written by their mother, Charlotte Varuola

This is not the story of just any little girl and her dog, although that would be quite enough, for both are beautiful, happy, and madly in love.

There is another story, however, a story of violence and drugs, abuse and abandonment. In July of 1994, Shannika (age 3), her older sister and brother (5 and 4), and her baby brother (18 months) came to live with us. They couldn't talk so that anyone could understand them, couldn't run, couldn't play with a toy without breaking it. They had never colored or swung, never ridden a bike, never jumped in a pool. They displayed their bodies to each other in a grim and predatory way. They destroyed the simple objects we placed in their rooms to brighten them. Shannika and her older brother were terrified of animals, ALL animals.The cockatiels, the cat, the two sweet mixed breed dogs were hidden, shuffled like contraband from room to room, kids and animals in a fearful game of hide-but-neverseek.

In the almost four years since then, the kids have blossomed, and we have become a family. They want, very much and very often, to do the good and right thing. The two oldest are learning to read and write; Shannika is in kindergarten.  She has become the much-needed social advisor to our family, dispensing such apt advice as "Don't talk with your mouth full at Grandma's house, Mom.  And don't run over any roadrunners or bunnies on the way." The baby (now 5) rockets through childhood.  In February of this year, we added Streak, a 15 month-old Bouvier from Missouri, to our canine gang of three--the same two mixed-breeds and our foster chow-cross that we adopted, finally, because no one else wanted her. Our home is full of life (LIFE!); dogs and children share couches, beds and snacks, hugs and tears, time-outs and triumphs.

And no one fears animals any more.