Elderly Dog, Dropped off at Shelter in a Garbage Bag, Learns to Love Again

Last week, Blackie's family wrapped their bleeding dog in a garbage bag, placed the bagged pet in a cardboard box, and brought her to a busy Southern California animal shelter.

Kelly Smíšek is founder of Frosted Faces Foundation, a nonprofit founded in 2014 that specializes in helping old dogs — the group rescues some 100 canines per year.

After learning that Blackie was in the shelter — in pain and in need of help — there was no way Smíšek was going to let her stay there.

Blackie was dropped off at a busy California shelter wrapped in a garbage bag. | Courtesy of Frosted Faces Foundation

"We rescue the senior animals whose love and lives are left behind and in jeopardy," she told TODAY in an email.

Blackie is about 10 years old, and a small girl — about the size of a corgi — with a white-streaked face that looks happy, despite what she's been through.

Even outside of the bleeding tumor, and the manner in which she was brought to the shelter, there are indications that during her first decade, Blackie hadn't been looked after so well.

Dr. Beth Gordon is a veterinarian at High Valley Veterinary Hospital, in Ramona, California, who examined Blackie after her rescue. Gordon said Blackie has a heart murmur, some scars on her body, one wonky eye and teeth that have been neglected.

ackie, before her surgery, with veterinary technician Deborah Whitman | Courtesy of Frosted Faces Foundation

Then, of course, there is the tumor, which was big, infected and "very painful" for Blackie, Gordon said. "Someone didn't take very good care of her at all."

That's changed now. Blackie is at Frosted Faces Foundation headquarters, near San Diego.

She is being tended to — and with a lot of love.

Blackie enjoys her spa treatment. | Courtesy of Frosted Faces Foundation

Blackie has quickly learned the pleasures of being clean, and of wearing a fresh new collar, eating plenty of good food and resting on soft beds.

Her teeth have been brushed, her nails trimmed and she rolls right over for belly rubs "if you give any indication of wanting to pet her," said Smíšek .

Blackie with Frosted Fraces Foundation volunteer Kelly Anne Honrath. | Courtesy of Frosted Faces Foundation

Blackie's had surgery to remove her tumor. And to be safe and make sure no cancer cells were left, most of her tail was also removed.

Biopsies showed that Blackie had been suffering from the sort of cancer that often spreads into a dog's lymph nodes and lungs.

"But diagnostics have proven that it had not yet," said Smíšek. "She has recovered well, the swelling has gone down and she is running around happily."

Blackie is all smiles now. | Courtesy of Frosted Faces Foundation

Soon, Blackie will be running around happily in a home.

Frosted Faces Foundation is sorting through the applications that have been placed by people who want to make sure that Blackie's next act is better than what came before.

Once her stitches come out, and she is medically cleared, Blackie will go to what's called a "forever foster" home. Frosted Faces covers these dogs' medical bills. The foster homes promise to love and care for the dogs for as much time as they've got left.

It's impossible to say how long that could be. Gordon believes Blackie could have another three or four years of life ahead.

SOURCE: Today

Sweet, Sweet Syria: Refugee Mom Finds Support, Success in Cookie-Baking Business

It's a sweet success story: a refugee family finds a safe place and a supportive community in the U.S. and a Syrian woman uses a family recipe to start her own business in a new country.

Ruwaida G, who asked that her last name and face be withheld due to concerns for the safety of family members who remain in Syria, fled the country in 2012 with her husband, Khaled, and her two children, daughter, Zainab, 12, and son, Mohamad, 9.

Ruwaida's cookies are hand-molded using a wooden mold she received from her own mother. | Amanda Avutu

After applying for asylum in Jordan, the family arrived in the U.S. in 2016, settling in Georgia with the assistance of New American Pathways, an organization that helps refugees get settled in the Atlanta area, and Holy Trinity Parish, a church that co-sponsored the family.

"We decided to leave Syria because we feared for our lives and for our children's lives," Ruwaida told TODAY Parents with the help of an Arabic-speaking translator. In Syria, Khaled was a small business owner with a few electronics stores. Ruwaida was a homemaker. "There was no safety in Syria wherever we went, and we needed to leave if we wanted to survive," Ruwaida said.

Brian Bollinger is executive director of Friends of Refugees and says Ruwadia and her family have official refugee status in the U.S., describing their situation as "a type of indefinite residency" that allows them to work, apply for a social security card and state identification card or driver's license, and, after a full year, apply for a green card for permanent residency.

"Refugees come to the United States at the specific invitation of the U.S. government, after passing the most rigorous vetting processes in existence for immigrants," explained Bollinger.

One of the limited items Ruwaida carried with her on her journey was a wooden mold that her mother used to teach her to make traditional, Syrian cookies. Ruwaida had no idea as she packed the family heirlooms that the cookie mold would hold the key to her earning a living in the U.S.

Amanda Avutu met Ruwaida and her family shortly after their arrival in Georgia, after seeing a Facebook post soliciting volunteers to help set up the family's new apartment.

"As I started visiting with the family and getting to know them more," said Avutu. "we would go to their house and they would make us coffee and she started serving us cookies. We were going there focused on helping her husband find a job, but then found that she was literally serving us up an opportunity."

Upon making new friends in the U.S., Ruwaida served them her cookies, leading them to encourage her to start her own business. | Amanda Avutu

Ruwadia's cookies are hand-molded, and made with a 10-step process.

"They're amazing," said Avutu. "We joke about how a human needs eight loving touches a day to feel loved, and each one of Ruwaida's cookies gets 10."

Avutu says she and her friends approached Ruwaida about selling her cookies for profit. Although the mom-of-two was surprised by the suggestion, she was willing to give it a try, and baked 45 dozen cookies to sell at a table at a local music festival.

At the urging of her friends, Ruwaida baked 45 dozen cookies to sell at a local music festival. Her cookies sold out before the first band played. | Amanda Avutu

"She sold out before the first band played," said Avutu.


Soon after, Ruwaida and her husband, with the help of five friends who call themselves "the advisers," created Sweet, Sweet Syria — a cookie business that Ruwaida hopes will grow into a successful family endeavor.

"I learned how to make these traditional, Syrian cookies from my mother, who learned it from her mother, and so on," said Ruwaida. "It is a family recipe. I learned how to make them when I was 14 years old when my mother taught me to perfect them, and I have been making them ever since."

Avutu, who serves as one of Ruwaida's advisers, says she served as co-applicant with the family to a business accelerator course, moving through a 14-week program with Ruwaida that taught the woman about business ownership. Ruwaida then signed a lease on a commercial kitchen space, where she will soon begin making cookies to be sold at local coffee shops, restaurants and specialty grocery stores. Sweet, Sweet Syria will soon also expand to accept online orders.

Ruwaida says she enjoys seeing people eat her cookies and experience her family's special recipe. | Amanda Avutu

Avutu says Ruwaida's husband, Khaled, who works as an assistant chef, is her fiercest supporter.

"They are very much partners in this business," said Avutu. "She was a homemaker previously...and he's been immensely supportive of her having this opportunity to work. Previously, they hadn't really thought about that."

Avutu describes the emotion and pride she witnessed when accompanying the couple to sign the lease for their commercial kitchen.

Friends of the couple say Ruwaida's husband, Khaled, is her fiercest supporter. | Amanda Avutu

"Only one of them could sign the papers, and Khaled said, 'You sign it, of course,'" Avutu recalled. "You could tell she was thinking, 'Why me? I'm just a woman.' And he said, 'Just a woman? You're stronger than three men...and you're in America now.'"

Ruwaida says her husband shares her vision for Sweet, Sweet Syria, and hopes to see the cookie business expand into a restaurant that features traditional, Syrian food.

"He believes our success will help our children succeed in their life," said Ruwaida, adding that her daughter hopes to become a pediatrician and her son has aspirations of serving in the U.S. Army and pursuing a career in law enforcement.

"On the day signing the papers, Khaled said signing the papers is our first step to success." Ruwaida recalled. "He encouraged me saying, 'You're doing a good job. You are making the whole family succeed.' He encouraged me and said that I am a strong woman and that is a great thing for our family."

Amanda Avutu with Khaled G.

To ensure Ruwaida's success, her advisers have started a GoFundMe to raise money to cover her first year of rent in the commercial kitchen, and to eventually help the couple achieve their dream of opening their own brick and mortar store, where people new to the U.S. and long-time U.S. citizens can gather to share their commonalities.

As the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors, Avutu says the refugee crisis is close to her heart.

"I couldn't imagine not doing anything and everything in my power to make sure that they're not only surviving, but thriving here," said Avutu.

To date, the GoFundMe has raised more than $18,000 of the $30,000 goal.

Bobby Whithorne is the director of strategic communications for GoFundMe, and says the platform has seen more and more campaigns in recent months started by people who want to help refugee families in need.

"It's touching to see the kindness and generosity of everyday people who want to make things better for these families, and we hope others are inspired to help refugees around the world," said Whithorne.

uwaida's cookies take a 10-step process to complete.

Ruwaida says she feels happy every time someone takes a bite of her cookies and enjoys her family recipe that has been handed down for generations.

"I am lucky to have a group of dear friends...I couldn't have made it without them," said Ruwaida. "I hope that people who read (my story) see that we had a life before, and because of war we were forced to leave and rebuild our lives in a new country."

"I want them to know that we are thankful for the generosity of people and their willingness to see us and treat us as fellow human beings."

SOURCE:  Today

My Husband and I Got Married in the Church My Grandpa Built

The tale of how my grandparents became a couple is family legend. Their dads worked together in central Wisconsin. When Bill ignored Judy at a country dance, she went over and kicked him for being rude. Three months later, they were engaged. On Oct. 29 of that year, they were married.

LAURA SCHMITT PHOTOGRAPHY/ COUNTRY EXTRA MAGAZINE

Together they’ve traveled to all 50 states, created a family and started a successful business. Those who know and love them think Grandpa Bill and Grandma Judy were made for each other. Their marriage is an example for us all.

When my future husband, Brett, proposed and I accepted, we picked my grandparents’ 56th anniversary as our wedding date and held our ceremony in the little church on Grandpa and Grandma’s property.

In a former life, the beautiful country church was an old garage slated for demolition. Grandpa, a carpenter almost all his life, saw that it had good bones and rescued it. Then he turned it into a place of worship. With 10 wooden pews, a small bell tower and an antique pump organ, the church is a tribute to a God that has blessed our family in so many ways.

The church is one of several structures on the property. As he neared retirement, Grandpa built a village to recreate his childhood haunts on his land. The one-room schoolhouse is a scale model of the school he attended through eighth grade. There’s a log cabin originally built in 1847. (Get a laugh from these funny church signs.)

BREANNA BUTLER/ COUNTRY EXTRA MAGAZINE

An assortment of treasures are scattered all over the property: a gas station, covered bridge, tavern, general store, train station, town hall, farm machinery building, outhouse, corncrib, pump car and a playground.

The buildings are filled with antiques that my grandparents, who are both passionate about preserving history, have collected through the decades. It’s like a museum. Sometimes Grandpa gives tours to school kids so they can see the way people used to live. He has an awesome sense of humor and his tours are so entertaining. Grandpa is one of the humblest people you’ll ever meet, but also one of the most talented.

As a child, I explored the old buildings, traveled up and down the tracks on the pump car, and played on the schoolhouse merry-go-round. However, the church was always my favorite.

So on my wedding day, Grandpa drove me to the village in his Ford Model T. Brett and I married in a traditional Lutheran ceremony. In the presence of our closest family and friends, we began our married life on a special day in a special place surrounded by an almost overwhelming amount of love.

My husband and I will strive to still be on our honeymoon 56 years from now, just like Grandma and Grandpa are.

SOURCE: RD

New York Launches Its First Girl Scout Troop for Homeless Girls

Giselle Burgess knew moving into a homeless shelter with her five kids would be tough for her family. For security reasons, kids can’t hang out in each other’s rooms or in the hallway, so Burgess wanted more of a community feel.

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As Queens community development specialist for the Girl Scouts of Greater New York, Burgess already knew the benefits of joining a troop. She figured starting a Girl Scout troop in the 100-family Queens homeless shelter was the perfect solution. (Meet the woman who plans birthday parties for the homeless.)

Burgess called up Heidi Schmidt, director of government relations for the New York City Department of Homeless Services. Together, they formed a troop for the homeless shelter. The Girl Scouts of Greater New York covered the costs to make it affordable for the homeless girls. (Visit their page if you’d like to donate.)

Girl Scout troops from the other five New York boroughs are numbered in the 1000s, 2000s, 3000s, 4000s, and 5000s. The new troop picked 6,000 to represent the homeless girls. Other Girl Scout troops have formed in other states before, but this was the first one in New York. More than 62,000 people in the city are homeless, and about 40 percent of those are children.

Just eight girls, including Burgess’ three daughters, attended the first meeting, but they quickly spread the word. Now, Troop 6000 has 25 consistent members. The girls had seen each other around in the building before, but the meetings turned them into friends. “They are there to support each other and spread positivity,” says Burgess. “They see each other in the hallway and there’s just hugs.”

Troop members range from five years old to early teens, but the age gap doesn’t get in the way of their sisterly bond. The older members are protective of the younger scouts, helping them with activities. Not only are they spreading love, but they’re learning responsibility. “These girls are taking that leadership and owning it,” says Burgess.

The troop is already inspiring feminist leadership for the girls. Leaders from around the community, including the chief operating officer of Girl Scouts of Greater New York, district manager of a community board, Queens Borough representative, and a local councilmember attended the first meeting. “All the adults in the room were women except the councilmember,” says Schmidt. “Three girls asked separately, ‘Are you the boss of the Girl Scouts?’ to the man in the room.”

Since then, meetings with Troop 6000 have shown them women can be leaders, too. For instance, a visit the New York City Council showed Speaker Melissa Mark-Viverito as a woman in power.

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Even beyond their weekly activities learning about a theme like women’s suffrage, financial literacy, or first aid, the girls are stepping up as leaders. Every meeting, they rotate responsibilities such as handing out snacks, taking attendance, and cleaning up. “It builds in this level of respect because they all know they have to come around and take the role on,” says Schmidt.

And that responsibility lasts beyond the Girl Scout meetings. Burgess says she’s proud every time a girl talks about sticking up for a classmate, or when a mom says her daughter is suddenly stepping up more to help the family.

Plus, the troop is trying to get the rest of the community involved. Burgess and Schmidt hope to encourage women to take on leadership roles with the troop and to bridge the gap between the shelter and the rest of the neighborhood. “It would be so much easier for families living in the shelter and for the community to understand and not feel like it’s a burden upon them or be afraid of who’s in the shelter,” says Schmidt. “It’s good for families to know they’re embraced and welcomed by the community. The girls can go on to do great things and not be bound by their current situation.”

In fact, one woman has already volunteered to become the first leader for Troop 6000—and she doesn’t even have a daughter, says Burgess.

Troop 6000 hopes to inspire Girl Scout troops to pop up in more shelters around the city. The girls might be enjoying some press right now, but Burgess says they won’t be sad when coverage dies down. “They say, ‘That means our job is done and we passed it on,’” says Burgess.

SOURCE: RD

The Local Gravedigger Who Saves Lives on His Days Off

Johnny “Digger” Tucker has dug the graves of over 20,000 people.

Saturday night had just turned into Sunday morning, and Tim Abernathy, 47, walked off the dance floor at the Menlo Barn Dance near Summerville, Georgia. He sat down in a folding chair to rest with his wife, Tina Abernathy, next to him. Then something felt wrong. His throat got tight, then tighter. He grabbed Tina’s hand, then crashed to the floor.

“His eyes had rolled back,” said Tina. “His lips had turned blue and were getting darker.”

The band stopped playing. People started yelling, but nobody stepped forward to act. Someone finally did.

It was Johnny “Digger” Tucker. He swiped his fingers through Tim’s mouth, thinking he could be choking. He started beating on Tim’s chest. Then he began mouth-to-mouth. More pounding. More mouth-to-mouth. Then, finally, Tim drew a breath. The paramedics came, and Johnny quietly left.

“If Johnny hadn’t been there, I would be burying my husband,” said Tina.
Folks say Johnny Tucker is the type of man you’d call at 2 a.m. The type whose handshake is his word. Maybe it’s because he knows more than most how precious life is. Every day, he faces death.

Johnny is a gravedigger. Ever since he was a boy, he has been digging, just as his father did—not with a backhoe but by hand, with a shovel and a pick. He has dug the final resting places for about 20,000 people, each grave measuring three feet wide, eight feet long, four and a half feet deep, in hard, frozen ground or wet Georgia clay. He has his rules: no cussing, smoking, or radio playing during the grave­ digging. “I treat every­body as if it’s my family I’m burying,” he said. He is so respected around Chattanooga that funeral directors arrange their schedules around his availability.

So maybe it’s not surprising that Johnny often finds himself in a position to lend a hand. That night at the barn dance was actually his second death-defying feat. In the ’90s, a car driving in front of him veered off the highway, crashing into a flooded, freezing creek. Johnny jumped out and pulled the driver to safety. “I don’t want to see somebody leave this world,” Johnny says, “if I know I could have saved them.”

On top of that, Johnny has been fighting his own health battles for the past four years. “Non-small cell carcinoma,” Johnny says. Cancer. He has weathered two years of chemo­therapy. “He’s as tough as they come,” says his wife, Mary Tucker.

That’s why the couple spends Saturday nights at the barn dance, living it up and, frequently, closing the place down. Johnny and Mary were actually on their way out the door that night when Tim Abernathy collapsed. But then the band started playing that old Vern Gosdin song “Chiseled in Stone,” the one that goes, “You don’t know about lonely ’til it’s chiseled in stone.”

“Our song,” said Johnny to Mary.

They turned around for one more slow dance. Minutes later, the gravedigger had saved another life.

SOURCE: RD

This Powerful Story Will Convince You to Stop Saying “Let Me Know If You Need Anything”

Still in shock, I stumbled about the house trying to decide what to put into the suitcases. Earlier that evening, I’d received a call from my hometown in Missouri telling me that my brother, his wife, her sister, and both the sister’s children had been killed in a car crash. “Come as soon as you can,” begged my mother.

JOHAN-LARSON/SHUTTERSTOCK

That’s what I wanted to do—to leave at once, to hurry to my parents. But my husband, Larry, and I were in the midst of packing all our belongings to move from Ohio to New Mexico. Our house was in total confusion. Some of the clothes that Larry and I and our two young children, Eric and Meghan, would need were already taped up in cartons. Which ones? Stunned by grief, I couldn’t remember. Other clothes lay unwashed in a pile on the laundry-room floor. Supper dishes still sat on the kitchen ­table. Toys were strewn everywhere.

While Larry made plane reservations for the following morning, I wandered about the house, aimlessly picking things up and putting them down. I couldn’t focus. Again and again, the words I’d heard on the phone echoed through my head: “Bill is gone—Marilyn too. June—and both the children …”

The love in the act released my tears at last, healing rain to wash the fog from my mind.

It was as though the message had muffled my brain with cotton. Whenever Larry spoke, he sounded far away. As I moved through the house, I ran into doors and tripped over chairs.

Larry made arrangements for us to leave by seven o’clock the next morning. Then he phoned a few friends to tell them what had happened. Occasionally, someone asked to speak to me. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know,” that person would offer kindly.

“Thank you very much,” I’d reply. But I didn’t know what to ask for. I couldn’t concentrate.

I sat in a chair, staring into space, while Larry called Donna King, the woman with whom I taught a nursery class at church each Sunday. Donna and I were casual friends, but we didn’t see each other often. She and Emerson, her thin, quiet husband, were kept busy during the week by their own “nursery”—six children ranging in age from two to fifteen. I was glad Larry had thought to warn her that she’d have the nursery class alone the coming Sunday.

While I sat there, Meghan darted by, clutching a ball. Eric chased after her. They should be in bed, I thought. I followed them into the living room. My legs dragged. My hands felt gloved with lead. I sank down on the couch in a stupor.

When the doorbell rang, I rose slowly and crept across the room. I opened the door to see Emerson King standing on the porch.

“I’ve come to clean your shoes,” he said.
Confused, I asked him to repeat.

SOURCE: RD

An Annual Ski Trip Turned Into a Quest for Survival

Liisa and Tuomo Peltola step from their bungalow in a forested suburb of Turku, a small city in southwest Finland. It is just before 8 a.m. on a sunny Saturday morning at the end of March in 2015, nippy but with the promise of warmer weather to come. They are about to embark on a 1,200-kilometer two-day car trip to the fells of Lapland above the Arctic Circle for their annual four-day ski trip.

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The couple check their backpacks: sleeping bags, instant coffee and two water-resistant covers they’ll use at night in the rustic wilderness huts they plan to shelter in. They’ll stop en route for a night and buy food. After attaching their backcountry skis atop their hatchback, they settle down for the two-day drive to just beyond Kilpisja¨rvi, a settlement of Sami, an indigenous people also known as Laplanders. There, they’ll begin their trek.

It’s easy driving, and on occasion, Liisa points out a bird that Tuomo must squint to see, for he has taught her to love birdwatching as much as he does.

“You can see so much farther than me,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

“Yes,” she says happily. “I can.”

There has always been a bit of competition between them, from birdwatching to running and skiing. Both are passionate about orienteering, a sport that requires them to find their way in unfamiliar terrain with a map and compass, and the wilderness is their playing field.

The ski trip in Lapland is one of their favorites, a straightforward trajectory they have done at least five times before: 30 kilometers due east across a fell, a high, mostly barren landscape, with rolling hills, some steep climbs and jagged boulders and rocks. Here, they can be alone in nature, with only the huts—a system of bare bone, sparsely spaced structures—their only contact with civilization.

Married for only four years, they met over half a century ago, when Liisa, now 65 was a shy, tall, talented teen with a thick blonde braid who a decade later would win the women’s world orienteering championship. Tuomo, nearly six years older, with craggy features and a dry sense of humor, was in the same orienteering club, already married, an engineer and maker of maps.

“Back then, I never imagined I would fall in love with you,” remarks Liisa. “I thought you were so technical and dull.”

“In some way, we stored our feelings,” he says.

There were other marriages along the way, and children to raise – Liisa’s three sons, and Tuomo’s son and daughter. On their first ‘date’ about 14 years ago, she thought it was just a walk in the forest. For Tuomo, it was more than that.

“I wanted to kiss you,” he says. And he did. Ten years later, they were married.

By Sunday morning, as they reach their starting point, the wind has picked up to a gale force 72 km an hour and is blowing snow that turns the world white with fat, black clouds overhead. But the weather doesn’t scare them. As orienteers, they’ve dealt with bad weather before.

SOURCE: RD