My Neighbor Called My Rescue Dogs ‘Disgusting’ and Told Me to Get Rid of Them – I’m 75, and She Learned a Lesson Real Fast
I was out for an ordinary walk with my rescue dogs when a neighbor decided they didn’t belong in our neighborhood. What followed reminded everyone that kindness can stand its ground.
I’m 75, born and raised in Tennessee, and I’ve spent my life taking in the ones nobody wanted. As a girl, it was injured birds. Later, stray cats. After my husband passed, it became dogs—scared, injured, and forgotten.
That’s how I found Pearl and Buddy. Both are small, under twenty pounds, and neither can use their back legs. Pearl was hit by a car; Buddy was born that way. With their little wheels, they don’t walk—they roll. Their carts click softly on the pavement, tails wagging like joy is all they’ve ever known.
Most neighbors smile when they see them. One didn’t.
A woman down the block stared at their wheels and said loudly, “Those dogs are disgusting. This isn’t a shelter.”
I looked her in the eye and said calmly, “Those dogs saved me, not the other way around.”
Days later, animal control showed up—called by her. But neighbors came forward, spoke the truth, and stood with me. The complaint was dismissed, and she was warned about harassment.
After that, something changed. Notes appeared in my mailbox. Children asked to walk with us. Neighbors timed their days around Pearl and Buddy’s rolls.
What started as cruelty turned into community. And every time their wheels click down the street, I’m reminded: love makes room—and it always leaves tracks.
