All Paws Reunited

😂 If they fits, they sits.

Feral cats Lella, Max, and Lando have officially discovered the deluxe Chewy Storm Shelter™.

Dry. Covered. Room for three. Prime cardboard construction. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

When the weather gets stormy, even ferals know when it’s time to call a temporary truce and pile in. 😂🐈🐈‍⬛🐈

Apparently, Chewy really is where pet lovers shop. 😹⛈️📦

Highway dogs. Because apparently a quiet side street and sunshine would be way too easy. 😂

Busy intersection. Highway ramps. Pouring rain. Terrible visibility.

Perfect. Exactly where a lost dog would choose to hang out. 🤦‍♂️🐕🌧️

Lost pet tracking: Come for the dogs. Stay because you’re standing on the side of a highway in the rain questioning your life choices. 😂

Dogs. Are. Pawesome. 🐾🐕❤️

Loyal dog stops Leawood police officer, leads him to owner on garage floor Yet again, dogs have proven why they hold the reputation of “man’s best friend.”

Lella has reviewed Monday’s agenda. She will not be participating. 😹🐈

🍗🐾 $5 Friday: Chicken Saves Lives

We're not saying rotisserie chicken is magic...
..but we've watched scared, hungry lost pets ignore everything else and march straight toward it.

A $5 donation helps provide bait and food for feeding stations and humane traps that bring lost pets safely home. Sometimes the difference between "still missing" and "Trapped. Safe. Home." is a warm chicken dinner.

The raccoons appreciate your support too.

Probably a little too much. 🦝🍗

💙 Donate Today:

PayPal: paypal.me/AllPawsReunited
Venmo:
AllPawsReunited.com/donate

A few know that our rescue soul dog Brie was battling osteosarcoma over the last year. Unfortunately she lost that battle at 2:21 AM. This is her story:

I kissed your head today.

It started on June 22, 2020.

There were no fosters available during COVID. We got a message that your family was surrendering you to a kill shelter at 4:00 Monday afternoon because they were heading out of town for two weeks.

Nice.

I made arrangements to pick you up at 1:00. I arrived at 12:50 and had already decided this needed to happen quickly. Given that they felt you were disposable, I knew this probably wasn’t going to go well.

I went inside, and they immediately started telling me how I would never get you into my truck.

You walked right up to me.

Within seconds, I went from scratching your head to you turning around and backing up so I could scratch your butt.

I looked at them and said, “She’s a Doberman. She’ll be fine.”

I walked you outside, and you hopped right into the truck.

I went back in to ask if they were sending anything else with you. They handed me a box. There was no discussion about what you knew, what commands you understood, your routine—nothing.

They signed the surrender form, and we were backing out of the driveway at 12:56.

I knew you and I would figure it out.

Your separation anxiety was on full display during the ride. I’m glad I went alone because hearing you would have broken Julie’s heart. You didn’t know yet that you were on a better path.

Our journey home was about an hour and a half. When we arrived, we needed to start figuring you out.

You had spent most of your life tied to a chain.

I took you to a fenced area so we could have some time together. When I unclipped your leash, I was confused. I had never seen a dog who didn’t immediately want to run when the leash came off.

You took three steps and sat down.

I encouraged you to move again.

Three steps.

Sit.

Every. Single. Time.

And then it became clear.

You knew exactly how long your chain had been.

That realization broke our hearts.

We quickly figured out that your severe separation anxiety and your life on that chain were probably connected. Then we looked at the damage to your front teeth and the split in your tongue. It all seemed to tell the same story.

We couldn’t leave you alone. Your anxiety didn’t make you destructive, but your level of distress was heartbreaking.

Because of COVID, many places had opened new outdoor areas, so we were able to take you with us almost everywhere.

And you behaved perfectly every single time.

No matter what I tried, though, I couldn’t get you to run.

So I attached a leash, and for two weeks we ran around the building together.

Well…jogged, maybe. “Ran” might be a little strong.

But you started to get the hang of it.

Eventually, we walked around six or eight acres, and I explained to you that this was your area and that you needed to stay here.

Then came the day to try it without a fence.

We walked outside. I unclipped your leash.

You spotted a rabbit in the distance and became curious.

And then it happened.

It was like watching Forrest Gump break out of his leg braces.

You ran.

Awkwardly at first, but you ran.

And once you figured out what freedom felt like, you didn’t want to stop.

You lost 20 pounds within a matter of weeks. We changed your food, and your coat went from dry and clumpy to absolutely glistening. With proper care, the repeated infections you’d been treated for disappeared and never came back.

You were finally healthy enough to be spayed and to have your broken and cracked teeth removed.

You were on the right path.

We eventually learned more about where you had come from.

You were a woman’s dog who had lived with a man who abused both of you. He forced her to get rid of you after she’d had you for four years.

You didn’t like him.

Rightfully so.

And that presented some challenges for you and me.

I quickly learned that he must have worn a ball cap and sunglasses a lot.

We worked on it every day. For a full year, I would get down on the floor with you until eventually you stopped running out of the room.

But through every fear and every reaction, you always retreated.

You never attacked.

If there was something you really didn’t like—say, toenail clipping—you might give us your famous little “snappy, snappy.”

But you never caused harm.

You never laid a tooth on a single person.

After everything humans had done to you, your soul remained gentle.

You were still a sweet girl.

And because you were a sweet girl, your new mom became your refuge.

She was the person you watched over. The person you protected. No matter how hard I tried, she remained priority number one—especially whenever she was sick.

Mom was allowed to bend down and kiss you on the head.

Me?

You reminded me that a man bending over you was connected to a part of your tortured past. Even when the intention was love, sometimes the fear took over.

You always seemed to instantly regret your reaction.

But you couldn’t help it.

It was your trauma.

And it was real.

Over the years, you met thousands of people and countless dogs. People without food? You could walk right past them.

But people who offered food?

Instant friends.

Toys never interested you much.

But cheese and summer sausage?

Sign Brie up.

Treats were the way to your heart.

No matter what I tried, you would sit with your mom instead of me.

And that was okay.

You were a woman’s dog. There was never any doubt about that.

But every night, you slept on the floor right next to my side of the bed, which made for some interesting aerobics every time I tried to get in or out.

And at daybreak, you liked to climb onto the bed and drop your 80 pounds across my legs like an anchor.

That’s 80 pounds I’ll miss every morning.

Then, almost a year ago, something changed.

After five and a half years of refusing to sit with me, you suddenly jumped up one evening and planted yourself against my side.

And you kept doing it.

Every night.

I couldn’t figure out why.

Around the same time, you developed a little limp. The doctor thought it was a sprain, and with Carprofen, it seemed to get better.

At least for a while.

But you kept spending your evenings glued to me.

Then that Saturday came.

The vet looked at me and said we probably needed an X-ray.

And then we knew.

Osteosarcoma.

The word I feared.

The diagnosis I desperately didn’t want.

And suddenly I wondered about those evenings.

After five and a half years, why had you suddenly decided you needed to lie against me every night?

Did you know?

Did you know something was happening inside you before we did?

I’ll never know.

We were gutted.

Even with the limp, you remained your sweet self. Your tail kept wagging. You still loved your food. That gentle soul remained while we cared for you and agonized over the decisions we knew were coming.

I didn’t want you to go.

But I made you a promise.

When the time came, I would put you above every selfish desire I had to keep you here.

You remained happy every day, but you were slowing down.

We managed the pain.

And, of course, your determination to find every available piece of food remained completely intact.

Then you fell.

I’ll never forget that sound.

You still wanted to eat.

You still wanted to go.

But we knew.

We were near the end.

And today, at 2:21 AM, the time came to keep my promise.

As you slipped away, I leaned over you.

After all those years when a man bending over you was something to fear, I leaned in…

and I kissed your head.

You accepted it.

We held you close until you passed.

Run free, sweet girl.

Run like I taught you.

Run the way you did that first day you discovered that there was no chain stopping you after three steps.

Only this time, run without pain.

Run as far and as fast as you want.

I kissed your head today.

And someday, when we meet again at the Bridge, I’ll kiss your head again.

We will always love you, sweet girl.

Always.

🪤 It’s a trap! Meet Max.

We have no idea where this very sweet boy came from, but his tomcatting days are drawing to a close! We trapped Max tonight, and tomorrow he’ll be TNR’d by the K-State Veterinary Program at Wabco Cat Snips.

Sorry, Max—the neighborhood bachelor life was fun while it lasted! 🐈‍⬛✂️

9/20. Owner found and reunited.

ST George, KS: Anyone recognize this good pup? 785-508-4100 All Paws Reunited

📸🐾 $5 Friday: Camera Food Fund

When a pet is missing, one photo can change everything.

Trail cameras help us confirm sightings, identify patterns, and learn exactly when and where a lost pet feels safe enough to appear. They work around the clock—even when we can't be there.

But cameras need batteries, memory cards, cellular service, and constant maintenance to keep watching.

A $5 donation helps keep our cameras in the field and our searches moving forward.

Because many reunions begin with a single image captured in the middle of the night.

💙 Donate:
PayPal: paypal.me/AllPawsReunited
Venmo:
AllPawsReunited.com/donate

📸 Every sighting tells a story.
🏠 Every photo brings us one step closer to home.