Sylvia's Diary 26-06-25

There’s always so much happening at Many Tears, joy and sadness all mixed together, every single day.

Yesterday, a sweet little Pug came in. She needed surgery to remove a large bladder stone, something her owner simply couldn’t afford. The owner came in with her parents, tearful and heartbroken. The little dog often stayed with her parents when her owner was busy, and it was clear how loved she was.

They signed her over to us, and I took her straight to our vets for a proper check-up. She wasn’t spayed and, on top of needing the bladder operation, she also needed nasal wedge surgery, her little flat face and tiny nostrils meant she struggled to breathe properly.

Back at reception, I talked more with the family about their lives and how the dog had been part of it. It just didn’t feel right that they should have to lose her because of money. So, I offered to do the operation at cost, on the condition that they would get her insured going forward and they could take her back home. They were delighted and called later that afternoon to check on her progress.

But when 2 o’clock came, I was surprised they had decided not to take her back after all.

I keep telling myself not to judge, I don’t know their circumstances, and people do what they can. But in my heart, I know I couldn’t have left my dog. I would’ve sold my soul before giving them up.

I often say: I am a dog-aholic. And though that might sound wonderful, it can be a real problem. When I’m not actively helping the animals here, I feel an almost unbearable guilt. I can’t relax, can’t stop worrying about what else could be done. It’s an addiction, no different than alcohol or drugs, and like any addiction, it can take over your life.

Life flashes by in the blink of an eye. The older you get, the harder it is to do what once felt easy, to have the energy to run, to feel invincible. I sometimes wonder now if I’m more of a burden than a help. I look at my own dogs, sleeping comfortably on my bed with the fan on, and instead of feeling calm, I feel sadness for all the others, just feet away, confused and waiting.

Even writing this brings tears to my eyes. But there’s no point in sitting in sorrow. Tomorrow is another day, one I can fill with action and purpose. I’ll get up, get going, and try to make a difference. After all, regret is the greatest waste of energy.

Saturday

Boy, it was a hot night last night. The dogs were roasting — they ended up lying in front of the fan, which was supposed to be cooling us down as well, but of course, we didn’t get any of the benefits! Just waggy tails and happy dogs while we lay there on our pillows, melting. It’s tough loving your dogs so much that you never want to deprive them of anything… but goodness, it was hot.

I do miss the heat in Arizona, but that was a dry heat. You don’t really notice it like this. Here, the humidity is so extreme, you’re just dripping with sweat, and it makes all the jobs jolly hard. Still, I promised myself I’d get up today and keep busy. No dwelling on problems, just hard work and that way, when I go to bed tonight, I’ll feel good about the day.

So, I got up, did my chores, tidied up, and got ready for the big show, which, as always, takes weeks of planning and lists and organising. I also made a list for Joyce, who’s heading to Ireland tomorrow, so she knows what route to take, and a list for the staff so they know what kennels to prepare.  

We’ve had an awful lot of phone calls lately, people saying they can’t afford to keep their dogs, marriage break-ups, or simply saying they no longer want them. Some with no reason at all. We always see this at holiday time, so many people would rather go on holiday than pay to board their dog, which is just so sad. But we’re having to be sensible, we’ve already got so many dogs here, so many spaces promised for others, Many more are out in foster homes too.

Of course, Bill and I always open the door to ex-breeding dogs, it doesn’t matter if they’re old, if they’ve stopped breeding, or if they’re puppies with problems. We always say yes. That’s why we started this place.

Today, I saw two dogs that had come in together, and I wasn’t sure we’d be able to home them as a pair. People don’t always want to take two dogs at once. However, their online stories said they would love to be homed together, and miracles do happen, and did!!!! We are  hoping and praying that it works out, for them and for the new family. Such a sweet pair, truly bonded. The little Beagle even uses the Labrador as a pillow at night, which makes me laugh. They are such characters.

Sadly, not all the news is good. This week we’ve had to say no to some pound dogs, which means they will be, or already have been, put to sleep. Just no space. It’s heartbreaking. This world can be so sad sometimes.

Now the thunder is roaring overhead and the whole place is blanketed in clouds. We had one short burst of torrential rain, but mostly it’s just hot, muggy, and full of flies. Despite it all, my dogs are having a wonderful time galloping through the fields, which have just been mowed.

Tomorrow is a new day, a new start for some dogs, and sadly, an ending for others. There are things that happened yesterday and today that I won’t even write about, even though I always promise to be truthful here because I don’t want to hurt those involved. But what I will say is this: every dog’s life is valuable, and no dog should ever spend the rest of its life in jail. Not in my mind, anyway.

Promise

The fosterers of promise the sweet working cocker who came to us with brain damage and left us seemingly normal wrote. Here’s what they said.

Hi Sylvia,

  Promise has had a great week, growing in confidence daily. Walks in new places and is loving our MT collie Jim. He is learning some self-control and to retrieve. Toilet training is getting there. And is a complete cuddle monster.

He is very typical of the breed, struggles with self-control and goes from 0-100mph. He seems to be retaining what we are teaching, so we are very hopeful all your care and dedication has healed him and he will live a normal (well normal for a cocker) life.

The chameleon classroom that changed.

When Bill and I first bought this place, the kennels and outbuildings were dirty and horrible, old Nissan huts and sheds that had once been used for kennelling and housing dogs. We pulled down anything we couldn’t make right and rebuilt on the same areas with new, humane spaces that would be a good place for the animals.

One of the places we refurbished was just a big old shed, part of it we turned into a stable, and the other half became a tack room and a little classroom for children. We get a lot of children visiting, and it’s so important to have a space where we can talk to them, explain what they’ll be doing, what they’ve seen, and help them understand and learn a little from the experience.

However, as the years passed, the classroom gradually got taken over by indoor kennels. Now, it’s really more of a nursery and special care unit, a place for dogs recovering from serious operations, dogs needing rehabilitation, or for mums whose puppies have reached that slightly unbearable stage! The puppies go in there to be socialised properly, and mum gets a bit of space and relief from her little “brats”, though of course, to us, these little brats are utterly adorable (we’re not the ones trying to feed six hungry mouths every five seconds!).

Today, when I went in to check on them all, I had one of those moments where you stop and reflect on how far things have come and how much has happened.

Let’s start with the now:

A beautiful little Cavalier called Nell who came in months ago, walking like a frog, with her legs splayed, unable to move at any speed, clearly in pain. Over the past twelve weeks, she’s had two operations for slipping patellas. One on each hind leg. Now, she’s walking and almost ready for her new home, thousands of pounds spent, but worth every penny.

Then there’s Blink, a tiny Border Terrier with a cruciate problem that had been left untreated for goodness knows how long. The injury has been repaired now, but we’re having to do physio because her muscles had seized up after so much time. She’s not walking properly yet, but we hope that will improve with time.

Next is Polly Pocket, the most amazing little Boston Terrier. She had one leg operated on for a slipping patella, and was up and walking the very next day! Just four weeks of rest, and then we did the other leg, again, she was up straight away. She’s ready for a home now, as long as it’s lead-walk only. Such a brave little poppet!

In the real world, not the lucky world I’m living in, these dogs would’ve cost £12,000 or more in operations. I’m so fortunate to have our specialist vet, Tiago, who comes down to do the surgeries for a discounted price.. It’s still a lot of money, but an incredible saving. On top of that, he’s wonderful, always happy to answer my calls and help when I’m worried. God really smiled on us when we found him.

Of course, now there is no classroom for children, or quiet space for visiting groups of those with special needs. That will be my next project. I would so love to get a shepherd’s hut!

Last year, we saved up enough for one, it was going to have a ramp for access and be fitted out with tea, coffee, and comfy seating, well away from the usual meeting places. It was going to be perfect. I’d found one on Facebook, exactly what I wanted. I tried to contact the seller, but could only get through to a friend, as he said the seller was in hospital. Eventually, they arranged for someone to bring it down to us. We paid the money and checked everything carefully, only to discover, weeks later, that it was a scam. The same person had conned lots of other people too, they were based in Romania. There was no way of getting the money back. I was devastated, I’d used Many Tears funds and lost them. The trustees were very kind about it, but I worked so hard to try and replace what was lost.

Still, no shepherd’s hut yet. But we do have a wonderful nursery and recovery area, and I’m sure the children understand. After all, we are all animal lovers here and their needs must always come first.

The Case of the Disappearing… and Reappearing Things!

Last week I told you about the strange phenomenon at Many Tears: everything disappears. Honestly, it’s like we have a portal to another dimension, one dedicated entirely to lost duct tape, scrunchies, shoelaces, wheelbarrows… you name it. You can squirrel something away for just the right moment, think you’ve hidden it well, but no, it’s gone. Poof.

But this week… miracles have happened! Things have started turning up. Not my old things, mind, those are probably living a new life in a parallel universe, but new, glorious replacements have appeared.

First: a whole packet of scrunchies arrived. Oh, the joy! My hair is now happily tied back, much to my relief,  it’s been roasting here. Then… duct tape. Duct tape in COLOURS. I’ve never seen such glamorous duct tape, what a time to be alive! Needless to say, I quickly took it indoors. I don’t mind sharing… but I do mind things vanishing into the void.

And then… the pièce de résistance: a pink wheelbarrow arrived this morning. Honestly, you would’ve thought a UFO had landed. The reaction was fierce. The front reception staff laid claim immediately: “It’s pink, it’s ours!” The horse team trotted over: “Finally! A wheelbarrow that works!” The maintenance crew appeared next: “Really? Pink?! Well… we need it so badly we don’t care.”

In the end, reception won the battle, they’ve been waiting the longest. We’ve boldly written “RECEPTION ONLY” on it. We’re hoping the bright pink colour and the sign will ward off potential wheelbarrow thieves, but in this place? Who knows. It could still disappear through the vortex of missing things!

I do want to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has sent in these wonderful supplies. We rarely know who sends them, as nothing comes with a name, but please know you are truly appreciated. Every roll of tape, every scrunchie, every rubber band, paper clip, bulldog clip, toilet roll, and yes, even the pink wheelbarrow, helps us enormously. It all adds up and saves so much from our funds.

Pomsky Pandemonium!

Today’s update: we have been positively overrun with Pomskies! Yes, Pomskies. For the uninitiated, that’s a delightful (and slightly mad) cross between a fluffy little Pomeranian and a sturdy, striking Husky. The result? Small(ish), fluffy, bright-eyed mischief-makers with the confidence of a lion and the legs of a spaniel. This particular batch has arrived from a breeder who, shall we say… lost enthusiasm for the breed. They’re mostly very young, unsold, unwanted, and now in our care. The good news is: they are absolute characters. They come in every colour you can imagine (well, almost — we haven’t found any stripy ones… yet), and they are full of beans. Think of them as pocket-sized comedians with fur. Size-wise? Well, we’ve been told they won’t grow bigger than a cocker spaniel. I wouldn’t suggest carving that into stone… but fingers crossed, that’s the idea. At present, we seem to have acquired them in a “nearly all male” assortment, a Pomsky bachelor club, if you will. They are now looking for homes of their own, ready to entertain you, make you laugh, and fill your house with joyful chaos.

The hardest part? Choosing. There are so many, each one more charming (and cheeky) than the next. But whoever you choose, the journey will be well worth it.

Sunday Night

Bill called the dogs in from the yard…

Stan was a Russian Black Terrier, a giant of a dog, devoted to his friends and family. But for those he didn’t know, he believed it was his duty to protect us, sometimes with his teeth.

Because of this, we never rehomed him. He stayed with us, where he belonged.

When he grew to full size, it became clear his body was struggling, hips, shoulders, legs, all giving him trouble. The vet advised managing him carefully, because of his temperament. So we did, for nine years. Nine years of love, care, and knowing him so well. Lately, the longer walks were becoming too much. He faltered, but couldn’t bear being left behind. I spoke to Bill and we were going to see if we could adjust his medications, try to give him a little more comfort.

But we never had that chance.

Last night, the dogs rushed in from the yard. Stan slipped. He screamed, a sound I’ll never forget and dragged his hind legs, unable to stand. We called everyone, vets, friends, physios, trying to find help. It was decided to make him comfortable enough to move, to get him X-rayed.

I felt down his legs. One, no feeling at all. The other, I could feel the awful grinding of a break beneath my hand.

A vet came very early this morning. With the heaviest of hearts, we said goodbye to our boy. We both wept.

So many memories. So much pain.

They say time makes it better. For me, that has never been true.

Today I’m hiding, working quietly at the vets. It’s too hard to face the day.

Yesterday, I kept as busy as I could in the vets. We had a very fast vet in, she worked through a lot of surgeries, and I focused hard on keeping up. But the moment the workday ended; life’s reality came crashing in.

I took Sage the horse for a walk down the road. He happily chomped away on the grass while I wept.

Losing Stan has been terrible. He was so big, such a huge presence in our life. Everything changed once we had a dog that had bitten Bill. I had all the key doors around the property fitted so no one could just walk in and risk being bitten. We changed where we walked him. We even bought a little cottage in the woods, away from people, so we could walk him safely. And with all those rules and his muzzle in place, he never bit again.

It’s so hard now that he’s gone.

The evening only got worse. I had more paperwork to do, but I cried so much my tears dripped onto the papers and smudged them. I hardly slept at all. This morning, I had no enthusiasm for the day ahead, I even thought maybe it’s time to walk away. I just can’t cope with so much sadness sometimes.

But I had a dog coming in very early, before the staff arrived. He was travelling all the way from Romania, and I owed it to him to do my best. So I got up at 4am and did my chores, and by 5:10am I was there to welcome him in.

He is a beautiful, kind dog who has spent two long years waiting in Romania for a home. He’s not ‘special’ to look at unless you understand what you’re looking at and he’s probably too big for most people. Everyone seems to want small dogs right now, and he isn’t glamorous. But this dog has the right feel about him.

Thank you for wading through my diary, for the wheelbarrow scrunchies and lovely kind words. 

But most of all Thank you for your support. Sylvia. x

If I didn’t already have too many (and I know I’m supposed to have fewer, not more), I would have taken him in myself, if he would accept me, flaws and all. But it cannot be. He has to go into the kennels again, and that breaks my heart for him.

We get dogs from all over the world, but by far the most affected ones tend to come from Romania. Many we’ve had and we’ve had quite a lot, arrive scared, worried, mistrustful, after truly terrible experiences. But this chap seems stable. I know it’s a snap judgement, I hardly know him yet, but I feel he’s a good soul. I hope someone else will see that too. He is called Bernard. Bernard the brave, for he has seen so much but loves humans still.

Joyce is home today with a van full of dogs. I know that’s going to mean a lot of extra work for the staff, and I know I need to be cheerful and work hard so that they’ll feel they should work hard too. Being a good role model really matters, and if the role model crumbles, why should they bother?

I’m going to get on and try to make the most of the day, no matter what’s happened. But it’s so bloody hard.

Yesterday, we had a beautiful new arrival.

A golden retriever, older, soft, kind. A real gentleman. When he stepped off the van, we could tell straight away: he couldn’t see. Not cataracts. Not something that could be mended. He is blind. Later, we realised he’s almost completely deaf too. He lives in a quiet world, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He finds peace in simple things,  the feeling of grass under his paws, the warmth of another dog nearby, the gentle brush of a friendly hand. He leans into affection like it’s the first time he’s known kindness. He’s been used as a stud dog. Why, I don’t know. He’s so lovely, so tender, not the kind of boy anyone should have used. He deserved better than that life. Now, in his final chapter, he deserves everything: A home. A soft bed. Companionship. Comfort. Someone to love him not for what he can give, but simply for who he is. He’d be perfect lying in the sun on the lawn of a stately home, with another gentle dog by his side. But you don’t need a mansion to make him happy, just a heart that has room for a quiet, loyal friend. He will not ask for much. He doesn’t demand. He waits. But once you let him in, he will own your heart completely. Please, don’t leave him here in the kennels. He needs a home, foster or forever, a place where his days can be soft and full of love. There must be someone out there who needs him just as much as he needs them. Let him be someone’s best friend at last.

My last entry is at last one of joy. I was sent this just when life felt unbearable.

From promises fosterer.

Hi Sylvia, Promise has settled so well and we have totally fallen for him. Knowing everything he has been through and still being such a joyful, happy soul, we would like to adopt him. I have just popped the application in but wanted to let you know xxx