A steamer ran aground off the coast of Newfoundland. The waters were rough and the ship was coming apart at the seams. Panic swept over the passengers and it seemed they would all drown. The people on the shore could only watch helplessly because the waters seemed too rough to even attempt a rescue.
"But one of the men on shore had a Newfoundland dog and he attached a line to the
dog's neck. The great Newfoundland dove into the icy, turbulent waters and, following the directions of the man, swam to the ship. A lifeline was established and a conveyor device was sent along the line to the ship.
"One by one the ninety-two passengers aboard got into the conveyor and were pulled to safety. One time the conveyor reached shore with a mailbag inside. It contained a baby. The conveyor went out again and again, as the ship broke apart, until there were only one man left aboard. The rescuers were surprised when they pulled the conveyor in to find, not a man in it, but the Newfoundland dog. The last man had decided to take his chances on the crumbling ship and make sure the hero dog was saved. The conveyor went out one last time and all ninety-two passengers were saved. The dog was later awarded a medal of honor."
Peaceful Kingdom
Random Acts of Kindness by Animals
by Stephanie LaLand
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Echo has this 'need' to groom Clyde every now and then, ears, head, entire body, well
you get the idea. Clyde spent the first 6 months in our house slimy or crunchy depending
on how recently Echo had got a hold of him. I think Echo thinks he's a wierd little dog
who doesn't smell right, so she tries to fix it. Maybe it's a female thing...<VBG> You
know, got to do with raising pups or something, who knows. Take care,
Bruce, Louise, Echo and Clyde (the evil cat who is rarely slimy or crunchy
anymore, but it does happen)
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EXTRA - EXTRA !! - I've just learnt that "Clyde" the evil cat is fast developing a
swollen head now that he is becoming famous on the WWW he is apparently demanding
a "dressing room" of his own with a gold star on the cat door
poor, poor Echo and the "token" humans in the household (Bruce and Louise)
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I'd like to tell you all how I came to know and love the Newf. Bare with me if it seems a
bit long winded.
We lived in a beachside little town in 1978 and my son was 9 months old. I started
talking to a scruffy old man (whom I referred to as "the old fisherman) outside my home.
A lot of people thought this old man was "a bit crazy in the head". He had no home, as
far as I know. He lived in a humpy on the beach with his old "bitsa"dog and ate fish for
his meals.
I think the old fisherman appreciated that I took the time to even talk to him. He also
loved to see my son's big smiles when he spoke to him. He asked me when Jace's
birthday was, so I told him. I thought nothing more about that comment. But sure
enough, on my son's birthday, he arrived at our home with the cutest, fluffiest bundle of
black fur I had ever seen, and HARVEY came into our lives.
I didn't even know what breed Harvey was until a vet told me when he was 6 months old.
How the old fisherman came to have him, I will never know.
Harv did not have an easy life. At 6 months of age he was stricken with parvo virus. This
was so very new to the vet world, they didn't really know what to do. I gave him
medication and I slept on the floor with him for a week. I wanted him to live so badly I
think I willed him to live.
He was beaten by my ex-husband when he (the ex) came home drunk. Needless to say
Harv stayed and the ex went. Harvey was my only salvation during that stormy period.
He would look at me with eyes that said "I'm here if you want a cuddle" and "I know
you're hurting - lean on me". Maybe it was a pay back for my being there for him when
he was so sick.
Then when he was 6 years old, he suffered a heart-worm infection. He was "in hospital"
with a drip attached for a week. I visited him every day and told him to get better
because I needed him. He got better.
Then at 8 he suffered from heat stroke after chasing after my son on his push bike all the
way to the beach and back. The vet bundled him into a bath tub full of ice and it was
touch and go. Again I think
my need for him and his love for us is what pulled him through.
His last great hurdle came just before he died at age 15. His thoat muscles collapsed and
he had trouble breathing. The decision of whether to have him "put down", continue to
suffer, or have an operation was not an easy one to make. I opted for the operation,
believing that our love would pull him through again.
He developed pneumonia from the stress of the operation. He lingered for 2 days, in
obvious pain and distress. Many of the children and even some of the adults from the
neighbourhood came to visit him.
The local fire brigade brought round an oxygen mask and tank to try and help him with
his breathing.
It was so hard to watch him suffering so. I knew he was holding on for us, so I finally
knelt beside him and cuddled him and said, "it's alright Harv, you can go now, I'll be
alright." He died within 15 minutes. Just took one last big breath and he was gone.
We now have another Newf, Jordy, who is very much like Harv was. My son thinks he is
Harvey's soul reincarnated - who knows. All I know is that I will never doubt the
devotion of a Newf to the family he loves and who love him or her. I will never be without
a Newf as long as I am capable of giving one a good home and a lot of love and
affection, because my two have given me so much more.
(Contributed by Kerrie Peck - 28th October, 1995)
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I received a telephone call from a breeder, who had received a telephone call from the
local RSPCA shelter. They had a Newf there who was due to be put down in 24 hours.
They didn't hold out much hope that a home could be found for him. He had been placed
twice before and returned each time within weeks because of his behaviour. He had been
abused as a pup and was very untrusting of people.
I agreed to go and pick him up. And boy, wasn't he wild. His name wasn't Harry when
we got him, it was Beau. But since he was going to be so hard to train, and since Beau
sounded too much like the command "NO", we changed it to Harry. The name just
seemed to suit im - Harry from Harry & The Hendersons - Bigfoot.
His eyes were a flaming gold colour and very eerie to look at - to look in his eyes he
appeared to be possessed, but it was pure fear in those eyes. He had been beaten so
badly as a pup that when you even so much as raise your hand to cover a yawn, he would
cringe to the ground.
He was so scrawny - his ribs and hips were sticking out. The last family to take him said
he would not even stay long enough to eat. He kept breaking out and running away. We
soon found out he would be just the same with his new owner, my neighbour, who had
agreed to take him if I would help her with him. When she went to work, Harry was
off.... he broke down every kind of fence we erected to keep him in.
Eventually we decided that maybe he needed company through the day. So I let him
come into our yard while Deb was at work. I was a little wary at first, because when a
68 kilo Newf wants to break out, he will, no matter how strong your fences. I thought he
might go and take my two dogs with him. But he didn't. It seems that he and my own
Newf, Jordy were soul mates. Two huge big male dogs you might expect to try and
dominate each other, but NO, they became best of friends.
Slowly, ever so slowly, after some professional training and some very patient and loving
treatment, Harry began to show some signs of trust with Deb and my family. He began to
believe that maybe, just maybe, these humans were not going to hurt him.
It was magic to see the transformation from that wild, and crazy with fear dog, to a
wonderful character with all the endearing traits that Newfs are so loved for. He makes
you laugh with some of his funny habits, like plonking himself down front first while his
backside hangs up in the air for what seems like an eternity before it falls on the ground.
And the way he bounds down the street for his afternoon walk, jumping so high in the air
with each bounce you'd swear he was on pogo sticks.
I'd swear that he grins each time he makes someone laugh. He is just so happy now. He
is loved and he is giving so much love to his owner and to us. He still stays with us each
weekday while his owner is at work. He has a family at last. Humans to care for and to
guard and protect, and he is in his second puppyhood, learning all over what he should
have know from the very beginning, that is how very special he is.
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Charlie doesn't drink beer. However, hot cocoa must be guarded carefully. Charlie has
quietly walked up to me and without a warning, plunged his snoz into my cocoa cup. Not
only is cocoa bad for him (as discussed here), but history has proven that he isn't a tidy
cocoa drinker.
Like other newfs, Charlie likes ice. We already knew Newfs were smart when we
ordered our new refrigerator (he has gotten faucet opening wired, figured out that
chewy things with bitter apple on them taste better if he dunks them in the toilet for a
while and other Newf-like problem solving). Not only did we figure out that we would
have ice all over the floor, but the idea of an ice water dispenser scared us silly. "Oh
boy, look - - I can make a REAL COLD pond in the kitchen!! This is better than the
toilet!!"
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Well, it seems I have to apologise to Zoe! I thought her ice cube fetish was strange, but it
seems to be quite popular among the Newfie population! People were amazed last
summer, when I had to apologise for the lack of ice cubes because "my puppy has eaten
them!".
Oh yeah, beer (or wine or cider). I think I may have a Newfie with a drinking problem!
During our first Christmas together last year, Zoe managed to "get into" a bottle of
wine, which we found mysteriously upended in our kitchen when we got home. I'm not
sure how much she had, but the next morning was one of the very few that we were up
out of bed before her.
Being part of our family as she is, we certainly don't begrudge her the odd small bowl of
beer, which I'm positive she sees as, as much of a treat as her camping trips!
Bye for now, - Paul Chambers
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Dear Maggie (c/o her Mom, Becky)
You go right ahead & climb those stairs to sleep with your folks every night.
You just tell them the First Amendment in the Newf Bill of Rights demands free access to
the bedroom.
Howard Alter
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Question:- I read in the newest Newfoundland book (forgot the author's name) that the
Landseer may be more active/alert than the black. Is it true ??
signed curious
Answer: - My black Newf, Niki, wasn't too happy about this comment. Seems she wants
me to get her Johnny Cochran's phone number..... :-)
Scott
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I always thought that "Water Dog" mean't that the Newf sleeps with its head in the
water dish, and "Draft Dog" mean't sleeping across the door's threshold to stop drafts (
and people) from entering.
Rick
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Hi!, My name is Lord Nelson, "Nelson" to my friends. I am a 7 year old Black Male
Newfoundland and I live at Landsblak Kennels in Australia. We have such a great
climate in Australia; mostly warm and sunny which means that I can swim all year
round, even in "winter".
But when the weather gets very hot in summer, I dream of a far off land with snow on
the mountains. That land is where my dad came from and he told me all about it - the
great "Spokinewfs Kennels" in the Rocky Mountains of Canada. Ah, it is so nice to
dream, but I'm an Aussie, through and through and I think my home is pretty good too!!!
My home is on an acreage in a small rural community. We have two dams to swim in
and lots of room to run and play. My mum and my two sisters, as well as my son and two
daughters and some cousins and nephews all live with me. The "kids" get a bit pesky at
times, but we are pretty happy.
Oh, I almost forgot, we also have a young Labrador bitch living with us. We Newfs ut up
with her since supposedly we are related to her breed somewhere along the way. Can't
see it myself, but my human father seems to like her, so we had a vote and decided to let
her stay.
We get lots of visitors to our Kennel, of course when I puff out my chest and give them
my deepest "hello" bark, they are all very impressed. Buccaneer, my Landseer mate just
loves visitors. SO much so that he makes a fool of himself running around and trying to
impress them. Much too undignified in my opinion, but each to his own. We meet lots of
Newfie friends at shows and Obedience trials, and of course there is the "world famous"
Landsblak Newfie Christmas picnic.
Visitors come from all over. Cosmo, my son, spends so much time preening himself to
meet the young Newfie girls at the picnic, it is almost sickening. I, of course, am dignified
enough to wait until I am visited by my "special lady friends" who actually send me
letters asking if they may have the pleasure of my company.
I am rather upset that our Christmas picnic has to be delayed this year. "Zoe" has
thrown a spanner in the works by going and getting herself pregnant to some young
buck. And wouldn't you know it, the babies are due in late December. My human mother
worries so about the babies, that she has decided we should have a New Year
celebration this year instead. I shall have to have a word to my female relatives about
being more considerate when planning to have "buns in the oven" in future.
Ah, I see my human mother coming. It is dinner time, yum, yum, so I will have to sign off
for now. I will write more soon.
Yours, Newfoundly, NELSON.
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