We may live at opposite ends of the globe, speak different languages, practice different religions, disagree politically, even stand on either side of the biker vs hiker controversy, but if you are someone who extends a helping hand to animals, you and I can still be friends. We have the basis for a relationship.

Last year at this time, I gave a pitch for animal rescue – the rewards of adopting homeless dogs and cats.  Actually, I didn’t make the pitch, blogger friends contributed stories about their own pets and the ties that bind.  And so we’re doing it a second time. Some contributions come from as far away as Australia, Germany, and Brazil; others are from truly exotic locations – Altadena, included.  And here’s the thing about animal lovers – whether the story comes from Poland or Pasadena, we voice the same sentiments, we share a common ground. 

Today, it’s my job to just get out of the way, except to say, on a personal note,  pets occupy a unique place in our hearts, and the emptiness when they die can’t be filled by the simple act of replacement.  Grieving hurts.  But anyone worth loving is worth missing, deeply. The depth of our sorrow is a form of respect. And we'll adopt again, after the one we miss makes some room, gives up a little of the heart's real estate.

Ok, and now for the good part: Stories and pictures.  Some will appear today, and we have more stories tomorrow.  Enjoy. And please join the conversation;  we want to hear about your friends, past and present.   

I'm two years into living with my second cat rescue and I still don't know if Luna retains any memory of her earlier, more difficult days before we were brought together.

But I like to think that she does.  Every time she jogs to the door when we come in, every time she gets a little fresh turkey when we come back from the Trader Joes, every time she moves from one spot of sunlight to another, I imagine a little synapse of gratitude gets fired in her brain. And then the same thing happens to me, I get grateful for the friends and the food and the warmth that I get to experience.

--Kevin McCollister, Los Angeles

In 2001, I adopted my cats, Reggie and Rose. I went to the shelter for a kitten, but came back with two. They changed my life. When my husband, then-boyfriend, an avowed cat hater, met them five years ago, he fell in love. They changed his life, too. Nowadays, he sings to them almost every morning.

Reggie is a clown and will do anything for a laugh and a chin scratch. Perpetually ungraceful and un-silent, he clamors like a horse when he plays, galloping after his toys. Though he loves to be petted, he rarely crawls into a seated lap, so when he does, it feels like I am the luckiest cat mom in the world. He is judiciously generous, though, with his nighttime cuddles, alternating almost every other night between my husband's belly and the crook of my right arm. Every animal that Reggie meets he tries to make his best friend, and he has always succeeded. Something about Reggie erases tension--it is nearly impossible to be worried or unhappy in his presence.

Rose prefers mountains and crevices. She sleeps either on the highest point, my hip, say, or tunneled deep under the covers. Waking us up with loud meows every morning, she demands food that her skinny body never seems to absorb. Unlike the jolly Reggie, she is serious and elegant. Her tail always wraps tightly around her seated body to hide her white toes, accentuating her ramrod posture. But, Rose's composure fails when it comes to laps. She, despite her allergies to human dander (yes, it's true), can't stay out them, and once in them, turns into a floppy, furry mess of roaring, crackling purrs.

A few weeks ago, we added another species to the household by adopting a Chocolate Lab from a rescue that had saved him from euthanasia at a shelter. We have a lot to learn about being dog parents to Indiana. He is smart. He is very funny. He can get in trouble quickly. Yet seeing his athletic body leap as we play fetch is awe-inspiring: steely muscle rubber-snapping as he bounces from earth to sky and back. He needs so much from us, but after a month or so of being part of our family, he is already giving much back.

Reggie hasn't won over Indiana yet. We are giving it time.

--Christina Wenger, Altadena

The more rescues you have, the luckier you are in life. Our elegant Eagle Rock pack includes Mickie, female spaniel from Glendale HS; Riley, male pit bull mix abandoned on the the street; and Jasper, male Samoyed mix from Pasadena HS.

--Mary Monroe, Glendale

A year ago my daughter found a rescue kitten on Facebook. She hounded me for two days to "GET HER!"  Finally I said, "If you make the call and you go and get her, I'll take her."  I'd never had a cat and to be honest never really wanted one. Meeps came into my life and we've been in love since that very minute. She lets me smooch on her as much as I want to and curls up in my lap or against my legs every night. I'm besotted. 

--Virginia Kelser Jones, Alabama

Tommy with his expressive face and hilarious nature changed my life. Sweet, wiggly Louise weaseled her way into my heart. I hadn’t planned on sharing my home with them, but once a pittie breaks into your orbit, it’s hard to get rid of him – or her. Lucky me.

--Susan Campisi, Altadena

We lost Thor 3 months before Thanksgiving, and 2 months before his "Ten-and-one-half" birthday.  A 230 pound dog is a huge part of the family in more ways than one. He's the guy who shows up every morning to stuff his head under your arm if you forget to give him a hug.  He's the one who eats everything you cook with gusto.  He's the big hairy kid who thinks he belongs wherever the people are.  To get fed in my house on Thanksgiving, you are required to stand in the group at the front door, with a camera on a tripod taking innumerable pictures via delayed timer.  Thor was always front and center in every group photo, waiting for his hugs and his dinner.  He won't be there this year, and our tears will fall in the hole in the group photo.  There's no greater day than Thanksgiving for appreciating the people and animals in your life, and there's no harder day to miss the one who gives unconditional love to everyone in his house.
--Marjie McDonald, Pennsylvania

A plug for older dogs: We adopted Boz when he was five. We don't want to chase after an energetic pup, it's constant work. Some say an older dog costs more in veterinary bills. But you're going to keep your puppy 'til he's old anyway, and if you adopt an adult dog you skip the carpet replacement stage. And you still get all the loyalty and love.

--Petrea Burchard, Pasadena

In July 2000, I took my 13-year-old stepson to the animal shelter in Prescott, Arizona, where we found a litter of six-week-old pups waiting. He picked out the one with the funny black spot on the forehead. Driving home with a ball of fur on the floorboard, we wavered between names: Spike, the obvious cool-boy choice, or Spot, the literal—yet inspired—one. I may have nudged him toward my own sense of nostalgia. Spot was a mutt, probably a cross between an Akita and an Australian Shepherd, fiercely loyal and just as protective of his people. He was the most conversational dog I’ve ever known; he and I could converse in at least two languages. He would cross his legs in front of him and look for all the world like a wise-eyed David Niven.

When Spot was about a year old, and had come into his adult legs, he began showing signs of stiffness in his hips. We took him in for x-rays and discovered he had severe hip dysplasia--so severe that the ball of his hip wasn’t just displaced from its socket, it actually hovered far above it. The other hip hadn’t fared much better. We were told that he needed complete hip replacements—metal joints on both sides—or he would be paralyzed by the age of four, dead by five. The operation was expensive, the recovery arduous and lengthy. We opted against it and decided to enjoy the time we had left with our dog.

 When Spot turned ten, we had occasion to repeat the hip x-rays. Much to our—and the vet’s—amazement, it turned out that the hip joints had re-fused at some point: the ball was now clearly set in its socket. That isn’t supposed to happen, not without intervention. But it was clear that Spot had bucked the odds, and we had shared years together we didn’t think we had—years that included raft trips down the Green River (Spot hated water and never forgave us for this particular indignity); hikes through Organ Pipe National Monument; camping trips to Wyoming and red rock country and the Colorado Rockies. He “retired” to a large back yard here in Altadena and died last Halloween, at the age of almost eleven, sleeping in his favorite spot. That morning, he had chased squirrels.

 Like the Little Engine, Spot was our dog that could.

--Linda Dove, Altadena

Join us tomorrow for more tales and tails. On the internet, rescue sites are plentiful. Here are a few of the local ones:  Pasadena Humane Society, LA County Shelters, Boxer Rescue Los Angeles.

Do you have an animal rescue story?  Tell us in the comments and upload your photos of your favorite pet.