Sylvias Diary 27-02-25

Thursday was one of those rare days where everything just worked. A day where I stood back for a moment and thought, this is why we do it.

Dogs arrived in numbers that would make any well-oiled rescue or company proud. Volunteers and staff members moved like clockwork, bathing, grooming, vetting, photographing. Kirsty, our foster coordinator, worked her magic, and fosters stepped up like they always do, ready to give these dogs a safe place to land. By Saturday, dogs had been adopted. The van was loaded for the foster run, food packed, dog bags made up. Even the Welsh weather played along, warm and golden, as if the universe was giving us a break.

But if you know me, you know I can never fully enjoy days like these. Not while others are suffering. Because while we were here, giving these lucky dogs their second chance, a group of rescuers are preparing in Spain, to have to part with dogs who will never get one.

Some time ago, I had agreed to take in a dog from Spain. A black dog, unwanted and discarded like rubbish. A kind man on holiday had found him starving in the mountains, carried him to safety, and paid for his care. But when he returned, he found that the people he’d trusted had moved away, leaving the dog alone in a basement, visited only for food and water. No love. No companionship. Nothing.

That man begged for help, and a rescue he asked in Spain asked me and I said yes so I made plans. They arranged for him to be tested, vaccinated, and transported and I was ready. But at the vet’s office in Spain, he failed one of the tests. He could have been treated, given meds, and traveled later. But that’s not what happened. The vet decided his life wasn’t worth the trouble. And just like that, before we could intervene, he was gone. His name was King.

Now, in his memory, I am fighting for ten more.

In Murcia, Spain, a new council contract has sealed the fate of countless dogs. They will be handed over to a company with a reputation for cruelty. A place where black dogs disappear first. Where German Shepherds, Malinois, bull breeds, and anything they deem unworthy will not leave alive.

The volunteers on the ground have fought. They have delayed the decision, gathered evidence, and tried everything to stop these dogs from being moved. But the final ruling is coming, and the odds are not in their favor.

The only way to save them is to get them out before that decision is made.

Each dog transported to safety costs £400. £400 to stop a death sentence. £400 to give them a life. Right now, volunteers, many who are expats, walk these dogs daily, loving them, knowing that soon they could be gone. Living on a knife edge, hoping for miracles. These dogs are healthy. They are good. They have done nothing wrong. If you can donate, please do. If you can foster, step forward. If you can share, spread their story. Because I never want to sit here again and write about another King. Because time is running out.

This is the volunteer’s dog walking page. As you will see the dogs are greatly loved, so the thought they may be dead soon must be terrible https://www.facebook.com/caminandoconellos/

Sadly, since writing this it has been confirmed the dogs will be moving to the kill facility and many will lose their lives, so the race is on to save as many as possible. It must be hell for these volunteers visiting their beloved favourite dogs knowing in a few weeks they will be removed and very probably killed, plus in the meantime they are to suffer at the new premises. We can all try to help, but help means spaces at rescues, adopters, and finance to save them. Please see the first two who will be coming, followed hopefully by 8 more once prepared. These two are said to be wonderful dogs.

As the week rolls on, so do the operations. Dogs with closed pyometra that would have died if not operated on. A GSD with the biggest bladder stone ever, a pup with a horrible entropion, and the usual spays and neuters. It seems that this is a never-ending loop of worry, but if you break it down and remember that each dog has received great relief and the chance of a happy ever after, everything seems better. This week there are 7 canine legs Awaiting slipping patella surgery. Sometimes physio can solve a not so extreme case. But sadly, these dogs are extreme cases, one of the vets around here charges £2700 per leg. We have a lovely vet who will come and help sometimes, and he did one of two legs that needed to be done on a cavalier a few months ago, and the leg is now recovering well, so he will come and do the other. If a local and very careful foster is not found for the dog to recover, the dogs stay here, and 14 weeks is a long stay. One of the dogs this week had such a severe case that I thought he had broken his pelvis. He is the sweetest chap, and the staff all fell in love, he is one of the lucky ones as a staff member is fostering. All these dogs will get operated on and be able to have a normal pain free life, but at a huge cost to the rescue.

At night when everything seems so gloomy and sad a fosterer remembers you and sends you a video to cheer you up, which means a hell of a lot, especially when it's so unrelated to the rescue that you can lose yourself in a little fun. Therefore, I felt after my gloomy diary it may make you smile too. So have a look: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ogpwrc6oCKM 

Tuesday morning - The One-Eyed Miracle

The morning was thick with darkness, the kind that makes you question whether it’s still night. 5:30 AM. I didn’t want to move, not even an inch. But the second I did, my dogs sprang to life, tails thudding, eager for the day to begin. There was no choice now and I was up. I stumbled downstairs, let them out, pulled on my clothes, and began the morning chores. Bill came to join me soon after, and together we fed and checked the dogs. He left to move the van back to the barn while I carried on cleaning up the feed shed, barely noticing the world outside coming to life and then, I thought I heard him shout. It was hard to tell over the barking, the usual morning chaos. Had I imagined it? Then I heard him again.

I ran to the gate, yanking it open as best I could, and saw him in the road, the van still running, headlights slicing through the dark. His voice was urgent. “Come quickly! Come quickly!” and I followed, heart pounding. The van’s lights illuminated the shadows, and there, just beyond, was a dog. A small figure, bloodied, broken. As I knelt, trying to reach her, she bolted. Bill had seen the direction she’d run. He went to park the van properly while I went after her, calling softly, “Pup, pup…” But silence answered me.

I found Bill again. “Maybe we should take the car,” I suggested, and he agreed, running off to get it. But I couldn’t wait. I walked further down the lane, pushing forward into the unknown. There are only three houses along that road. As I passed the second, I saw a black bin bag, torn open at the side. And there she was. She was rifling through the garbage, too starved to care about anything else. I barely had time to take a breath before she looked up, startled and ran. But not before I saw it.

Her eye. Or rather, what was left of it.

She tore off towards a dead-end, where a footpath led straight onto the A48, a dangerous, thundering dual carriageway. I backed off, following from a distance. Bill arrived, and we hammered on the door of the last house, waking the homeowner. We explained about the dog, about the injury, about the need for a trap. He agreed without hesitation. Back at the rescue, Bill retrieved the trap while I grabbed pilchards and blankets. The blankets would disguise the trap, making it feel safe. The pilchards? They would smell like heaven to a starving dog.

We set up, spoke to the kind homeowner again, and left, hoping, praying.

Later, the staff arrived, and I sent a warning to drive carefully. The last thing we needed was a car accident on top of everything else. We spread the word, putting up as many traps as we could along the road.

And then, a sighting. The people from the house rushed back. She’d nearly gone into the trap. Nearly. But then, she bolted again. This time, she ran towards us. We moved fast. Some of the staff cut through the fields, blocking escape routes. We formed a human net, guiding her back towards the traps.

Then we waited.

The first time we saw her was at 5:45 AM.

By 10 AM, I was long-reining a horse, preparing to train it for driving, when the call came in. She was trapped.

I spun around, passed the horse to someone else, and sprinted back best I could. The vet had already been warned. When I arrived, she was in someone’s arms. One eye bulging. Bloodied. Broken. The vet, in the middle of a spay surgery, stopped everything. He took one look and gave her pain relief before quickly sterilizing himself and returning to finish the spay. Only then did he turn his full attention to her. She was dehydrated, starving, exhausted, and in excruciating pain. No food yet and her stomach wasn’t ready, and she needed an operation. Instead, a drip, fluids, warmth.

Then came the hardest part.

The swelling behind her eye was too severe. The pressure was building, pushing against her skull. There was no saving it. The vet worked carefully, removing the ruined eye, checking for fractures, inspecting every bruise and wound. She had been through hell, but she had survived. She was laid on a heated mat, wrapped in blankets, and surrounded by quiet voices murmuring their support.

Even those of us who don’t believe in God found ourselves whispering silent prayers. Hours later, I checked on her again and this time she was awake. Lying in her little bed, warmth surrounding her, watching me with her one remaining eye. She didn’t understand.

She didn’t understand why we were kind.

She didn’t understand why she was safe.

She didn’t understand how she had ended up here.

But this is the right place for her. And tonight, we will stay up all night watching her. Tomorrow, I will tell you how she is doing. For now, hourly visits, gentle hands, soft voices, warmth, and love. And we will pray that this little dog, who has been so scared, so lost, fights to live.

Wednesday morning - the night before was perfect. Our little one-eyed girl slept dozed and lapped up my touch, my soft words but not food. This morning warm chicken, ham, cheese, and warm scrambled eggs were offered but to no avail. Getting better requires strength, so eating is essential. She has had pain meds in the night and the vet will be in early, so I expect to top those up. How long was she on the run? Had she been thrown out of a car, hit by a car or what? We don't know, but we do know today she will feel very stiff, sore and tired.

That’s the week here, more like a Soap Opera than reality, but I can assure you all this did happen this week. Please carry on supporting, spreading the word and helping. For because of you all they all have that second chance they so deserve.

Sylvia x