Sylvia's Diary 13-02-25

A heavy heart and a hard truth I always promised to share everything about the rescue—the good, the bad, and the unbearably hard. Friday was one of those days that weighs on me in ways I can’t quite put into words, but I’ll try. It started with my doctor’s appointment. A few weeks ago, I finally had an MRI on my back after waiting eight months, working through pain every single day. I had been told I broke my L4 when I fell from a horse, but the MRI showed it was worse—both L4 and L5 are broken. Surgery isn’t an option because of the risk of losing my ability to walk. The doctor told me to avoid riding, bending, lifting—so many things that are part of my daily life. I left in shock, trying to process the fact that something I love, something that gives me peace, is something I may never be able to do again. But there was no time to dwell. Back at the rescue, dogs were arriving—some found, some surrendered, but all were in need.

By the afternoon, a dog came in needing urgent surgery. The owner was just out of the hospital, and couldn’t afford the vet bills and had no choice but to bring the dog to us. Our vet and vet nurse stayed late, doing everything they could. While they worked, the calls kept coming. Desperate situations. Strays. A woman in tears, saying her children would be taken away if she couldn’t find somewhere for her dogs. Then came the call I’ll never forget. A friend of a woman—crying, panicked—said she had fled her home after her husband beat her, hit the dog, and shook her child. She was too afraid to call the police. She just wanted her dog to be safe. I told her to bring the dog to me, no questions asked. She said she would. So I waited. And while I waited, the vet finished the surgery. But the dog on the table didn’t make it. We covered her with a blanket and prepared to take her for cremation. A life lost. Another heartbreak. Still, I waited. Then the phone rang again—it was her. She wasn’t bringing the dog. She couldn’t. But she wanted me to tell her story because she never wanted anyone else to suffer like she had.

She had married young, trapped by control, fear, and abuse. When she had her baby, it got worse. Last night, after he kicked the dog across the room and shook her baby in front of her, she finally escaped with the help of a friend. She was driving far away now, starting over. But I worry—about her, about the baby, about the dog. And about the next woman this man will hurt. I tell this story because she asked me to. Because maybe someone reading this will recognize the warning signs before it’s too late. Because abuse—whether toward animals, children, or partners—leaves scars, visible or not. That night, I went to bed thinking about all of it. The woman, the dog that didn’t make it, the people who need help, the weight of it all. Even in my own pain, I couldn’t stop thinking about Frank the Horse, wondering who would step up for him.

And in the morning, I walked into the surgery, and the nameless dog was still there, waiting to be taken to her final rest. Bill carried her to the van for cremation. A loss. Another burden. This work is relentless. Some days, the weight feels unbearable. But if sharing this helps even one person, if it makes someone reach out for help, if it reminds someone they are not alone—then I will keep telling these stories. For the animals. For the people. For the ones who never get the chance to escape.

Although it is extremely early, two dogs have been brought in and they are two of the dogs that I had a call about last night. Both needing help, and both very special. I must keep focussed on what I can do, not what is beyond my power. I had forgotten the good bit about yesterday as the bad clouded it all. A very kind man brought in two pups from a friend who could not cope. They arrived in a cardboard box stinking, but happy well socialized pups. The courier was so kind and caring, and so wanted to help. It was a breath of fresh air, and as he left, we all looked at each other to confirm the amazement we had that someone could really put themselves out that much to help. We sometimes forget how many good people there are out there.

Today’s been one of those wild adventures that I’ll be laughing about later—if I survive missing the ferry, that is! Here I am in Northern Ireland at a service station, fresh off a diesel top-up, and off we go on our way. But of course, fate had a little twist in store: we’ve got a flat tire! Yes, it seems we’ve driven over some extra-large debris, and now the spare tire is playing hard to get. Now, add to the mix 40 darling dogs all riding along, each one demanding a bit of extra love and attention and trust me, they’re pros at breakfast in Stena line boats, sausages and ham treats!!!!

We’ve been out since the crack of dawn scooping up these wonderful dogs for their VIP transport experience, and although it’s a chilly, bumpy ride, the chaos has its own quirky charm. As you know It’s not our first trip with misadventures—a snowy drift from last time still brings a smile (and a shudder) to my memory. But despite the setbacks and the thought of a ferry-less fate, I’m choosing to laugh at the absurdity of it all. After all, every twist and turn is just another story to tell once we finally get these pups into their cozy kennels with heated lamps.

Here’s to hoping for a quick rescue and smoother ride ahead.

Luckily, we managed to catch the ferry, and as always, leaving the dogs behind, even for a short time, was a wrench as we are not allowed to stay with them as the boat sails. They don’t understand why we disappear, only that we do. I was ready to see them by 4 AM but waited for the truckers lounge and breakfast to commence.The staff knew me by now, and they were kind enough to let me have a generous helping of sausages. I sliced them up into six pieces each and stuffed them into an empty coffee mug—then another. You make do with what you have.

I stationed myself by the door to our deck, waiting for my moment. A workman passed through, and I slipped in behind him, making my way straight to the van. Unlocking the door, I was met with nearly forty pairs of eyes—some hopeful, some wary, all waiting. The braver ones looked right at me, some tails giving small, uncertain wags. Others shrank back; their eyes full of questions I couldn’t answer.

I topped up water bowls, whispered words of comfort, stroked soft, gentle heads, and doled out sausages. Some dogs took them eagerly, others sniffed at the unfamiliar offering, unsure of what to do. Kibble had been their whole world until now.

We’re driving home now. I know what’s ahead for them—a future they can’t yet imagine. New homes, warm beds, kind hands. But first, there will be confusion, fear, and a need for patience. Roast chicken, sausages, and love will help.

I talk to the dogs a lot. They don’t judge, they just listen. I don’t always feel I can share my worries with my family; they have enough burdens of their own. My daughter finds her release in art. I used to, too, but somewhere along the way, worry took its place.

Still, look at what can be achieved when you set your mind to it. Leah has been helping with rescues since she could walk. It seems she was born with the same fire in her heart.

We’ll be back soon. Special meals will be waiting for these babies because food is more than nourishment—it’s reassurance, a bridge between fear and trust. Life.

The Most Important Competition of the Year (Probably Ever): Next week, I’ll be unveiling the competition of the century. No, it’s not who can eat the most biscuits in one sitting (though I’d win that). It’s even better.

For the teeny price of just £3, you can enter a photo of your beloved dog. Yes, that masterpiece of a photo you already have—probably one where your dog is looking majestic… or, let’s be real, doing something utterly ridiculous.

And what do you win? Oh, just a pastel drawing of your dog, done by my daughter who is amazing at art. That’s right—your wonderful dog immortalized in pastel glory. If you haven’t seen Leah’s artwork yet, go check it out at the link provided: https://www.facebook.com/share/15rBM6mAAN/?mibextid=wwXIfr and share with others so they will enter too. You’ll want to enter immediately (and maybe even pretend a random dog is yours just for the chance to win—no judgment).

The winner will be announced in a month, so start snapping those dog photos now! And share this with your friends—because let’s face it, everyone knows someone who takes way too many pictures of their dog.

The best part? All the money raised will go toward saving more dogs and could even help fund another trip to Ireland to rescue more lost souls. So, by entering, you’re basically becoming a hero. No cape required.

Get your dog pics ready… and may the best woof win!

To provide you with an update before I go, little Angel's eye is mending, and her wounds have mended too. She could, if lucky, get an application to be someone's very special and spoiled baby.

Today all the dogs were looked over by the vet and booked in. A few had baths, and others had manicures, all had a whole load of love, and I smiled at all the lives with a definite future ahead. You all know that without you this could not happen, so please look at this gallery, as these pictures will tell my story better than any words.

THANK YOU EVERYONE, Sylvia x