Our Hero: The Stray Who Kept a Lost Little Girl Warm on a Frozen Night

The child was known as "best friend" to the dog.

A few days ago we told you about the Pit Bull who protected a 3-year-old who had wandered into the woods near his home. The two were lost for an hour. 

Last weekend, a similar thing happened, in much more hazardous circumstances, for a much longer time. 

In the town of Pierzwin, Poland, a 3-year-old girl, Julia, wandered away from her home and vanished into a nearby forest. Her grandmother had last seen her playing in the backyard of her house with a stray dog, who was friendly with the family, according to the Daily Mail. 

The black mongrel is named Czarue.

Night fell. The pair were in an area described as "freezing marshland." The rescue operation quickly escalated, with more than 200 people scouring the countryside. The temperature dropped to minus five degrees. 

They searched all night and found nothing. It was not until early the next morning that they finally came across the pair, soaking wet, the dog and the girl huddled together, the girl crying for her mother. 

Czarue, the stray dog, had kept the girl warm all night. 

"We ran around 500 metres, and there was silence," said Grzegorz Szymonowski, a firefighter. "We stood to listen further and we heard the dog and later the crying of a child. We went in the direction and saw the child lying in the shrubs. She was wet because there was water in the forest."

"This dog is the most important part of this story; he is a hero. It is thanks to this dog that the girl survived the night."

Julia was transported to the hospital, where the head of the pediatric ward, Kazimiera Barczyk, said the girl suffered from frostbite but was otherwise fine. 

"The only unusual symptoms are swollen hands and feet, probably from the frost. A surgeon inspected this and prescribed ointments. The next few days will show if there is some deeper frostbite, or just surface changes," Barczyk said.

The doctor added, "This dog, which was with her, most probably kept her warm. It lay down next to her when she fell asleep. She was walking and walking, and fell asleep when she got tired."

What makes this story even more heartwarming is that the girl had befriended the stray dog earlier.  

Her grandmother said Czarue was the girl's best friend: "She was with this dog all the time. She didn't go anywhere without it.

"When I was looking after her, she constantly said, 'Granny, the dog needs to come in the house.' And she told me to cut bread, and she fed it all the time."

Via the Daily Mail; photo via Shutterstock

View the original article here

Goodbye, little Bliss.

Posted on 22. Jan, 2010 by Keri in Dog Bliss News

We said goodbye to Bliss on Monday.

Bliss’ health had been steadily declining since Thanksgiving. One by one, we saw her lose the things she loved: playing catch with her stuffed toys, going on walks, and even rolling over on her back to receive belly rubs. Just getting up and down became increasingly difficult and painful for her, and maneuvering stairs was out of the question. We fashioned a make-shift sedan chair out of a cardboard box so we could carry her up and down the stairs to our backyard. She hated it.

Still, her appetite was good, and her spirit was intact. It was hard seeing her body turn on her. She still wanted to do all of her fun Bliss things, but they only caused her pain and frustration.

We tried new pain medication. It helped a little, but not much. She cried all day and all night. I moved to the couch and stayed with her every night so my husband could get some sleep, but she could be heard all throughout the house. It was physically and emotionally draining for all of us.

Then on Sunday at about 3:00 am, she started panting. The panting turned to whining which turned to crying which turned to something I could only describe as screaming. It was horrible. I tried comforting her, but nothing worked. I sat helpless as my little girl endured something that must have been excruciating. I gave her an extra dose of her pain medication, though she wasn’t due for another 12 hours. It eventually seemed to take the edge off and she dozed off into a fitful sleep.

We knew then it was time.

Monday morning, I gave her extra pain medication to help make her as comfortable as possible, and made an appointment for that evening. I’m still not sure how I found the strength to make that phone call.

Bliss and I settled in for a “girl day” of bad TV and good snacks. She had as many cookies and Greenies as she wanted, and about an hour before the vet arrived she had another dose of pain medication along with her favorite dish: scrambled eggs and shredded cheese. My husband arrived home in plenty of time to give her lots of attention and ear rubs. She was having one of her “good” days; clearly still uncomfortable, but not in the kind of pain we’d seen before. Of course, this was probably due to all the extra medication, but it was making it extra hard to see our decision through. We wavered, but then remembered the screaming, and knew we had to do it.

The vet arrived right on time. He was kind, compassionate, and everything you’d want from a vet in that situation, but nothing could buffer us from the horror and grief of watching that lovely creature, our beloved friend, companion, and family member, slip away from us. That memory will haunt us forever.

And now there is a gaping hole in our family, one that can never be filled. Sure, we could get another dog, maybe even another Keeshond. But Bliss was a once-in-a-lifetime dog. There was something about her that, as my husband said, transcended “dog.” So smart, so happy, so funny and good-natured, and everyone who met her recognized it immediately. Not a mean bone in that body. Never once growled or snapped. Always happy to go where you’re going. Always happy to be where you are. And always, always providing unconditional love. There’s no getting Bliss back.

We already miss her terribly. No longer does she herald our arrival home with her “inside voice” of baroos and howls. No more jumping on our son’s bed to gleefully awaken him. No more bows and high-fives. And no more soft sighs when she settles in for the night, the sigh that lets us know that all is well in the world.

We can’t possibly repay her for all the joy she’s given us. And the one small consolation we have for deciding to end her life – especially when she was having a good day – is that we stopped the pain. We opted to make it harder on us so it would be easier on her. We removed all possibility of repeating that horrific, painful night and let her go in peace and comfort.

I’m not exactly sure where dogs go and what memories they take with them. But my hope is that, wherever she is, she’ll remember that her last day on earth was stormy and wet, but she was dry and cozy at my feet. I hope she’ll remember all the treats, and all the pets, and the great big bowl of eggs and cheese brought right to her. I hope she remembers us, at the last moments, holding her and telling her she was a good girl, good girl, good girl.

And I hope, above all, she’ll remember that she was loved.

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View the original article here

Goodbye, little Bliss.

Posted on 22. Jan, 2010 by Keri in Dog Bliss News

We said goodbye to Bliss on Monday.

Bliss’ health had been steadily declining since Thanksgiving. One by one, we saw her lose the things she loved: playing catch with her stuffed toys, going on walks, and even rolling over on her back to receive belly rubs. Just getting up and down became increasingly difficult and painful for her, and maneuvering stairs was out of the question. We fashioned a make-shift sedan chair out of a cardboard box so we could carry her up and down the stairs to our backyard. She hated it.

Still, her appetite was good, and her spirit was intact. It was hard seeing her body turn on her. She still wanted to do all of her fun Bliss things, but they only caused her pain and frustration.

We tried new pain medication. It helped a little, but not much. She cried all day and all night. I moved to the couch and stayed with her every night so my husband could get some sleep, but she could be heard all throughout the house. It was physically and emotionally draining for all of us.

Then on Sunday at about 3:00 am, she started panting. The panting turned to whining which turned to crying which turned to something I could only describe as screaming. It was horrible. I tried comforting her, but nothing worked. I sat helpless as my little girl endured something that must have been excruciating. I gave her an extra dose of her pain medication, though she wasn’t due for another 12 hours. It eventually seemed to take the edge off and she dozed off into a fitful sleep.

We knew then it was time.

Monday morning, I gave her extra pain medication to help make her as comfortable as possible, and made an appointment for that evening. I’m still not sure how I found the strength to make that phone call.

Bliss and I settled in for a “girl day” of bad TV and good snacks. She had as many cookies and Greenies as she wanted, and about an hour before the vet arrived she had another dose of pain medication along with her favorite dish: scrambled eggs and shredded cheese. My husband arrived home in plenty of time to give her lots of attention and ear rubs. She was having one of her “good” days; clearly still uncomfortable, but not in the kind of pain we’d seen before. Of course, this was probably due to all the extra medication, but it was making it extra hard to see our decision through. We wavered, but then remembered the screaming, and knew we had to do it.

The vet arrived right on time. He was kind, compassionate, and everything you’d want from a vet in that situation, but nothing could buffer us from the horror and grief of watching that lovely creature, our beloved friend, companion, and family member, slip away from us. That memory will haunt us forever.

And now there is a gaping hole in our family, one that can never be filled. Sure, we could get another dog, maybe even another Keeshond. But Bliss was a once-in-a-lifetime dog. There was something about her that, as my husband said, transcended “dog.” So smart, so happy, so funny and good-natured, and everyone who met her recognized it immediately. Not a mean bone in that body. Never once growled or snapped. Always happy to go where you’re going. Always happy to be where you are. And always, always providing unconditional love. There’s no getting Bliss back.

We already miss her terribly. No longer does she herald our arrival home with her “inside voice” of baroos and howls. No more jumping on our son’s bed to gleefully awaken him. No more bows and high-fives. And no more soft sighs when she settles in for the night, the sigh that lets us know that all is well in the world.

We can’t possibly repay her for all the joy she’s given us. And the one small consolation we have for deciding to end her life – especially when she was having a good day – is that we stopped the pain. We opted to make it harder on us so it would be easier on her. We removed all possibility of repeating that horrific, painful night and let her go in peace and comfort.

I’m not exactly sure where dogs go and what memories they take with them. But my hope is that, wherever she is, she’ll remember that her last day on earth was stormy and wet, but she was dry and cozy at my feet. I hope she’ll remember all the treats, and all the pets, and the great big bowl of eggs and cheese brought right to her. I hope she remembers us, at the last moments, holding her and telling her she was a good girl, good girl, good girl.

And I hope, above all, she’ll remember that she was loved.

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The Incredible Journey of Xiao Sa, a Little White Street Dog

Meet Xiao Sa, the Internet's newest darling.

Weighing less than 30 pounds, Xiao Sa was a stray dog who, upon being shown kindness, returned the gesture in full -- by accompanying the cyclists who fed her on a 1,100-mile trip to Lhasa, Tibet.

Xiao Sa's incredible journey began in Yajiang, Sichuan Province, when 22-year-old Zhang Heng, a student on a graduation bike tour across China, took pity on the little white street dog and decided to feed her. The small, simple gesture meant a lot to Xiao Sa, who proceeded to follow Heng and his team. They thought that after a few days the dog would give up, but she defied all expectations and ended up making the thousand-mile journey running alongside the cyclists.

For 20 days, Xiao Sa ran up and down mountainsides, braving rough terrain and fierce weather conditions, to complete a journey totaling 1,138 miles and climbing more than 13,000 feet in elevation. The only portion she did not run was a slope in Litang, where downhill speeds reach over 43 miles per hour. There Heng and his group constructed a cage for her to ride safely in. Apart from that, however, Xiao did it all on her own four paws.

Inspired by Xiao Sa's determination, Heng and his companions created a blog for her, which quickly garnered the attention of the Internet.

Upon arriving in Lhasa and posing with little Xiao Sa, Heng expressed delight that the former stray now has a home with him.

Story via ChinaDaily.com, photos by ChinaDaily.com and Gongfu King

View the original article here

Big Dog Saves Her Little Pal from Clutches of Hungry Owl

Sadie (left) ran to the aid of her 7-pound friend when the little dog was attacked by an owl. Shown here with the family's rottie, Eli. (Photo: Michael Smart, Sun-Times Media)

When a 70-pound boxer named Sadie saw a great horned owl drop out of the sky and sink its talons into her 7-pound Shih-Tzu/miniature poodle mix friend, Ramadi, she leapt into action to try to save the tiny pooch from the owl’s clutches.

The dogs’ owners heard barking in the backyard and went to see what was going on. It was dark, but they could see that Sadie was on top of something. Then Ramadi came running inside, dragging that something, with Sadie chasing after it. When they got near enough, their owners could see the odd parade up close:

There was little Ramadi, and attached to her was an owl. And attached to the owl was Sadie, who was trying to help get the owl off her friend. They pried Sadie off the owl, and someone pinned the owl to the floor with a foot while someone else ran to get some thick gloves.

It took some work to detach the owl from the dog, but miraculously the dog was not injured. Her owners think her thick coat kept her safe. That and Sadie, who probably prevented the owl from really digging in. Then they shut the owl outside.

Amy Evans, who had just gotten back from an Army tour in Iraq, holds her dog, Ramadi. (Photo courtesy Patrick Evans, via the Chicago Sun-Times)

But it was not the last they would see of the raptor.

“The owl stood outside the sliding-glass door looking at the smaller dog as if he wasn’t leaving without it,” said Pingree Grove (Ill.)Police Sgt. Rich Blair. That could be pretty creepy for the little dog.

The officers were able to capture the bird in a fishing net and turn it over to a rehab center. Sadly, it turned out that the bird had significant injuries consistent with trauma from a car accident. Rehab veterinarians said the bird was extremely thin and its eye was terribly infected. It was euthanized the owl because vets said there was no hope for rehabilitation.

The owl’s injuries could have explained why it went after a dog.

“Most of the time they want nothing to do with humans or dogs,” said Sandy Fejt, education site manager at Willowbrook Wildlife Rehabilitation and Education Center. “With its sight impaired, it was probably very hungry and looking for easy prey.” Poor owl.

Ramadi was not the only canine victim of owl attacks in the town recently. It was the third time in three days that an owl had gone after a dog; one dog died. It was likely the same bird.

The dogs of Pingree Grove can probably breathe a little easier now. But it would have been a happier ending if the owl had lived and would be back to its normal, canine-free cuisine after healing.

Source: Chicago Sun-Times

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View the original article here

Goodbye, little Bliss.

Posted on 22. Jan, 2010 by Keri in Dog Bliss News

We said goodbye to Bliss on Monday.

Bliss’ health had been steadily declining since Thanksgiving. One by one, we saw her lose the things she loved: playing catch with her stuffed toys, going on walks, and even rolling over on her back to receive belly rubs. Just getting up and down became increasingly difficult and painful for her, and maneuvering stairs was out of the question. We fashioned a make-shift sedan chair out of a cardboard box so we could carry her up and down the stairs to our backyard. She hated it.

Still, her appetite was good, and her spirit was intact. It was hard seeing her body turn on her. She still wanted to do all of her fun Bliss things, but they only caused her pain and frustration.

We tried new pain medication. It helped a little, but not much. She cried all day and all night. I moved to the couch and stayed with her every night so my husband could get some sleep, but she could be heard all throughout the house. It was physically and emotionally draining for all of us.

Then on Sunday at about 3:00 am, she started panting. The panting turned to whining which turned to crying which turned to something I could only describe as screaming. It was horrible. I tried comforting her, but nothing worked. I sat helpless as my little girl endured something that must have been excruciating. I gave her an extra dose of her pain medication, though she wasn’t due for another 12 hours. It eventually seemed to take the edge off and she dozed off into a fitful sleep.

We knew then it was time.

Monday morning, I gave her extra pain medication to help make her as comfortable as possible, and made an appointment for that evening. I’m still not sure how I found the strength to make that phone call.

Bliss and I settled in for a “girl day” of bad TV and good snacks. She had as many cookies and Greenies as she wanted, and about an hour before the vet arrived she had another dose of pain medication along with her favorite dish: scrambled eggs and shredded cheese. My husband arrived home in plenty of time to give her lots of attention and ear rubs. She was having one of her “good” days; clearly still uncomfortable, but not in the kind of pain we’d seen before. Of course, this was probably due to all the extra medication, but it was making it extra hard to see our decision through. We wavered, but then remembered the screaming, and knew we had to do it.

The vet arrived right on time. He was kind, compassionate, and everything you’d want from a vet in that situation, but nothing could buffer us from the horror and grief of watching that lovely creature, our beloved friend, companion, and family member, slip away from us. That memory will haunt us forever.

And now there is a gaping hole in our family, one that can never be filled. Sure, we could get another dog, maybe even another Keeshond. But Bliss was a once-in-a-lifetime dog. There was something about her that, as my husband said, transcended “dog.” So smart, so happy, so funny and good-natured, and everyone who met her recognized it immediately. Not a mean bone in that body. Never once growled or snapped. Always happy to go where you’re going. Always happy to be where you are. And always, always providing unconditional love. There’s no getting Bliss back.

We already miss her terribly. No longer does she herald our arrival home with her “inside voice” of baroos and howls. No more jumping on our son’s bed to gleefully awaken him. No more bows and high-fives. And no more soft sighs when she settles in for the night, the sigh that lets us know that all is well in the world.

We can’t possibly repay her for all the joy she’s given us. And the one small consolation we have for deciding to end her life – especially when she was having a good day – is that we stopped the pain. We opted to make it harder on us so it would be easier on her. We removed all possibility of repeating that horrific, painful night and let her go in peace and comfort.

I’m not exactly sure where dogs go and what memories they take with them. But my hope is that, wherever she is, she’ll remember that her last day on earth was stormy and wet, but she was dry and cozy at my feet. I hope she’ll remember all the treats, and all the pets, and the great big bowl of eggs and cheese brought right to her. I hope she remembers us, at the last moments, holding her and telling her she was a good girl, good girl, good girl.

And I hope, above all, she’ll remember that she was loved.

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Great Little Doxie Pup Videos: Iso in Slow Motion

Dogster fan Marie pointed us to Iso the dachshund puppy, and the series of videos his people are making of him. (Thanks, Marie!) They’re all in slow motion, with great songs, and very appealing camera work. I’ll post a couple below, and there are four more on YouTube at the moment, so sniff them out there if you want more.

The first video is of Iso’s first time on the couch. The second is of bath time. Enjoy!

(Dogsters with sensitive ears, cover those ears just before 1:52 for a second or two during the couch video. I had to listen a couple of times to realize a certain word that starts with “f” was there. I thought it best to forewarn, because I know there are some ears that would prefer not to hear it.)

View the original article here

‘Your Dog: The Owner’s Manual’ popped out a little early … so go buy now!

Sorry, I could not read the content fromt this page.

View the original article here

Goodbye, little Bliss.

Posted on 22. Jan, 2010 by Keri in Dog Bliss News

We said goodbye to Bliss on Monday.

Bliss’ health had been steadily declining since Thanksgiving. One by one, we saw her lose the things she loved: playing catch with her stuffed toys, going on walks, and even rolling over on her back to receive belly rubs. Just getting up and down became increasingly difficult and painful for her, and maneuvering stairs was out of the question. We fashioned a make-shift sedan chair out of a cardboard box so we could carry her up and down the stairs to our backyard. She hated it.

Still, her appetite was good, and her spirit was intact. It was hard seeing her body turn on her. She still wanted to do all of her fun Bliss things, but they only caused her pain and frustration.

We tried new pain medication. It helped a little, but not much. She cried all day and all night. I moved to the couch and stayed with her every night so my husband could get some sleep, but she could be heard all throughout the house. It was physically and emotionally draining for all of us.

Then on Sunday at about 3:00 am, she started panting. The panting turned to whining which turned to crying which turned to something I could only describe as screaming. It was horrible. I tried comforting her, but nothing worked. I sat helpless as my little girl endured something that must have been excruciating. I gave her an extra dose of her pain medication, though she wasn’t due for another 12 hours. It eventually seemed to take the edge off and she dozed off into a fitful sleep.

We knew then it was time.

Monday morning, I gave her extra pain medication to help make her as comfortable as possible, and made an appointment for that evening. I’m still not sure how I found the strength to make that phone call.

Bliss and I settled in for a “girl day” of bad TV and good snacks. She had as many cookies and Greenies as she wanted, and about an hour before the vet arrived she had another dose of pain medication along with her favorite dish: scrambled eggs and shredded cheese. My husband arrived home in plenty of time to give her lots of attention and ear rubs. She was having one of her “good” days; clearly still uncomfortable, but not in the kind of pain we’d seen before. Of course, this was probably due to all the extra medication, but it was making it extra hard to see our decision through. We wavered, but then remembered the screaming, and knew we had to do it.

The vet arrived right on time. He was kind, compassionate, and everything you’d want from a vet in that situation, but nothing could buffer us from the horror and grief of watching that lovely creature, our beloved friend, companion, and family member, slip away from us. That memory will haunt us forever.

And now there is a gaping hole in our family, one that can never be filled. Sure, we could get another dog, maybe even another Keeshond. But Bliss was a once-in-a-lifetime dog. There was something about her that, as my husband said, transcended “dog.” So smart, so happy, so funny and good-natured, and everyone who met her recognized it immediately. Not a mean bone in that body. Never once growled or snapped. Always happy to go where you’re going. Always happy to be where you are. And always, always providing unconditional love. There’s no getting Bliss back.

We already miss her terribly. No longer does she herald our arrival home with her “inside voice” of baroos and howls. No more jumping on our son’s bed to gleefully awaken him. No more bows and high-fives. And no more soft sighs when she settles in for the night, the sigh that lets us know that all is well in the world.

We can’t possibly repay her for all the joy she’s given us. And the one small consolation we have for deciding to end her life – especially when she was having a good day – is that we stopped the pain. We opted to make it harder on us so it would be easier on her. We removed all possibility of repeating that horrific, painful night and let her go in peace and comfort.

I’m not exactly sure where dogs go and what memories they take with them. But my hope is that, wherever she is, she’ll remember that her last day on earth was stormy and wet, but she was dry and cozy at my feet. I hope she’ll remember all the treats, and all the pets, and the great big bowl of eggs and cheese brought right to her. I hope she remembers us, at the last moments, holding her and telling her she was a good girl, good girl, good girl.

And I hope, above all, she’ll remember that she was loved.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Tags: Featured

View the original article here

Goodbye, little Bliss.

Posted on 22. Jan, 2010 by Keri in Dog Bliss News

We said goodbye to Bliss on Monday.

Bliss’ health had been steadily declining since Thanksgiving. One by one, we saw her lose the things she loved: playing catch with her stuffed toys, going on walks, and even rolling over on her back to receive belly rubs. Just getting up and down became increasingly difficult and painful for her, and maneuvering stairs was out of the question. We fashioned a make-shift sedan chair out of a cardboard box so we could carry her up and down the stairs to our backyard. She hated it.

Still, her appetite was good, and her spirit was intact. It was hard seeing her body turn on her. She still wanted to do all of her fun Bliss things, but they only caused her pain and frustration.

We tried new pain medication. It helped a little, but not much. She cried all day and all night. I moved to the couch and stayed with her every night so my husband could get some sleep, but she could be heard all throughout the house. It was physically and emotionally draining for all of us.

Then on Sunday at about 3:00 am, she started panting. The panting turned to whining which turned to crying which turned to something I could only describe as screaming. It was horrible. I tried comforting her, but nothing worked. I sat helpless as my little girl endured something that must have been excruciating. I gave her an extra dose of her pain medication, though she wasn’t due for another 12 hours. It eventually seemed to take the edge off and she dozed off into a fitful sleep.

We knew then it was time.

Monday morning, I gave her extra pain medication to help make her as comfortable as possible, and made an appointment for that evening. I’m still not sure how I found the strength to make that phone call.

Bliss and I settled in for a “girl day” of bad TV and good snacks. She had as many cookies and Greenies as she wanted, and about an hour before the vet arrived she had another dose of pain medication along with her favorite dish: scrambled eggs and shredded cheese. My husband arrived home in plenty of time to give her lots of attention and ear rubs. She was having one of her “good” days; clearly still uncomfortable, but not in the kind of pain we’d seen before. Of course, this was probably due to all the extra medication, but it was making it extra hard to see our decision through. We wavered, but then remembered the screaming, and knew we had to do it.

The vet arrived right on time. He was kind, compassionate, and everything you’d want from a vet in that situation, but nothing could buffer us from the horror and grief of watching that lovely creature, our beloved friend, companion, and family member, slip away from us. That memory will haunt us forever.

And now there is a gaping hole in our family, one that can never be filled. Sure, we could get another dog, maybe even another Keeshond. But Bliss was a once-in-a-lifetime dog. There was something about her that, as my husband said, transcended “dog.” So smart, so happy, so funny and good-natured, and everyone who met her recognized it immediately. Not a mean bone in that body. Never once growled or snapped. Always happy to go where you’re going. Always happy to be where you are. And always, always providing unconditional love. There’s no getting Bliss back.

We already miss her terribly. No longer does she herald our arrival home with her “inside voice” of baroos and howls. No more jumping on our son’s bed to gleefully awaken him. No more bows and high-fives. And no more soft sighs when she settles in for the night, the sigh that lets us know that all is well in the world.

We can’t possibly repay her for all the joy she’s given us. And the one small consolation we have for deciding to end her life – especially when she was having a good day – is that we stopped the pain. We opted to make it harder on us so it would be easier on her. We removed all possibility of repeating that horrific, painful night and let her go in peace and comfort.

I’m not exactly sure where dogs go and what memories they take with them. But my hope is that, wherever she is, she’ll remember that her last day on earth was stormy and wet, but she was dry and cozy at my feet. I hope she’ll remember all the treats, and all the pets, and the great big bowl of eggs and cheese brought right to her. I hope she remembers us, at the last moments, holding her and telling her she was a good girl, good girl, good girl.

And I hope, above all, she’ll remember that she was loved.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Tags: Featured

View the original article here

Featured Photo: Santa's Little Helpers

 

Here are Maggie and Misty helping Santa deliver cuteness all around the world!

posted 2011 Jan 03 by Chip Green

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