Hei-Hei´s call for help



Hey-Hey energy crisis, third world war, we’re looking for a new yard and it’s all pretty awful. This year many shelters are facing the question of how to go on. No to heat the kennel facilities in the winter? Which rooms can be prepared for the old and the sick, so that money is only burned there when you turn the cog? And now the vets are supposed to increase their rates… How is it all going to work out? And while at the Foundation we are painting black and muttering curses into our coffee mugs, our cell phones suddenly ring. Ringtone: Ghostbusters on the recorder. It’s an animal rescue with a slightly strained voice on the phone. It’s about the following case: And now attention, this is not for the faint of heart and especially long. One had imported a water dog hybrid from Portugal. He came as a puppy to Germany. The small, now about 40cm high grown fluff of Satan’s knitted sweater soon drew attention to himself there by behaviors that made you think he was possessed. Angry and undirected growling and hissing noises and spinning in circles were just the beginning. With less barking and more snarling noises and completely unpredictable attacks (sometimes directed towards the outside but also against himself), he spread such terror in his family that they soon saw only one way and gave him a one-way ticket to the shelter. There he showed himself excited to nervous, snapped around but all in all he put up with a lot. Thanks to a TV appearance on “Tiere suchen ein Zuhause” (Animals looking for a home), the fluff soon found a new sphere of activity, with a dog school offering him help. So he was able to build up a good frustration tolerance and was also able to get to grips with the concept of “learning to endure”. The little powder keg developed. Much to the regret of the trainer, however, there was always regression, especially in the domestic area. And here we are at an overarching problem: The view and the emotional treatment of dogs with problems. Regression occurred primarily when pity seeped through instead of the educational mission and the associated help in overcoming upcoming conflicts. One found oneself at times in a learning process, which the fluff had to go through sometimes more, sometimes less happy looking, and wished to just take him in the arm, cook some good food and let love do the rest. An emotion that we can understand quite well and that also sloshes up here from time to time like vomit after a food coma… But unfortunately we do not live in Disneyland, but on a planet where it is “eat or be eaten”. This theory is coldly supported by cheetahs, which eat a few hours old antelope babies at prime time. Which in turn unfortunately also means that healing and progress are always linked to emotionally challenging paths where everyone has to be strong at times. In short: one to a hundred frustration-laden biting attacks occurred because the sovereign leadership was missing and at some point the nerves were on edge. And finally the nerves became completely raw because the shelter refused to take him back. And before someone now raises his finger and cries “Booh!”: Take-back is usually refused on the part of the shelters not out of pure malice, but for capacity reasons, lack of staff, stock regulations by the competent veterinary office, financial hardship, simply untrained staff for dealing with aggressive dogs and many other factors. These factors remain hidden to a person who is not familiar with the millions of pieces of the puzzle called “Animal Welfare ” and lead to the above-mentioned assumption that animal shelter people are heartless Satanists in their spare time. So put your fingers down, spare your voice and listen. So there sat a family with fear, helplessness and bite injury in the home with the fluffball from Hell. This yelped angrily, screamed and defended everything and sometimes nothing, but it defended. And you know, the word “abnormal” does not only refer to “well, he just bites in situation XY”, but it contains different faces like “smears with excrement”, “runs screaming in circles”, “he hurts himself”, “is unclean”, “is unpredictable”, “is overly aggressive” and many more. Such “one” is not well advised with normal lessons in the dog school and so the way led, among other things, to the vet. “Let’s see if he has something, possibly he is sick”. But the blood count said “No.” and even many thousands of Euros and machine passes later the answer was still “No.”.

And now imagine that you live between a world war atmosphere, energy and fuel prices that eat up your existence, a mother-in-law and a job, and return with all the worries to a house where the devil is waiting for you. A creature that, by its mere presence, can shatter your nerves, bites you abruptly, and turns a difficult day due to everyday life into a catastrophe. In movies, such beings are fought with exorcists, swords or poison and rolled up in carpets. In our world, solutions to problems come from Google or the neighbor who is a hunter. And finally, from veterinarians who know that killing a healthy vertebrate is forbidden. However, this practically leads to owners with highly aggressive animals being sent away without help and, in the worst case, making it onto the front page of BILD (german newspaper). What happened then: Despair, blood, tears and the thought that the fluff could probably not do well with this life, gained access to two tubes of Sedalin and 20 tablets of Diazepam. Which were to be administered with the idea of sending him secretly from the world without pain, anger or fear. The fluff ate dutifully and above all hastily furiously all the treats he was given that day. He knew nothing of last meals and the possibility of dying from it by subsequent respiratory depression. And now I’m sure many are raising their fingers again, but the fluff is one of three dogs that were to be killed in such a way. And one of the three, out of seventeen cases known to us, that survived this. Who wants to get upset now, therefore, does not understand the puzzle correctly and also does not know that these happenings are future-oriented. The people stand with their biting dogs alone on a far field, help and capacities are exhausted already for a long time. Despair, anger and all kinds of emotional outgrowths spread and people end up helping themselves. Not because they are evil, but because they live in danger. That doesn’t justify their actions, but no one wants to take the dogs anyway. Animal rescue, on the other hand, came into play at the very end, because the fluff did not and would not die. A horror scenario for all sides. Where one had the whole “poison” from, probably nobody will know but the fear stood probably up to the neck and thus one contacted the animal rescue, in order to fetch the fluffy dummy and to set the whole fright with the veterinary surgeon to an end. Cynical to give such an order to an animal rescuer, but one can recognize from it, he should not suffer. But neither should he die, probably the universe commanded, and so it came to pass that the animal rescuers did everything they could to keep him alive instead of euthanizing him. “Attempted murder” is what they would say in court if the dog wasn’t a thing, but… The fluff woke up, vomited, and loitered like a junkie in withdrawal in the box of an animal hospital. The machines confirmed that the brain took no harm and the fluff now celebrates its birthday twice a year. Duck good, all good, one would think, were it not for the cold world theory. The fluff soon showed a behavioral disorder in the box, he gyrated and hurt himself. He was released from the clinic, but no one could take him. He was not compatible with conspecifics, still unpredictable and now autoaggressive. We received videos of a bloodied box where he was spinning furiously and biting his own tail repeatedly. “But he has to go now,” a phrase we and everyone else on the front lines already can’t hear anymore, nor can the vet clinic hear the fluff’s clamor. So what was left for the animal rescue as an involuntary new owner? They built him comfortable quarters in the vehicle hall of their rescue vehicle, took him for a walk and shared the fluff and its care. They hoped for a miracle or at least a home that could handle such a demon. The funny thing about dogs is that they just stick to their behavior, no matter how hot the situation around them gets. Anyway, they never suspect any relation of the whole misery to their behavior. Well, the home did not come, but the veterinary office did. Horrified about the keeping conditions of the dog: Isolated without regular contact to humans and conspecifics, which was not true, but which could not be checked by the authorities. From official ways one knew however also no place for the dog, thus one imposed first a fine to lift the finger as to say “That’s not how it goes!”

Our Anica, who had actually answered the phone on the day of the doomsday mood at the Foundation in the hope that the millionaire would finally call and at least catapult us out of our financial troubles, would have loved to bury the phone in the garden several times while listening to this story. And our answer that day was also, “Unfortunately, we can’t help you, we’re full.” So now the animal rescue stood alone with its rescue fluff, fines and the inkling that if it came to a seizure, the Grim Reaper would probably take his toll after all. Not because the fluff doesn’t work at all and is so infinitely scary, but because it is costly and difficult, and because at some point on the cold planet they will decide to pass on “the good ones” and “redeem” “the difficult ones” from their problems. Only, that “the difficult ones”, are just those, which point to the problems of this cold planet, do not let themselves get down and thus are actually “the healthier ones”. And there are more and more of them… already noticed? Gloomy text, I know. But that’s what’s happening here, and what we experience multiple times every day with owners on the phone, see at dog school, or have to turn down at the gate. Still, we kept in touch, got videos of the fluff as he tore himself apart and was sheerly out of control. The situation was coming to a head. Looking at the little angry imp, I saw parallels to our deceased Jamie every now and then. And then everything happened very quickly. My dog “Nobody” made his way to Valhalla after 13 years. A great dog, though the terror of many visitors to the facility with panther gait and ears cropped down to small pointed horns. Where Nobody was, the air froze ^^ but we loved him and he was a Foundation original. Sad but a chance for the fluff to get out of the box, because it is utopian these days to think you get places through placement. So dry tears and keep fighting. So we agreed to take him on and heard a whole landslide fall from the hearts on the other side and the fine got wings too. And so he arrived, rumbled out of the car at his rescuers, immediately became furious and tried to bite them. With twisting and breaking they managed to maneuver him back into the car, where we then secured him a little more elaborate with muzzle and leash. When he, now “newly dressed” came outside, he was first excited, but behaved rather inhibited to me as a stranger. That is, he barked, but did not try to bite. Through the gate into the dog group I carried him in my arms, where he immediately fell silent. I did this because I noticed how the marbles in his head got mixed up the closer we got to the gate and the more stimuli he took in. Very close to the human he seemed to feel security and remained calm. Normally I don’t do that and tease dogs, but sometimes… In the following days with the Demon of Hell we saw the following behaviors: He barked at flies, he defended foo, he defended his box, he was restless and then partly rushed in redirected aggression on conspecifics. He was unclean, he humped pillows and defended them. He barked, barked and grumbled His thereby very awkward and partly disoriented acting nature is to be owed that the fluff of the devil here got the name HEI HEI (the little rooster from the movie Vaiana). A very loud and hard to miss in his presence, but highly intelligent little guy. One morning when we were feeding him in a separate room and a staff member entered, looking to see if he was ready to be muzzled and let him go outside with the others, the tousled death looked up briefly, took the last chunk of meat from his bowl, carried it to the far corner of the room, sat down next to it and began to fixate on the staff member. And all of you who are wondering now… Yes, he set a trap for her. Namely, to go into the room to get him out, meanwhile he would have attacked her for the meat chunk. There are always reasons for a fight, you just have to look long enough. And there he sat, like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, next to his prey, firmly convinced that he was the smartest creature on the planet. But instead, in the blink of an eye, all sorts of stuff flew at him from the shelf that stood in the room (dog shoes, a brush, an empty can of Red Bull, etc.). Not with the intention to hit him, but to make him really mad about his idea to go to the last corner with a resource as a hanger for a solid argument. With wide eyes and a defiant gait, he came shuffling up and, annoyed by his defeat, had the muzzle put on him.

He is often out of this world and has the nickname “the astral being” here, but is still very adaptive and also able to correctly judge towards us when the measure is full. He slept by my bed for quite a while, but then decided he was now cool enough to sleep in the dog group in the kitchen. Everything was on a good track and everyone was happy with and about HeiHei and his development. And again you could be happy and think “Awww. So nice, another one saved”. If the Grim Reaper hadn’t still had a score to settle, which almost makes you think that HeiHei must have been quite a terrible creature in his previous life… maybe a human or something. HeiHei continued to wear a muzzle, because he also quite liked to attack when you went through doors that he had declared as his personal portal to Wonderland. And this saved his life that day. When we went outside to the dog group to call the dogs to bed, the meathead was standing there with drooling threads and undefinable stinking garbage in his food bag. He smelled as if he had been drinking directly from a lake near purgatory, and we noticed right away that his eyelids were sagging a bit toward the bottom. As he walked towards us he had a slight cat hump and immediately pressed himself against the leg of one of the staff. HeiHei was in pain. We palpated him. There was no movement in his throat or in any other palpable area, and yet he showed all the symptoms of a stomach or possibly intestinal obstruction. 8:30PM, in the middle of the country. Our clinic declined because they already had two other emergencies on the table, but also considered our situation acute. So we called the next biggest animal hospital, described the situation and got into the car. After a drive, which according to Google should take 30 minutes, the Passat rolled into the parking lot of the clinic 20 minutes later. Emergency service, that costs, but everything else costs a life. I took HeiHei in my arms and walked briskly forward to the registration desk. We were directed to the waiting room, which was as good as empty. All right, wait a moment. 10 minutes turned into 20 minutes, which turned into almost 30 minutes, while HeiHei was shaking and writhing. Again before to the registration: “Excuse me, I asked on the phone whether they have time for an acute emergency.” And when I was then told with an appropriate grump, “Yes, but you’ll still have to wait,” a few twisted blessings flew across the counter along with death glances and fluent demonics, and the Passat shot backwards out of the yard. Cruella De Vil would have been proud. Shortly before 10pm I reached the clinic with HeiHei, which also had emergency service. He was x-rayed, hooked up to the IV and then pushed into surgery and I drove off the farm with mixed feelings. Then at 2:00 o’clock in the morning the call: “HeiHei has made the operation, he is stable ”. Leaves, stones, an old bone splinter and other souvenirs were operated out, which this insane fluff had probably pulled in as a souvenir of Wonderland or whatever a long time ago and which had now clogged the stomach outlet in the mass, similar to a dam. After two days and a measly 1800.00 euros and still open after-treatment costs, he was back with us in the yard. He looked at the sky, then strained at the ground, pranced off, fuzzed and barked around as if nothing had happened. And that’s another nice thing about dogs, they survive a crisis and resume their lives right away. He had been given a rest in the box, which he also endured very well in the meantime. And here we are, weeks later, still not knowing how to deal with fuel and energy prices, or simply how to establish world peace. Now, since we started this wild journey with HeiHei, we are glad that he exists and that he is alive. Beside his Mother we are probably the only ones for the time being  ^^ But for it we tell you this story and hope that it stimulates many to reflect. Thinking about what is still to come, if the unreflective dog consumption continues like this and what is to become of all the animals that eventually fly around our ears, when the animal shelters are bled financially and in their capacity.


So: Don’t just donate applause and love, rather send money to the animal shelter. In this sense, we are also happy about donations, simply because the clinic was so expensive and winter is just around the corner.


Hellhound Foundation


IBAN: DE74 2585 1660 0055 1589 50


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