It was about seven years ago. They were living on the streets underneath a busy highway overpass. That’s where I met them for the first time. I drove back and forth several times until I could get their attention and then I pulled over and blocked traffic as I jumped out to talk with them. There was just something in that moment. That single moment.

Seven years ago The Pongo Fund was still just me working out of the back of my car. It was my way to help.

The man said his name was Ken and his dog’s name was Taken. She was just a little one back then. They were homeless.

Both were courteous but neither was trusting. They’d been on the streets long enough to know that there were no guarantees and that promises were frequently broken.

But two things jumped out at me.

Ken said that in terms of the broken promises he knew it was not fair to blame others. He said he’d made plenty of bad decisions in his life and those bad decisions were part of the reason his life was playing out as it was.

He knew that some of those broken promises he referred too were the very promises he himself had not kept. And here he was telling me, a complete stranger, that he knew he needed to do better and he was trying.

The second thing that got my attention was the dog’s name: Taken. That really was her name. But why? So I asked.

And with a beaming smile on his face Ken said that was easy. He said she was taken. That she belonged to him and he belonged to her. They were family.

And that’s why he was working hard to do better. For her.

For Taken.

At that moment they were both hungry. But Ken was only interested in my dog food and treats. Because he said Taken comes first. She always comes first.

But before he let me give Taken even one kibble he wanted to know what was in the food. I told him the ingredients and he asked a lot of questions. He had more questions and more concern than some of the savviest dog people I know. So I asked him why.

And he began his story of how much Taken meant to him. And that he knew her whole life depended on him. He said he made a commitment to her the day they met and he would not let her down.

As he spoke so gently about her, I could tell that his own life depended on her too. Just as hers did on him. And with every word he spoke to me her eyes were glued to him.

After that I ran into Ken and Taken occasionally. Most of the time Taken was riding in the shopping cart that Ken pushed. Even though she was 80 pounds and I knew that it was a lot of work to get her in that cart. But Ken said she would get tired and he didn’t want to leave her behind. So together they rolled.

On cold days she was well blanketed. And on warm days she had a shade canopy and lots of cool water close at hand. Ken did not have the same luxuries. But he didn’t care. Because Taken was his girl and taking extra great care of her was all that mattered.

During one of our conversations Ken said there was a chance he might need someone to look after Taken. Just for a short while. Did I know anyone?

And from that moment on Ken had my business card in his pocket and knew he could call me at any time.

Ken came to The Pongo Fund Pet Food Bank when we opened in 2009. And everyone there fell in love with both of them. Taken, the big, beautiful, sweet and gentle girl sitting on her Dad’s lap. And Ken, the soft-spoken and patient man that greeted everyone with a smile.

They returned as often as necessary but never too many times in a row. When I asked Ken why they were not there more often he said that he knew there were people worse off than they were. And he did not want to take too much dog food if another dog needed it more.

True to his word Ken really did turn his life around. And he and Taken moved from the streets to living in a small apartment several floors above the very streets they used to sleep on.

Life was not perfect. But perfect was not what they sought. They had food. They had shelter. They had each other.

But then a few weeks ago Ken called. He started his call by apologizing for bothering me but said he had run out of dog food and needed some help. I could hear the concern in his vocie.

He explained that Taken had developed some serious health issues and could no longer walk. He had spent almost all his money on veterinary care but she was still struggling to stand.

Her back legs would no longer support her.

So he took his last funds and bought Taken a large baby stroller so he could still take her outside as much as possible. He said it was a really nice baby buggy because he wanted to be sure she was comfortable.

He laughed as he said it, knowing how funny the story may sound. But I knew his laughter was covering his fear. He was so worried about his girl and he did not know what to do.

He came to The Pongo Fund for food that day. He arrived an hour before our scheduled time. He is that kind of person.

He came alone. The single figure jumped out at me. A rare occasion when I would not see Taken by his side. And I stopped breathing for a moment when he walked in the door alone.

We talked and there was no question that Ken was doing all he could do. But more help was needed. And Ken would never ask. But Taken could not walk and he was scared. Most of all, he was scared that he was letting her down.

I told him about Scooby and his hydrotherapy. I shared lots of Scooby stories and showed him a photo of Scooby on the treadmill. We laughed about dogs on underwater treadmills. And then I asked him if he would like Taken to see Kristin, Scooby’s excellent physical therapist.

He answered quickly and said he could not afford it.

He had no money even for food right then. He was broke. I told him it did not matter. Because the cost was not part of the conversation. All I was concerned about was helping her get better. And I knew that Kristin was the best first step.

So I told him I would pay for Taken’s evaluation. And he said nothing. He looked to the side. Away from me. I could tell he did not know what to say.

This proud man that spent so many years living on the streets to make amends for the wrongs he had committed sat frozen. He struggled in that moment. I know that he felt too proud to accept the help. That he did not deserve it. So I told him that Taken deserved it. And that she would do it for him.

But he said that even if he said yes, he would want to pay me back. And what if she needs more visits, he asked? Already worried even more because he knew he could not afford it.

And I did my best in that single moment of time to touch the soul of this kind and sensitive man that did not know what to do. I asked him to let us take one step at a time. But to please let us take those steps together.

Because this dog that he loved needed our help. And I knew that by helping her, we were helping him too. They both needed us.

Because losing one would likely mean losing both.

One hour from now on this Friday, April 17th, 2015, Pongo Volunteer Extraordinaire Amy M. will drive Ken and Taken to meet Scooby’s therapist Kristin. They will have a full session, just like Scooby gets.

Because this appointment they will have today, on this day known as French Fry Friday, is actually Scooby’s appointment. And he has given it up so Taken can get the help she needs.

Don’t worry. Scooby will still have his fries.

But more importantly is that Taken will take the first steps toward learning to walk again.

Maybe she’ll even get some fries too.

I’ll keep you posted.

Being there for Ken and Taken.

And this is why we Pongo.

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. thepongofund.org

We get by with a little help from our friends. The Beatles sang it. And The Pongo Fund lives it. And yesterday our friends included the awesome girls from Girl Scout Troop 45203 in Portland, Oregon.

These girls reached out to Pongo long ago, wanting to help. But they wanted to do more than the basics. So with help from their Troop leaders Carolyn and Katia, this 11 member Troop learned everything they could about The Pongo Fund. They learned what we do and why we do it.

And then they told others. They hosted a pet food drive. They raised money. They dedicated a portion of their cookie sales to us. They pretty much did whatever they could because they understood that lives were at stake. And they knew they could be the ones to make a difference.

And what a difference they made.

They arrived in a three car caravan and upon arrival quickly engaged in a full-on discussion about hunger and how that hunger is even worse for people with pets.

We talked diet and food and how they would feel going to bed hungry. We talked about their own pets, both the ones they have now and those that have crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

These girls understood that this was more than just a story about an empty stomach. Each one of them just 8-years-old, but they got it. They got it. They got it. They got it.

They then presented The Pongo Fund with their donation. Both food and money. And after tallying all they brought, these young philanthropists from Girl Scout Troop 45203 will be providing the community with more than 2,000 meals.

Yes, that’s right. More than 2,000! That’s what a group of 8-year-olds have done. 🙂

And then they got to work, helping us pack kibble for community distribution. Kibble packed yesterday that was ready to head out the door this morning to help those in need.

Thank you to Annalise and Ella and Ellie and Emmy and Grace and Kate and Lillie and Lucia and Mia and Ruby and Teresa and to Troop Leaders Carolyn and Katia.

Each one of you has made a true difference for those less fortunate, both two and four-legged alike. And all of us at The Pongo Fund are honored to know you and call you friend.

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. Troop 45203 ROCKS! thepongofund.org

#girlscouts #portland #troop45203

A dog that loves his Mom and a Mom that loves her son. Fighting breast cancer. She has it. He does not. Fighting the fight together.

I think of her and I think of her dog. And the conversations they must have. I think of their brave fear. Their courageous fear.

The same brave and courageous fear that everyone has when fighting cancer. It is fear not to be pitied. It is fear to be cheered. It is fear to be reckoned with. Because that fear brings strength.

They are a team. They are family. The soft breeze you feel is the swoosh of his wagging tail bouncing back and forth. The soft rain you feel are her tears of joy.

And mine too.

Tears shed because her doctor told her there is nothing more for him to do.

I think of her. Her doctor. And her dog. And I cry.

I truly appreciate all of you for reading my words. I don’t write them for any purpose other than to share a snippet of my days at The Pongo Fund.

I refuse to sugarcoat these moments. I write them raw. There is no editor.

That so many of you take the time to consider them and comment on them is a true honor for me. It really is. And I thank you.

Cancer sucks. If you’ve had it, you know. And if you’ve been lucky enough to avoid it, you still know.

There’s just no easy way to talk about it. I don’t have it but it took both of my parents. And it took them far too soon.

I was lucky enough to be there with them for thousands of moments that they never would have wanted me there for.

But each and every one of those moments was an honor.

I knew it then. And I remember it now.

And if I could do it all over again, I would. Praying the whole time for a better outcome.

The woman has breast cancer. And the love of her dog may be just as powerful as the drugs used to fight that cancer.

And when I heard their story I cried.

I cried because this woman fighting cancer was told by her doctor that there was nothing left to do. She was told she did not need to return. There was no more treatment. And I feared the worst.

I thought of her and I thought of her dog. And I could feel my voice crack even though I was not even speaking. I could just feel it along with my suddenly watery eyes.

And then came one more sentence from the person telling me the story.

And that next sentence brought me an explosion of joy. The final sentence that told me the reason her doctor would not see her anymore.

Because the cancer was gone.

To you, my two friends that I have never met, I love you. I love you both to the moon and back. I love you for loving each other. And I thank you, both of you, for fighting this brave fight together.

You are brave warriors. You are heroes. And you won!

I hate cancer. It is not my friend. But I am a friend to anyone fighting it. And I celebrate with joy every time someone kicks its ass. Like this woman did. With her dog that loves her.

To your doctor and medical team, thank you. Whoever you are. Wherever you are. You did well.

Although this moment goes beyond the work that The Pongo Fund normally does, it still hit me as a moment that I want to celebrate. I don’t know how to tell the story. But I just wanted to share it.

Because I’ve lost too many friends and family to cancer. Several just in the past few months.

But not this time.

Someday cancer is going to be too scared to return. Because it knows it will lose every fight it starts. Those days have to be close. And in my heart I believe they are.

And for those that did not win this time around, the good news is that when one beats it, all beat it. Even though it may not seem that way at the time. But it has to be true. It just has to be.

Being there with words and hope for those that need them most. Two legged and four.

With kibble and more.

And this is why we Pongo.

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. thepongofund.org

She has 17 cats. But no food to feed them. Some feral, some not. All are loved. Many are seniors. Working with her neighbors in their small town they got them spayed and neutered. But then her husband lost his job and that meant the end of the little bit of money they had. These could be your parents or grandparents or neighbors.

And before I could say anything else she laughed a big laugh and said the worst part is that even though they were poor, they still had more than any of their neighbors.

She said where she lives there is little help available for people and none for the animals. Just like in a lot of small towns. So she wondered if Pongo could suggest anyone in a nearby town that could help.

Anything, she said, would be something.

And then her husband got on the phone and said he would work to pay for the food if that would help. And through his rough and labored breathing I could tell that this older man was not well yet here he was offering to do whatever he could to help. Because that’s the kind of man he was.

We found a way to get the food there. The Kibble Courier that delivered the food said the situation was not a good one and this family needed far more than just cat food.

Even though they had so little of everything. Yet that’s all they asked for.

And then our Kibble Courier said they invited her in for lunch.

This happened a while ago but it stayed with me. And since then the Kibble Courier has returned a couple more times with more food and some other things too.

Recently a Pongo Friend reached out and said she wanted to do something to help someone else. I’ll call her Joy. And she thought Easter would be the right time. She said that while everyone else is focused on the holiday and family gatherings, she wanted to focus on helping someone that had no one else.

Her request hit me because I knew just what she meant. And she asked if there was someone that needed some extra help and if she could donate money for them and their pets?

I knew just what she wanted. She wanted to help someone because that in turn would help her too. Because helping others is the greatest gift.

No questions. No judgment. Just doing something for someone else. For someone less fortunate than ourselves. And the feeling of goodness that comes from that. That’s what she wanted.

Because isn’t that really what we all want?

So she wanted to take the money she would have spent on less important things and instead have that buy things to bring joy to others. And I thought of our friends with the 17 cats.

How they needed so much yet asked for so little. Because they knew that others had it worse.

So here was the perfect opportunity. I told Joy about this family and she said yes, she wanted to donate money to help them. She asked me how much she should donate. And I didn’t answer.

Because I had another idea. And this is what we did instead.

And right about now Joy should be arriving at the doorway of a family in a small town. They think they’re getting cat food.

But instead she will bring a packed carload of things desperately needed by a family too proud to ask for help. There’s more food than I can describe. And some extra-special items too. Things you and I may take for granted but special things nonetheless.

Like band-aids. Hand lotion. Batteries. Lip balm. New reading glasses and a giant magnifying glass. Epsom salts. Toilet paper. Toothpaste. Large sized jigsaw puzzles. Pens and paper and a little flowered journal. A solid cane. Compression bandages for swollen ankles. Salt. Pepper. Cinnamon.

And a really nice set of jarred spices because this woman with so little really loves to make soup.

The car will be jammed. Including some gift cards for the things we forgot. And yes, there is cat food too.

But aside from the worldly goods and even more important, she will also deliver love. And hope. Joy will deliver Joy.

They will become fast friends. They will share lunch and laughter. And they will share thanks. Thanking each other for the gifts they received this day. The gifts of each other.

On this day. The day before Easter, 2015. It’s not what we always do. But it’s what we did today. And we did it with Joy.

And this is why we Pongo.

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. Bringing Joy. thepongofund.org

Yesterday March 31st was Scooby’s 20 year and seven month birthday. And he greeted Buddha.

And today on his walk, in typical Buddha fashion, he convinced two angry dogs to not be angry. Literally.

The moment he appeared, just steps away from their growling and heated altercation, both dogs froze when Scooby let out a series of barks. Louder barks than I’ve ever heard him bark.

And those dogs were so shocked that they forgot what they were angry about. I saw it myself. Because right there at that very moment they both went silent. Not a peep.

And then Scooby stepped forward and greeted each of them. And then we walked on. As if it never happened.

At times like that I shake my head and wonder who this dog named Scooby really is?

But this much I can tell you. Today, on April Fool’s Day, it’s no joke. I LOVE this guy. And I am so thankful to have him in my life.

Tonight as he sleeps, I wonder. What does he dream about?

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. Scooby is the Peacemaker. thepongofund.org

Scooby went on a walk yesterday. Along a street he’d never walked on before. At least not with me in this lifetime. Suddenly he stopped. He sat down. And he stared at me.

Normally this means he wants a treat. I take that back. It means he demands a treat. So strong willed he is that he will not move until he gets that treat.

It’s his version of a Pedometer. His Scoobyometer. He walks a certain number of steps and then he stops. And he refuses to walk even one step more unless he gets a treat. Really.

Then he gets a treat and continues his walk. Until he wants another treat. And then once again he sits down and refuses to budge. Which is why I always have treats in my pocket. And that’s why I have to be sure and keep track of how many treats I have.

Because if I run out of treats I’m in big trouble. Because that means I need to pick him up and carry him home.

But this time it was different.

This time he sat down so abruptly it caught me by surprise. Because he just had a treat a few steps earlier. Yet here he was sitting down again. Like something out of the blue told him to stop.

Grudgingly I offered him another treat. But he turned his head away. He refused the treat.

That does not happen. And I was stunned. Concerned too. Because I had no clue what was going on.

After a few moments he got up and pulled me strongly to the north. Still refusing the treat. But there was nothing to the north. Just a few feet of empty driveway with a small fence at the side.

But for some reason that’s where Scooby wanted to go. And he was giving me no choice.

So we walked those few feet.

At the end of the driveway Scooby darted sharply to the side. And at the end of that driveway was this statue.

He walked straight to it. And without hesitation he gently kissed the face. It was one Buddha greeting another. And I was stunned.

How did he know Buddha was there?

What voice called him to stop and visit?

But that’s life with Scooby. At 20 ½ years of age I have no doubt that Scooby has lived many lives. And that he will live many more. I am his guardian for now. And he is mine.

Moments like this remind me of what a special soul he is. It is an honor to know him.

And it was an honor to have been included when one Buddha greeted another.

Namaste.

Blessings.

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. Scooby and the Buddha. thepongofund.org

Earlier this month The Pongo Fund did the unthinkable. We helped a broken-hearted woman euthanize her dog. Some extra hard times meant she could not afford the cost to have someone else do it. And that made her feel even worse.

So she turned to us. Not because we are experts in this area. But because she heard that we always do our best to help. And thankfully sometimes doing our best is enough.

But I could not help but wonder, was there something else we could do to help avoid the unthinkable?

So when the call came our first goal was to not help end this dog’s life but to bring him more life. Could we instead help him get healed and well? To bring him many more sunny days ahead?

Because of suspected neurological issues we were ready with physical therapy and doggie wheels. For food we were ready to create special formulas to help ease digestion. For comfort we were ready to provide comfortable beds.

But sometimes enough is not enough.

No matter how good. No matter how much. Sometimes enough is just not enough. And those times suck.

And I knew that was the case as this dear woman told me the stories of her dog. From puppy to now. And she did so in such detail that I hung on every word. But not because of the specific moments she described.

No, I hung on every word because of the love she put into every word. It was simply how she described this dog that she loved and that she knew she needed to help.

Even though that meant saying goodbye to her 15 year friend.

As she spoke her tears stopped. And she just spoke. About this dog that was part of her family no differently than her own children.

And the whole time she spoke I listened. And I cried too. But I also agonized trying to come up with solutions. Any solution. Anything that I could do to help this dog.

And that’s when it hit me.

To help this dog I needed to help this woman let go. To let her know that her decision was the right one. And at that moment our call moved from saving a life to saying goodbye.

Because there were too many things that could not be fixed. And it was time. Her dog needed her to help him now like never before.

Her sweet friend crossed the Rainbow Bridge and is now running on rainbows and sleeping in clouds. He is playing. He is running. Legs that stopped working long ago are young again. Chasing tennis balls. Treats galore.

A few days later I followed up to see how she was doing. She said she was doing ok. We talked for a while and we laughed a bit too.

And then she apologized to no one in particular for how funny her dog was. She said she knew he was causing a lot of mischief where he was now. And I told her he was in good company then, because Pongo, my Pongo, was the World’s Best Mischief Maker.

My Pongo who crossed the Bridge in 2007 when he was 19 years young. And I still miss him every day.

A few days later she emailed me. A beautiful email. It included many special words. Words like Kindness. Compassion. Love. Hopeless. And Hopeful. She talked about being there with her four-legged son right to the end. How much that meant to her. How she hugged him and held him close. How she said goodbye.

And she said she would be forever thankful for what we did when she did not know what else to do.

She ended her email by saying thank you. Imagine that. She thanked me for helping her do something when she was the one who deserved all the thanks.

I simply made some calls. But she was there to the end.

So to you, dear and kind woman that loved your dog as your son, I thank you. I thank you for loving him as you did and for being there for him when he needed you most.

Thank you for loving him. Thank you for being brave.

I thank you.

And this is why we Pongo.

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. thepongofund.org

Scooby loves pretty much everything and everyone. He even loves his veterinarian and vet techs. But he doesn’t love some of the stuff that goes along with visiting his veterinarian. And that means being inside the vet’s office is not his favorite place.

Thankfully Scooby’s vet knows that and is happy to meet him wherever he’s most comfortable. So today when he had the last of his stitches removed, the task was done while he relaxed in the back of my car.

There he was on his side, comfy and cozy and propped up on his Scooby bed with his Scooby blankets. Like Norm on Cheers, this is Scooby’s Happy Place.

Two vet techs greeted him with kind words and soft pets and while one held his head and mouth still, the other gently removed the stitches.

And they talked to him the whole time.

Snip. Snip. And a few seconds later all done. Then they gave him treats and more soft pets. Take a look at Scooby’s face. I think you know how he felt right then.

Next on Scooby’s schedule is a bath and Hot Stone Massage. Yes. The Scoobster will get his very own Hot Stone Massage. Because at 20 ½ years of age Scooby can pretty much have whatever he wants.

And just wait until he sees what’s in his dinner bowl tonight!

YUM 🙂

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. Scooby Forever. thepongofund.org

He walked alone, the man in the blue coat. Slow. Deliberate. Slightly hunched, head down. He looked comfortable on the sand as if he’d been there many times before.

Scooby wants to greet everyone everywhere. But he especially loves to greet people and dogs on the beach. Sometimes he will run, no, he will gallop, full speed, hundreds of feet just to say hello for a brief moment. As if he absolutely had to say that hello.

Of course he did. Because he’s Scooby.

And keep in mind that hundreds of feet for a 20 1/2 year-old dog would be like miles for you and me. In other words, it’s a big run.

People throwing tennis balls stop and watch the Scoobs as he comes running. Dogs that have just fetched freshly thrown balls drop those balls and watch too. Because until you see Scooby run you just can’t understand.

He runs with purpose and with grace. There is a beauty to his stride. He runs fast but he is not in a race. And he always finds his own finish line.

And that finish line is his beginning. Because that’s where the greeting is.

He especially likes greeting the little kids because they sometimes have crumbs on their face or crackers in their pockets.

And as they bend over to pet him he slyly stretches his neck as far as he can until suddenly his face is inside a pocket looking for treats.

Or he delights a small child that’s kissing him when he kisses her back, purposefully licking the graham cracker crumbs from her cheeks at the same time.

Everyone is happy. The world is good.

Even the big kids trying to act like big kids always stop and drop when they hear how old he is and then they begin their own discussion about pets they have loved.

And in those moments the boy trying to act the toughest is the one giving Scoobs the most soft and gentle pets. Because he knows.

And as Scooby wanders off to his next sojourn the kids and the laughter continue behind. The tennis balls are once again thrown and fetched and returned. Everything is back to the way it was.

Except for the man in the blue coat.

We saw him in the distance walking toward us. A solitary figure. Drawing closer I could hear sounds coming from his direction. I think he was talking to someone.

Someone I could not physically see.

Scooby walked toward him to say hello but this man did not stop. He did not even slow. His hands did not leave his side. He saw Scooby but he continued walking. So Scooby quickened his pace with his mission to reach this man. And as he ran he had such a complete look of joy on his face.

He just so much wanted to say hello to this man in the blue coat.

But I could see this man did not want to be interrupted. He was on a mission too. Just as Scooby wanted to greet him, he wanted to be left alone.

We passed on the beach with the ocean as witness. Separated by only a few feet but it could have been miles.

We stopped and watched him walk on.

Although I never knew what the man was saying, the look on Scooby’s face tells me that he knew.

And that he understood why this man that he so desperately wanted to greet that day needed to be left alone.

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”
— Leo Buscaglia

A reminder that we never walk alone. Not when Scooby’s there.

Sit. Stay. Eat. Live. Scooby Cares. thepongofund.org