Dogs' best friend

One dog. That was the plan.

Sallyann Jennings would go to the city animal shelter to rescue Jed, a retriever mix whose time was running out, and place him in a foster home until a permanent one could be found. That, after all, is what her organization, Recycled Love, is all about -- finding homes for strays and shelter dogs who, if they don't get adopted, are likely to be euthanized.

But then Jennings heard about a stray spaniel mix who had given birth to four pups in the woods near an elementary school on the north side of the city -- all of which had been taken to the shelter as well -- and, after a visit last week, she knew she couldn't let the mother, who had been dubbed Meka, linger there.

"She just talked to me," said Jennings, whose organization has rescued, provided foster care and found permanent homes for more than 300 dogs since it was formed two years ago. "She was just a beautiful little animal. I decided I had to get her out."

So, two dogs. That was the plan.

But then, the day before she was scheduled to rescue Jed and Meka, she started thinking about the puppies -- only 10 weeks old. She got on the telephone in search of someone to foster the pups, and made arrangements with a woman in Canton -- a new foster parent, who had said she'd take one. By the time Jennings was done, she'd agreed to take three.

So, five dogs -- Jed, Meka and the three female pups -- that was the plan when Jennings walked into Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter Tuesday morning.

About 90 minutes and a flurry of paperwork later, she walked out with six dogs -- including the male puppy.

That's how Jennings operates her non-profit animal rescue -- in a bite-off-more-than-you-can-chew, abandon-the-plan, stretch-a-little-further, can-I-ask-you-one-more-favor kind of way -- that sometimes -- maybe a little more than sometimes -- sees heart prevail over brain.

"It's always trouble when I come down here, because it's so hard to leave them," Jennings, a 65-year- old psychotherapist, said. "Rescuing a dog is like smoking dope or popping pills, or whatever. It's addicting. I can't stop it."

This week, even with her network of more than a dozen foster homes, Jennings found her sources were pretty much tapped out, and herself, once again, in a position of wanting to free more dogs than she had arranged homes for.

"I shouldn't even be here," she added. "We're out of money. We're out of foster parents. ... We sort of just run on crisis level all the time."

In past years, when she had more dogs than foster slots, she'd just take them home to her townhouse in Federal Hill, where she lives with four dogs of her own. But her homeowner's association recently put the kibosh on that, pointing out the small print in her contract set a two-dogs-per-resident limit. She can keep her four dogs until they live out their lives, but eventually needs to get down to two, it was decided -- and no more fosters.

With no fallback plan, Jennings spent much of Monday -- when not counseling patients in her private practice -- on the phone, and she was still on it, talking to a veterinarian's office, when she walked into the shelter Tuesday. "I'm wondering if I can bring in some puppies today ..."

Even as she pulled out of BARCS' driveway -- all four pups in her back seat, mother Meka in the front -- the lone male puppy still needed a temporary home.

Recycling love

Chaos is customary for animal rescue organizations, dozens of which are in the Baltimore area, most of which operate on a shoestring.

While the majority restrict their work to particular breeds, Recycled Love focuses on pets less likely to be adopted at shelters -- older dogs, injured dogs or, as its Web site says, "mutts that are too often overlooked and forgotten for the pedigree."

The mission of Recycled Love, the Web site says, is to "recycle the unconditional love that all animals possess and to transfer that love to a human companion who understands and appreciates this priceless gift."

Like many rescue groups, Recycled Love insists on references and requires a home visit before letting a dog be adopted, and Jennings does much of the screening herself.

"My biggest problem," Jennings said, "is people who think dogs are disposable -- that they are something you can get rid of if it's having accidents in the house or interfering with your vacation."

Jennings can't put her finger on the source of her passion for animals but says it mostly stems from the fact that "they don't have anyone to speak for them."

She lives with four dogs, the oldest of which is Kenya, the first of many she rescued on her own before starting the organization. A neighbor had spotted Kenya being pulled down the street on a chain by a group of boys on bicycles. Later, she took in Vespa, found with a litter outside Baltimore's World Trade Center; and Pepsi, who was surrendered to a shelter when her owner moved into assisted living; and Britt, who, after spending more than three months in a shelter, had developed a case of "cage rage" that took a month of rehabilitation to overcome, Jennings said.

Jennings belongs to the Friends of the Baltimore Animal Shelter, which played a major role in the city shelter's recent conversion to a nonprofit agency. Since then, the percentage of dogs euthanized there has dropped, she said. Nationally, about half the dogs in shelters end up being euthanized, according to the Humane Society of the United States.

Three years ago, to support the Friends group and animal rescue, she published a book, Recycled Love: Every Puppy Has a Tale, in which dog owners recounted the stories of pets they adopted. Recycled Love supports itself through donations, adoption fees and fundraising events.

"What drives her is the continued hope she has that change can occur," Recycled Love vice president Karen Reese said of Jennings. "You don't find that often in many people."

"She's probably the sweetest person I know," said Baltimore attorney Barry Glazer, who has helped foot medical bills for some of Jennings' injured animals.

"She's always got some dog that needs some kind of help -- always. That's her focus," he said. "She's sincere. She gets emotionally attached; she just loves dogs. I've never really met anybody quite like her."

One at a time

The first to be rescued Tuesday morning was Jed. Still plenty peppy at age 8, he trotted out the door and sat on Jennings' command, his tail wagging back and forth on the pavement.

"You're so happy to be out of prison, aren't you?" Jennings said, petting him for a few minutes before going back inside for the next one.

"Isn't this just the sweetest dog," Jennings said as she stepped outside with Meka, who waited calmly while Jennings went back in, returning moments later with her puppies, one in each of her arms, two more carried by BARCS adoption counselor Samantha Garilli.

"Hi, cute dog. Hi, cute dog," Jennings said turning her attention from one to the next. "These are going to be big girls."

Jennings dropped them all off at a veterinary clinic on her way to work, and by yesterday, all six rescued dogs were in their new foster homes, including the male pup, which a Recycled Love foster provider volunteered to take at the last minute.

Before Jennings could breathe a sigh of relief, though, the phone rang: another puppy -- apparently Meka had given birth to five -- had been found and captured in the woods by the school.

Yesterday, Jennings and Reese were back on the phone, looking for yet another foster home, eventually finding one with a friend of Reese's.

Even then, their work wasn't done. They still need to find permanent homes for Jed, Meka and the five pups.

And the father of the puppy, Jennings noted, is still in the woods. "He's just standing on a ridge," she said, "looking down, not sure what to do."

Reference: www.baltimoresun.com

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