Donate to Colorado Animal Rescue Today

Fri 08, Dec, 2017
Donate to Colorado Animal Resc

Dear Clients and Friends,

From mistletoe to softly falling snow, the holiday season inspires in us a profound sense of joy and a spirit of generosity not always found throughout the year. Silver bells ring out peace on Earth and good will toward men, and we would like to extend some of that good will to help our four-legged friends who cannot help themselves.

Thanks to animal shelters like Colorado Animal Rescue, homeless animals will have food and a warm place to sleep this winter. One donation could make all the difference to this small, non-profit organization whose goals are to provide a safe and comfortable place for animals to stay while they wait to find their forever home. Donations can be made at Mountain Ridge Animal Hospital at 287 N US HWY 287 in Lafayette, or directly to Colorado Animal Rescue at 2801 Co Rd 114 in Glenwood Springs. Please feel free to give whatever you can spare. The shelter is especially in need of the following:

  • Canned dog and cat food
  • Cat toys
  • Soft training treats
  • Creamy peanut butter (for Kongs)
  • Cat beds
  • Catnip
  • Blankets/bedding
  • Pet- safe snow salt (de-icer)

Delivery will be made after New Year’s Day. If you have any questions, call Mountain Ridge at 303-665-4852 or Colorado Animal Rescue at 970-947-9173. As always, thank you for your support!

Fri 01, Dec, 2017
Episode 5: In Which a Cat Trie

Humans are interesting creatures. Life is so simple, but they feel so many things, and they feel deeply. Not like my kind; we are profoundly philosophical. The troubles and traumas of this world are for us to experience and live through in order to augment our knowledge of the universe. Sometimes, humans perceive my people as cold because our emotional perspectives are not shared. I think this is why they bond so well with dogs; dogs are feelers, not thinkers. I find that sadness is the most mysterious and difficult emotion to comprehend.  It makes me sound callous to say that it is a pointless emotion; perhaps futile is a better adjective. And yet, the humans are cut more deeply by this feeling than any other.

One day last week, two humans carried their old dog in, and they went into my big couch room. This happens from time to time, and a hush falls over the building, like a blanket of fog rolling through, reaching its tendrils of grief into every corner. I hung around in the hall, silently watching and listening so as not to intrude. This sorrow-filled air doesn’t really bother me; I know that everyone’s time will come, including mine, when we have the big sleep. What gets to me is how much it bothers them. I can feel it when their hearts are sad. It squeezes their insides and makes water leak from their eyes and noses. When they are sad inside, it makes my stomach rumbly and my tail refuses to curl at the end. I wanted to tell them that everything is okay, there is no reason to be sad. When animals leave this world, we are ready to try the next one. We are much closer to the natural way of things than the humans, and death is part of life; there is no reason for it to cause fear or sadness.  And then, as they held their friend and let their tears dampen his fur, I had somewhat of a revelation; they did not fear for their friend during his passing, they feared for themselves after he is gone.

When it was over, the two humans sat quietly next to each other, consumed with the despondency of their old friend’s absence. I knew there was nothing I could say to make them feel better, and they wouldn’t understand if I tried. I didn’t want to encroach on their mourning, but I felt compelled to do something; we are all animals on this earth together. So I did the only thing I could think of, and let them feel my warm, furry presence. I gently rubbed against their shins, and they stroked my back. I purred, and let them hold me, even though it’s not always my favorite.

After they left, the gloomy atmosphere slowly cleared; life in the hospital must go on. I think I may never fully understand that sadness, but I have begun to appreciate the magnitude of its influence on the humans. While sadness is futile for my people, for them it seems an inescapable element of their existence. That is why they need us; they seek happiness from any source in order to balance out the frequent sorrow that is part of their life. Perhaps the humans are more courageous than they are credited; to face the weight of so much emotional burden seems daunting to me. I would much rather analyze the world, the way my people have done for centuries, even though the responsibility is exhausting. It has been theorized that cats are so often caught sleeping because a certain quotient of sleep must be filled in order to progress the understanding of the universe. I think this is very true, and at this moment I think it is time for me to be caught in a cat nap.

Dr. CJC

Fri 17, Nov, 2017
Episode 4: In Which a Cat Gets

 

I am plagued by a relentless itching deep inside my ear canals. No matter how much I shake my head, it won’t go away. I use my back feet and carefully reach in with my claws to dislodge the demon itch, but to no avail. I can’t reach in far enough, and I can’t shake it out. Am I doomed to live out my days in misery, suffering the inescapable irritation of the unscratchable itch?? The more I think about it, the worse it gets. I think I may go mad.

Someone starts gently scratching my head just behind my ear, but it’s on the outside. I lean my head into this human hand, its fingers much more dexterous than my own toes. Scratch the inside, you fool! I want to shout at them, but I just keep leaning into the hand that is fumbling to help me. And then they start massaging my ear, and I can feel it rubbing the inside that burns so fiercely with the itch. I lean hard, and I hear them say something about my ear and how it must be itchy. Finally! Humans can be slow sometimes. Then, I find myself being carried behind the swinging door, and I am placed on the table where I have seen them treating other animals. I have a bad feeling about this, but my anxiety is eclipsed by the inexorable irritation in my ears.

One of them takes a long stick with a bit of fuzz attached to the end and carefully reaches it down inside my ear. The resulting sensation is difficult to describe; it is at once the rush of sweet relief that something is finally able to reach the infernal itch, and at the same time the intensity of the rubbing stick borders on discomfort. As soon as they are satisfied that they have cleaned and removed the itch from the first ear, they move to the other side. They poke and prod inside the ear until it is too much for me to bear, and I can’t keep myself from hollering at them to stop. I let myself yowl, most undignified, until I can hear my own voice reverberating in the rafters of the building. They are saying comforting things in soft voices, but I am not listening, and I can’t hear them over the din I am creating.

And then it is over. They have massaged some kind of liquid deep into both ears, and my whole face is swathed in a cloud of medicinal odor. This annoys me, and coupled with the shame from having put on such an unbecoming display in front of them, I decide to slink to my favorite recycle box for some me-time. Curled in the box among discarded papers, I let my tail twitch out the bad feelings. I close my eyes and let the quiet wash over me. And as I drift slowly into the comfortable darkness of sleep, I realize that my ears do not itch at all.

Dr. CJC

 

Fri 10, Nov, 2017
Episode 3: In Which a Single C

I’ve seen a lot of things in my day. Until I came here, I moved around a lot. There have been so many places and people, I can’t really remember all of them anymore, especially from way back. Sometimes I really concentrate and try to remember, but it’s like there’s a veil of fog that gets thicker the farther back I go. I can see shapes and shadows of places I knew and friends that were, just out of reach of my mind’s eye, like a window streaked by the passage of time. The haziness of my memories is mildly concerning, until I realize that none of it really matters because I’m here now, curled up behind a computer monitor while one of them scratches that spot just below my cheek next to my whiskers.

I have mostly human friends these days. Their constant companionship has made it impossible to avoid developing a certain fondness for them. One of them brings a lot of their own animals here. Not because they are sick, but because, as far as I can gather, they cause trouble if they are left at home. This is especially the case of the two very small dog-like creatures. They are very bouncy and active, but smaller than me, and mischievous. I like them.


The other day, I met a thing I never thought I would see; a hairless cat. She comes from the same home as the doggish friends. I asked her if she gets cold, and she said they put sweaters on her, so she doesn’t notice. Sometimes she is allowed to roam around the building, too. She likes knocking things off the high counters of the front desk. I asked her why, and she told me that she’s not entirely sure, and sometimes it seems like she’s not really in control of her paw and it just pushes a thing over the edge. She says the moment when the center of it tips, she can feel a surge of energy as gravity reaches out and pulls it down. What happens after, she says, is none of her concern. She likes to play chase with me, and I don’t mind a little extra activity.

After a while, I get fatigued of her need for constant motion, and I leave her to her devices. I am not young anymore, not like her, and my spirit of adventure is waning. My humans here are perfectly satisfied with letting me sleep for most of the day, and they don’t worry as long as I wander around sometimes to show them that I am feeling fine. The recycle box next to the big printer is probably my favorite spot, warm and cozy. A close second is Dr. B’s chair, nice and leathery and quiet in the offices. My cat friend doesn’t place so much value on the coziness of places. Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I find myself thinking that I belong among humans, at least the ones here. I shouldn’t admit it, but they are my best friends. And it’s not just because they feed me; not anymore.

Dr. CJC

 

Wed 08, Nov, 2017
Bearr Needs Our Help!

Dear clients and friends of Mountain Ridge Animal Hospital,

One of our philosophies most commonly discussed amongst our team here is about the “why” of things in this industry. To define the function of veterinary medicine is easy; everyone knows “what” we do. It is a far more complex question to know why. Broadly speaking, life is short and cruel, and even more so for the pets that we adopt into our care. We take them in because life is also full of wonderful things and joyful moments, and having the unconditional love of an animal companion brings out the best in us. The bond between people and animals is forged from a special and unique kind of love, and love is humanity’s best and most important attribute. Helping animals is helping people.

We have become aware of a situation in which one of our clients needs our help. He confided in us some details of personal trials that he is enduring, and we suggested the possibility of reaching out for help in his time of great need. He and his wife deliberated on our offer, both being hesitant to make their financial burden another person’s problem. He has spent the last fourteen years fighting a rare immune system disease which was originally diagnosed as brain cancer with a very short life expectancy. With his family in crisis mode and after two invasive brain surgeries, he was left without the use of the entire right side of his body, including hearing and vision loss. The support of family and friends has enabled him to resume life, and he has since returned to work full time, in spite of some major handicaps. Amid his own health issues, his wife was involved in a serious auto accident that resulted in their decision to fuse the bones in her upper neck. She, too, is finally returning to some semblance of normal life after six years of therapy and pain.

Over the years, Jim and Janan have adopted many dogs together. All have been rescue dogs, and all regarded as their children. They have always taken whatever necessary steps to give their dogs the greatest lives possible and best care available. Their dog Bearr and his brother Chevy were rescues from the Humane Society of Boulder. The addition of these two gave Jim and Janan a pack of five large dogs. One was lost to old age and two to cancer over the last year so that now only Bearr and Chevy remain. During the past four months, Bear has developed a condition which causes him to chronically regurgitate his food. He struggles to eat and vomits most of what he manages to get down. They have been to two other veterinary hospitals and spent thousands of dollars trying to find a cure. Their struggle with Bearr’s mystery illness has brought them to us here at Mountain Ridge. They have been able to get him to eat enough to gain some much-needed weight over the past two months, but he still weighs 20 pounds less than his brother. The next diagnostic step to forward his treatment would be to have a scope inserted in his throat to investigate the cause of his gagging. This procedure is quite costly and only the first step in fighting what could be a long battle. Jim and Janan have always put pets and family first, and they will not allow him to suffer in his current state without taking action to get him healthy, but to do so they need help.

They are turning now to others for aid. They would do anything to get Bearr healthy on their own, but they are running out of options. Jim’s end goal today is to create a fund that will continue to help others receive the care they need for their pets. Jim and Janan insist that any and all monies that become superfluous when Bearr’s needs are met will be paid forward to the next desperate pet parent who needs help taking care of their fur baby. Donations can be made to the Good Samaritan account at Mountain Ridge Animal hospital by credit card, cash, or checks made out to MRAH. Thank you for your support.

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