Nearly every day we receive a call from someone surrendering their dog or from the over-crowded animal shelters in our service area. The person at the shelter informs our Rep that a Labrador Retriever is on death row and is facing the prospect of euthanasia very soon. GGLRR rescues and places over 400 Labs each year! Of course, our volunteers would like to save them all but can't save more without your help (see "A Shelter Dog's Story" below).
We are an all-volunteer organization with no offices / overhead (volunteers work out of their homes) so your donations go directly to helping Labs in need for expenses like shelter fees and medical care (shots, microchipping, spay/neuter and other vet care often needed by abandoned dogs).
GGLRR receives discounted rates (many thanks to those generous service providers) to ensure our funds help as many Labs as possible.
Golden Gate Labrador Retriever Rescue, Inc. has been granted nonprofit/tax-exempt status by the IRS under section 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code. Our EIN tax ID is 68-0391542. All donations made to GGLRR are deductible from your personal tax returns to the extent allowed by law.
Check with your employer’s Human Resources Dept. to see if your employer offers a matching gift program. If your employer offers this program, fill out the form and then submit it to the appropriate personnel. We will be happy to help complete any necessary paperwork to facilitate this process. GGLRR is already setup to receive donations from various Bay Area businesses.
GGLRR accepts secure online credit card donations through PayPal (quick amounts using widget to the right or any amount via PayPal button below), or mail cash/check donations to GGLRR, 268 Bush Street #4322, San Francisco, CA 94104.
Mail cash/checks to:
268 Bush Street #4322,
San Francisco, CA 94104.
Please also support spay and neuter programs and reduce the need for rescue!
You may specify your gift to go to a particular need like a specific Lab's special surgery, or have it go to our general fund to help with all our rescued Labs' costs. We also get donations from people wanting to designate the gift "in honor of" or "in memory of" a special dog or dog-loving person and now list those on Memorials and Tributes. GGLRR will also send a professionally printed card with our logo if you specify where you would like the card to be sent. We also acknowledge all our generous patrons in our newsletters.If mailing a check, just include the designation information with a note.
When I was a puppy I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" - but then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub.
My housetraining took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent - and I would have defended them with my life if need be.
I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you - that you had changed your mind - that this was all a bad dream...or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.
She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not meant for her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.