amazed by the shear scope of this work, and honestly inspired. I plan to buy more copies - this book will make an excellent gift. If you know a dog lover, this book will not disappoint.

    8 out of 8 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 19, 2011

    Highly recommended

    Living with a dog can be trying. Living with a dog-rescuer can be even more trying; the effects on the author are life-changing. Buy this book and follow Steven as his capacity for humanity grows and his understanding of his purpose in life becomes clear. This book will make you happy to be a human being.

    6 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 31, 2011

    Excellent! Excellent! Excellent!

    Just finished this book and Steven Kotler has become one of my most favorite authors. A Small Furry Prayer is well written and researched. Kotler is also very well read and philosophical. When I first saw the subtitle I thought about giving the book a miss but I am so glad that I changed my mind. Besides being honestly autobiographical it made me seriously think about having pets again. Please if you only read just a few books about rescuing please please make A Small Furry Prayer one of the books on your list. You will never regret it. I promise.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted October 21, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Brilliant

    This is one of the best books I've read in a long time. I laughed and cried. I didn't want it to end.

    Kotler didn't set out to be a hero to unwanted dogs. That role came to him, first with a dog named Ahab, then with a woman who said that to love her meant loving her dogs. But this is more than a story about dogs. It's about a man finding his purpose through and with these dogs, about what it means to be human, about compassion and love and what's truly important in life. This book touched me all the way to my core.

    4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 8, 2014

    Fun Read for Dog Lovers

    I love New Mexico and dogs so this non-fiction book was a fun read. Very interesting view of dog rescue.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 25, 2014

    Enlightening & on my "favorites" shelf on my nook

    If you have a dog you should read this book! I couldn't put this book down! Not only did this book touch my heart with its moving story of dog rescue. But it also taught me a lot about the inner workings of my dogs mind. I find me and my pack (4dogs) are more in tune with each other and better at communicating after reading this book. Kudos to the writer for not only living the story but being able to put it together so wonderful in such a great educational book

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 8, 2012

    Perfect

    Super quick read. Totally enjoyable. Love, life, passion, humor, psychology, history, science, awesome.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted November 8, 2012

    Wonderful book about the joy, sorrow and challenges of running a

    Wonderful book about the joy, sorrow and challenges of running a rescue for dogs. The author had me laughing out loud when describing his adventures hiking the badlands with his pack but also went into great detail about the challenges of rescue including the emotional toll it can take. I love dogs and wish I had the funds to rescue all the wonderful dogs in shelters. Dogs are a blessing from god and this book - and the authors absolute love for his mutts - make this a must read for anyone wishing to learn more about saving these precious lives. Bravo!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted September 21, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    Highly Recommended--please check it out; you won't be sorry

    Truthfully I expected this book to be a longer epithet on the horrors of rescuing stray dogs. Since my husband and I also do animal rescue and rehab I thought I might find some tip to helps us do our job better. If you think this, too, and that's all you want, don't buy this book. If you want a book written from the heart and soul with total honesty, results of studies and philosophical renderings on the aspects of animals, their needs, feelings, desires and fears, then buy this book immediately. I laughed; I cried (a lot); I stopped to think the theories through. It's a good read with a good flow to it, too. I had to go to the website and see just who these folks were. I can tell you that now: they are great people with big hearts who really care about animals. You won't be sorry to have bought this book. I'm recommending it to everyone I know.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 18, 2012

    Not what I expected - don't recommend

    I absolutely love chihuahua's and really expected a different read. It did have chihuahua's in it as well as other dogs; no problem (I like all dogs) but for the most part it was just VERY HARD TO READ!!! I could only get thru 100 pages & then I had to give it up. Was hoping it would get easier to read, but it didn't. When I started enjoying a "story" he would then stray off on subject matter thst really didn't interest me OR really add to the story; and it dragged on forever!! I really wish I could give a better review, but I have to tell it as I see it.

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 14, 2012

    so so

    i expected more of animal rescue and their adventures with the dogs they rescued. But each chapter became more psychobabble. Some of the psychology was interesting but to me it was too much.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 8, 2013

    Will pick whoever is active enough to be leader or the first pick i get

    -Lobber-

    0 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted September 15, 2012

    I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. I found it to be a well

    I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. I found it to be a well written, well researched, humorous, educational and exceptional read. I felt I was living the events alongside the author and his bevey of dogs! I did not want the book to come to an end! I heartily recommend this book to anyone interested in a good read about life, or human-pet relationships, animal rescue, or spiritual journeys. It's a book you will want to read again and again.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 14, 2012

    Love, love this bOOK!!

    I am so glad that someone does rescue dogs. This is a wonderful and informative book for every one to read.

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  • Posted September 14, 2012

    Well Worth the Read

    At first I wondered - then, I loved it!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 27, 2012

    Cool

    Awsome small fury prayer

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 21, 2012

    Why must school start tomorrow!!!!????

    In alaska, school starts on the 21st. :-(

    0 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 20, 2012

    Uh

    Good or bad

    0 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 20, 2012

    cool

    good book, just not that exiting

    0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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