Do You "Get" Why we Rescue?: A Celeberty Who "Gets" it

You have seen it on someones face.. that polite "look" that says YOU are crazy. It happened to me this week (again) as I explained what I do and why I was covered in fur, smelling less than fresh, wrangling two uncooperative fosters. "I volunteer for Rescue, I foster dogs from shelters, they would have most likely been put to sleep, .. ...." Clearly it was a one way conversation as it was falling on the polite stare that clearly told me they don't "get it".

The love of a furry face was stated so clearly this week by Comedian Sarah Silverman, on whosay. It is this type of heartfelt sentiment that drives us to devote such big parts of our lives to help discarded great danes. Our volunteers and foster homes devote hours, miles, sleep, and their homes to make a difference.

On September 19th YOU can help us make a difference by donating during the Day of Giving. Every donation over $25 made via DonorBridgeTX will receive matching funds and make GDRNT elidgable for additional funding. This makes your donation work harder. Please mark your calendars to donate on September 19th and let us know you "get it".

Sarah Silverman's Tribute to her pup Duck:

I wrote an obituary type thing:
Duck "Doug" Silverman came into my life about 14 years ago. He was picked up by the State running through South Central with no collar, tags or chip. Nobody claimed or adopted him so a no-kill shelter took him in. That’s where I found him -- at that shelter, in Van Nuys. Since then we have slept most every night together (and many lazy afternoons.) When we first met, the vet approximated his age at 5 ½ so I’d say he was about 19 as of yesterday, September 3, 2013.
He was a happy dog, though serene. And stoic. And he loved love.
Over the past few years he became blind, deaf, and arthritic. But with a great vet, good meds, and a first rate seeing-eye person named me, he truly seemed comfortable.
Recently, however, he stopped eating or drinking. He was skin and bones and so weak. I couldn’t figure out this hunger strike. Duck had never been political before. And then, over the weekend, I knew. It was time to let him go.
My boyfriend Kyle flew in late last night and took the day off from work to be with us. We laid in bed and massaged his tiny body, as we love to do – hearing his little “I’m in heaven” breaths.
The doctor came and Kyle, my sister, Laura and I laid on the bed. I held him close – in our usual spoon position and stroked him. I told him how loved he was, and thanked him for giving me such happiness and for his unwavering companionship and love. The doctor gave him a shot and he fell asleep, and then another that was basically an overdose of sleeping meds. I held him and kissed him and whispered to him well passed his passing. I picked him up and his body was limp – you don’t think about the head – it just falls. I held him so tight. And then finally, when his body lost its heat, and I could sense the doctor thinking about the imminent rush hour traffic, I handed him over.
14 years.
My longest relationship.
My only experience of maternal love.
My constant companion.
My best friend.
Duck.