I founded Two Hands Four Paws because of my experiences owning two paralyzed German Shepherds. It is entirely due to them that I have had such a giant career change and am doing this work that is so satisfying to me. They taught me so much about what life is like when one is disabled, and most importantly, showed me that anyone can have a happy and fulfilling life even when they are paralyzed. I have been able to take so much from the lessons I learned from them and use it to help others with disabled animals. For that I am eternally grateful. Here are their stories.

Sophie:
Sophie was my boss's dog and she came into my life after he died. She had been left behind in one of his homes, forgotten about in a carport for the better part of a year and fed by a caretaker that paid her no attention. His wife did not want the dog, did not remember her name, and felt that nobody would want her and asked me to euthanize her.

As euthanizing a sweet old dog for no reason seemed ridiculous to me, I spent the rest of that afternoon and evening pondering what to do. I had three dogs at home, and had already been warned by my husband that if I brought one more dog home, he would move out. I thought my chances of sneaking her home with me would be slim and that my husband would be sure to notice a new 85 pound resident in the house. As luck would have it though, he was out of town for a few weeks so I had some time to figure out what to do. I decided that I would take her to the veterinarian in the morning and let the vet tell me if this was a dog at the end of her life. If she were riddled with cancer or some other horrible disease then I would get up the courage to put her down. Otherwise I'd have to move to Plan B.

I tossed and turned all night long worrying about this dog. In the morning she was sitting in her usual place on an old bedspread in the carport, looking at me with her soulful eyes, never making a sound. I realized that in the few weeks I had been working there, I had never seen her walk. She looked terrible and neglected. It got my hackles up.

She presented a challenge to me as I could not read her body language. It was like Sophie was physically alive, but emotionally dead. (Overnight I named her Sophie) I couldn't imagine what had happened to cause her to be so shut down. With dread, I started driving towards the vets' office. I had rolled the windows down in the back so that Sophie could get some air. Then I heard an odd whistling sound coming from the back seat. I didn't dare turn around to stare, and forced myself to keep driving as if nothing strange were happening. The whistling turned to humming and I couldn't stand it any longer. I slowly positioned the rear view mirror so that I could see her without turning around. She had her nose half out the window and was humming and whistling up a storm. I almost drove into a tree. The mute dog actually had vocal cords. For the next 20 minutes she hummed and sang in the back seat with her head out the window and the beginnings of a smile on her face. When we got to the vet's office, she shuffled up to every person and dog as if they were long lost friends. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was just flabbergasted. Sophie was morphing before my very eyes.

The vet said that she was about nine years old, very overweight, had severe osteoarthritis and was suffering from acute sensory deprivation. Other than that there was nothing wrong with her. She speculated that the years of living alone in the carport with no outside stimulation or any form of human or animal contact had caused her to shut down into a catatonic type of depression. The remedy? Me of course. I had to keep her. Enter Plan B.

I brought Sophie home with me that night and she seemed delighted to be there. Sophie couldn't move very well, being so overweight and arthritic, so our daily walks slowed down to accommodate her. The first few days she could only walk about 15 meters. Each day I'd increase by another meter or two, until finally one day we made it all the way around the block. Victory! There were days when I carried her back home (all 85 pounds) and days when I called my husband to drive down the block to get her. Most of the time we would stop and sit on someone's lawn to rest until Sophie could catch her breath.

Over the next few months I got her back into good shape, dropped about 20 pounds off her frame and built up her cardiovascular system with longer and longer walks. Then one day disaster struck. I had taken her to the groomer to have a bath and they dropped her in the tub, breaking her back and leaving her paralyzed. It was devastating. The vet could not operate because of her age and so we started on a regime of drug therapy and a search for other methods of healing. I spoke with acupuncturists, raw diet specialists, homeopathic vets and healers and anyone else who I thought might be able to help. I got her a Walkabout Harness and learned everything I could about paralyzed dogs in order to take the best possible care of her that I could.

By this time of course both my husband and I were madly in love with her sweet, easygoing disposition and she was a wonderful addition to our household. She was the most well behaved dog I have ever lived with. Sophie hung on another year or so until finally the paralysis and her age took its toll and we made the agonizing decision to put her down.

Skye:
We were so devastated by Sophie's death that I put in a call to German Shepherd Rescue and asked them to let us know if they ever got in an older, paralyzed shepherd. About three months later I got the call. Some "gentlemen" (I use that term loosely) had thrown an older female German Shepherd into a cement wash and her back was broken and she showed some other types of physical abuse. I drove to the rescue and was greeted by an overweight, goofy looking older female with some serious neurological problems desperate to get out of that shelter.

Skye quickly established herself as the house personality. Our three other dogs were somewhat shoved aside by Miss Congeniality, a nickname she earned after biting just about every dog in the neighborhood. The alpha dog of the household was a very old, one-eyed gray poodle named Griffon who ruled the house with an iron paw. Griffon was somewhat demented but that only added to her charm.

Skye showed her true colors when my other small poodle, Squinkley, growled at me and with one fell swoop, Skye essentially ate him. All I could see hanging out of her mouth were these little feet and tail, flailing. Just like the lion tamer at the circus. As soon as she had made her point that no one was to growl at mother, she spit him out. That was the last time Squinkley ever growled at me again. After recovering from the shock and fear that I had just seen the demise of my old friend, we erupted into a fit of laughter. Poor cantankerous Squinkley learned quickly to mind his manners around the new sheriff in town.

Skye's physical problems were unfortunately not fixable. She was too old for surgery and after she conveniently had a stroke in the vet's office while he tried to trim her nails, (no more nail trimming for her!) he declared that he would not touch her for fear of anything else happening! Her back had been broken in two places and she had torn her ACL in one knee, which made walking a bit of a challenge. I decided to try to give her the best quality of life that we could and then let her go when that was no longer possible.

For several months I was able to get by walking her with a Walkabout Harness and booties to support her on our long jaunts around the neighborhood. But the day finally came when I realized she needed a wheelchair. She was down to about 65 pounds and she was no longer able to use her back legs at all. Still, she had the energy and vitality of a puppy, and the personality of a terrific jokester.

The wheelchair turned her into the terror of the neighborhood. Now that she could move on her own, and fast, there was no stopping her. The only problem was that she wasn't so good at braking. Or rounding corners. I had to sprint alongside her to make sure she didn't go crashing into a tree or tip over on the curbs. Uphill she was more sedate, unless there was a dog in front of her that needed some discipline. (i.e. a nice chomp on the head). Then she would motor as fast as those two front legs could carry her.

As we walked the dogs a lot, I think everyone within a five-mile radius knew her. I would have days when people would be driving by and come to a screeching halt after seeing the four dogs and Skye in her chair, and say, "I've HEARD about you! I've heard about your dog! God Bless you for taking that child in." I am sure I was blessed at least twice a day for two years. One day we were out for a walk and I heard a mother calling her child to come into the house. The little girl yelled back, "I can't mom. The wheelchair dog is coming!" and that's when I knew that the kids in the neighborhood called her the wheelchair dog.

Skye lived for her daily walks. She could be on a walk ten hours a day if it were up to her. But eventually she started slowing down and I knew something was wrong with her. It seemed that her front legs were failing, that walking was becoming very hard on them. Finally she blew a disc in her neck, which paralyzed the front legs. We decided, after a lot of tears to let her go to the Rainbow Bridge where she could have a functioning body again and chase down anything and everything that needed some discipline.

Hopefully Sophie and little one-eyed Griffon were waiting there to greet her.