Sylvia's Diary - 06-03-25

This morning was bitterly cold. My fingers felt numb as I made my way around to see the dogs first thing, but the sight of them curled up under their heated lamps, warm and content, made it worth it. At least they weren’t feeling the chill.

It was going to be a long day - one of the vet nurses wasn’t coming in, so I had to fill in. That meant calling in the dogs for neutering, preparing the surgeries, cleaning in between procedures, scrubbing the kits, and recovering the dogs afterward. A lot of work, but that’s just how it is here.

One of the patients today was a little Dachshund, just 6kg, in for a routine spay. But the moment we got her on the table, we could feel something was wrong. Her belly was lumpy in a way it shouldn’t have been. The vet decided he had no choice but to open her up, and what he found inside was staggering. Her tiny bladder was filled with stones - massive ones that must have caused her excruciating pain. She had come from a home, yet no one had reported any issues, not even that she’d been squatting a lot. It was hard to comprehend how they hadn’t noticed. We had seen a German Shepherd with a huge bladder stone just last week, but this was worse. Not only did she have large stones taking up most of her bladder, but there were also over 300 smaller ones packed inside. The vet had to use an instrument normally meant for scraping marrow out of bones, like a tiny spoon, to remove them all. Her poor bladder was terribly inflamed, but she’s a fighter. Now no more pain for her and she is slowly recovering well.

But as much as the physical suffering of the dogs weighs on me, the cruelty of people is just as hard to bear. This week, donations have been cancelled. People are questioning us - questioning how we took in 117 dogs at once, questioning our ability to care for them, questioning everything we do. They have no idea. We home 3,000 dogs a year. That’s about 58 dogs a week, every single week, and we’ve been doing it for years. We don’t turn them away. We don’t say no because it’s “too much.” We just keep going, because if we don’t, who will?

Yet instead of helping, some people choose to attack us. They spread rumors, stir up doubt, and put all their energy into tearing us down. And I won’t pretend it doesn’t affect me, because it does. It always does. They want it to. That’s the part that hurts the most - not just the words, but the intent behind them. I invite them to come, to see what we do, to walk in my shoes for just one day. But they don’t. Or maybe they come, take a quick glance, and think they know everything. They don’t see the nights spent nursing a sick dog, the hours scrubbing kennels, the tears shed over the ones we couldn’t save.

I should toughen up. I tell myself I need to. But I’m human. And like anyone else, when people are cruel, it gets to me. Still, no amount of cruelty will stop me from telling the truth about what goes on here. There are too many lives at stake.

The week ahead will be just as busy. Dogs are coming in from all over - locally and from other countries. There’s always more need than we can meet, but we try. And I have to keep reminding myself, that’s what matters. Not the criticism, not the doubt. The dogs. The lives we save.

Monday. Again. I swear Monday's come around faster each week. But today, we have news - good, bad, and the kind that makes you stop and think.

First, the good: Two Spanish dogs have pulled off the great escape from being taken to the kill centre, instead they are coming to safety.  If I could, I’d shake their paws in admiration. That pound they were being sent to is said to give no second chances. Too many dogs, too little space, and a ruthless policy. That’s it. And yet, despite it all, these two made it. Safe now. There are others, too - some adopted, some on their way - but the big ones, the bull breeds, the so-called “dangerous” ones, are stuck. They can’t be sent to the UK because of breed bans, even though they probably couldn’t bully their way past a determined butterfly. The ones coming are big, smooth-coated, unglamorous, but their hearts are pure gold. They’ve survived things most of us couldn’t imagine, and now they wait, hoping someone will see past the labels and into their souls.

Then there’s Promise. I called him that because I promised to do right by him. A tiny scrap of a spaniel mix, found on Friday, barely clinging on. At first, I thought he had a liver shunt, but now it seems more like brain damage. He runs in manic circles, unseeing, unknowing, but - miracle of miracles - when I sit down and call his name, he comes. He knows me. He trusts me. Blind, broken, but still fighting. He was 3kg when he was found. The next day, after food and fluids, he was 4kg. That’s how close he was to death. We’re running tests, praying for something fixable. If it’s a shunt, we can try to get him specialists to operate. If it’s his brain… well. We’ll do everything we can. Because that’s the promise.

And because chaos likes company, while I was caring for Promise, a little Cockapoo bitch decided it was the perfect time to have her puppies - in the coldest place she could find. Three were nearly dead when I found them. The mum had not used the warm whelping box provided but chose a spot nearest to the door delivering them on the cold floor. I rushed the three to a heated pad and under a hairdryer, yelling for Bill. We moved them to a safer space, and managed to revive all, there are now six little lives clinging on. This is the brutal part of rescue.. you can do everything right and still lose them, but so far, we are lucky, they are seeming to do well…. ( touch wood)

Sleep? What’s that? Every night, I get up to check the pups. Then Promise. Then the spayed dogs. By the time I fall asleep, the day is about to start and the cycle starts again.

Meanwhile, we’re looking for new staff. It’s always a challenge, not because we don’t get applications, but because finding the right people - the ones who care, who think, who don’t crumble at the first sign of heartbreak - is rare. Our staff don’t just clean kennels and walk dogs. They help us decide if applicants are right for their dogs. They take the dogs on beach trips, café outings, mountain walks. They give these animals the closest thing to a real life while they wait for their forever homes. And yet, when we put out job adverts, we’ll get 120 applications, invite 10 people down, and be lucky if two show up.

When did work stop being valuable? When did people stop fighting for jobs the way these dogs fight for life?

But despite everything - the exhaustion, the frustration, the heartbreak - there’s still hope. In the escape artists who outran death. In the big dogs waiting for their person. In Promise, blind and broken, but running towards my voice.

If you’re looking for a reason to believe in something today, come meet them. Walk them. Love them. Maybe even take one home. Because in this place, we don’t just save dogs. They save us too.

A Bat, A Pup, and a Life Lesson

Just before winter, we found a tiny, wayward bat - possibly auditioning for the world’s smallest Dracula role. Not having a clue what to do with it, we reached out to a bat rescue down on the Welsh coast. A plea went out, and a wonderful volunteer stepped up to chauffeur our little winged friend to safety. The rescue team explained that he was too young to survive the winter on his own, so he bunkered down with them for the season. Fast forward to this week, and we got the call - he’d made it through and was ready for release! The rescue team didn’t just send him off into the wild anywhere; they travelled all the way back to Many Tears, right to the exact spot where he was found. One of our staff members had the honour of guiding him home. It was a beautiful moment, a testament to the kindness of strangers and the incredible journey of one tiny life.

Now, from bats to puppies - because responsibility for tiny creatures comes in all forms.

If you take on a puppy, understand this: those first 12 weeks are everything. That’s when your pup is soaking up life like a sponge (except cuter and with more accidents on your carpet). What they experience in this time will stay with them forever, good or bad. They need training, patience, and gentle exposure to the world. If they don’t get that, we often see the consequences down the line: behavioural issues, resource guarding, anxiety, or dogs simply being discarded because they became “too much work.”

Right now, we have a dog at Many Tears who is heartbreakingly lost in her own learned behaviours. She’s guarding resources fiercely - not because she’s a “bad dog,” but because, at some point, she realized that aggression kept things she valued from being taken away. This didn’t come out of the blue; it was a slow, steady lesson she absorbed over time. The sad reality? It could have been prevented with the right guidance early on. Now, we’ll work tirelessly to help her, just like we have with others before her - but wouldn’t it be better if she never had to be “fixed” at all?

If you’re thinking of getting a puppy, please don’t just dive in. Find a great trainer. Visit classes. Learn before you leap. You wouldn’t send your child to a school without checking it out first - don’t do it to your dog. A puppy can be the most incredible, rewarding journey, but only if you’re willing to put in the work.

Speaking of hard work, last year we had a retriever puppy named Moses, born with swimmer puppy syndrome. At just a few weeks old, he couldn’t stand - his chest was flat, his legs sprawled to the sides, and he could barely move. Advice poured in on how to help him, but I had an idea of my own. I cut a water bottle in half, fashioned a tiny brace, and strapped him in every day so his weight wasn’t on his chest. Little by little, he got stronger. Eventually, he stood, then walked, and of course, by then, he had my whole heart.

But Moses’ story didn’t end with me. A fantastic family came forward, willing to put in the effort to raise him right. They didn’t just want a puppy; they wanted him, challenges, and all. They dedicated themselves to his training, gave him endless love, and now? He’s a magnificent, happy retriever, deeply woven into their lives. He is the perfect example of what happens when people commit - not just to having a dog but to raising one.

So, whether it’s a tiny bat, a struggling puppy, or a misunderstood dog, one thing remains true: the effort we put into a life determines the outcome. Choose wisely, commit fully, and watch the magic unfold.

Wednesday Diary: Of Cats, Peeing Puppies, and Holding Back Tears

This week has been a whirlwind of emotions, chaos, and cat-related existential crises. Let’s start with Cassie.

Cassie is 12 years old, an elegant lady of refined tastes, and has absolutely no interest in the outside world. She’s the kind of cat who knows her worth - she doesn’t run, she doesn’t climb, she certainly doesn’t chase mice. She sits, she surveys, and she expects devotion. If you don’t give her attention, she’ll politely (but firmly) tap you with her paw. “Excuse me, human, I was speaking.” She’s an absolute angel, and yet, she has nowhere to go because her owner has had to move into care.

This is exactly why I need to build a proper cattery. Cats like Cassie - old, affectionate, and slightly demanding - deserve a peaceful place while they wait for a new home. Right now, our cattery is too close to the dog area, which, if you ask Cassie, is nothing short of a personal insult. The noise! The chaos! The… dogness of it all! We need a quiet, calming space where these cats can stay without feeling like they’re at some kind of unlicensed rave.

If you know a big cat food company that might be willing to help - or you have any brilliant fundraising ideas - please send them my way. Because summer is coming, and with it, a tsunami of kittens, and we have nowhere for them to go.

For those who don’t know cats, who have never had the experience of living with one and would like to know..... they say............

Owners of dogs will have noticed that, if you provide them with food and water and shelter and affection, they will think you are God. Whereas owners of cats are compelled to realize that, if you provide them with food and water and affection, they draw the conclusion that they are God.

Now, on to the next adventure: a 16-week-old Old English Sheepdog puppy who, for all her fluff and charm, has a small but inconvenient problem - she leaks. Constantly. We suspect she has a condition called ectopic ureter, which basically means her plumbing wasn’t installed properly. There is an expensive but sometimes successful surgery for this, and we’re looking into getting her the help she needs. She’s an adorable, enthusiastic, slightly damp little thing, and honestly, she deserves a chance. No one wants a puppy that pees everywhere (least of all her), but with a bit of luck (and a lot of money), we can fix this.

And finally, on to the part where I almost lost all composure.

For weeks, I’ve been worrying about Jessie, a meat trade survivor who had been stuck here, waiting for a miracle. Well, today, I got home, and there she was - gone. Adopted. Off to a new life. I had to act like a professional, like a composed, responsible adult, but internally, I was two seconds away from sobbing like a five-year-old whose ice cream just fell on the floor.

And as if that wasn’t enough emotion for one day, in the next 50 minutes, the Spanish dogs are arriving. It’s a constant rollercoaster - dogs coming in, dogs going out, staff running around, me trying to hold it together.

So, if you can help in any way - donations, fundraising ideas, emotional support for a woman who cries over adopted dogs please, please get involved. Because right now, we need all the help we can get.

As always I thank you for reading my diary and helping Many Tears to carry on. 

Sylvia x