27/11/2025
✨Sylvia's Diary 27-11-25✨
I know I keep saying it’s cold, but this morning it truly was. I had to get up at 3:30am and when I stepped outside it felt like walking into Santa’s Grotto. Everything sparkled, and when I looked up the stars were bright and beautiful. It all felt unreal.
I had to be up so early because GMTV was coming, and I wanted to try once again to say what I really meant, the things the newspapers didn’t print when they came to photograph the puppies. National newspapers can be wonderful at spreading the word, if they say what you actually want them to. The pictures were gorgeous. The photographer was an acclaimed wildlife photographer who had just published a book about saving animals and moving them to safe places in Africa. He took truly special photos.
I explained carefully to the writer why I wanted the puppies in the paper. Not because they wouldn’t find homes, of course they will. But because I wanted people to realise just how much work it takes to raise a puppy properly. How important those first twelve weeks are for socialisation. Sadly, although the reporter included all of that, the editors cut it down to just what they wanted to say, a sweet, sad little “Christmas miracle” story.
Yes, it is amazing they survived. When Poppy came in she was so poor that the vet didn’t think she would survive herself, let alone deliver puppies. They didn’t think she’d make it through a C-section either. So the choice was: abort the puppies, risk the surgery, or let God decide. I chose to let God look after her, and he did!
She had the puppies, but then she retained a placenta and became terribly ill again. She had to be opened up and was spayed at the same time. She was so thin. The vet said she shouldn’t feed her puppies, but by then I was already feeding them every two hours, sleeping on the floor with them at night, and letting others help when they could, but mainly it was me. The puppies still went to their mummy for milk, and I think that gave her a purpose. She fought to live. There were moments we didn’t think she would, but she pulled through. and that helped the puppies pull through and, truthfully, it helped me get through quite an awkward and difficult time with my own children needing support I couldn’t give.
My family is going through so much, and I wish I could give them more time and love. Instead, all my love went into Poppy and her babies, which feels rotten.
So when GMTV asked to come, I agreed, even though it meant starting the day in the frozen dark at 3:30. When they arrived, it turned out one of the camera crew was actually about to buy a retriever puppy from a breeder and had paid a deposit. I asked the price…. £2,300. My puppies are worth that. They’re worth more. They’re going to be someone’s family for years and years. How do you put a price on that? How do you put a price on a life that will love you for a decade or more? It feels impossible.
Of course I don’t want to attract the wrong people, those who only want a “cheap puppy.” That would break my heart. So I’m screening the applications when they come in, ready to choose who I speak to and who I don’t. Their pictures and bios go live next week from the day this is being written, and I think a lot of people will want these pups. Let’s see what happens.
They filmed three times. Between shots the puppies were wild, chewing cables, stealing things for tug-of-war, climbing over everyone. Full of life and love at 3:30am, and by the final filming at 8:10 they were exhausted, sleeping in our arms. It was charming. I do hope I managed to get my message across.
It’s not the right time to get a dog for Christmas, but there are puppies who need homes at this time of year. Once they reach eight weeks they mustn’t stay in rescue; those crucial early weeks need to be spent in a home. Unfortunately, that falls around Christmas, so I just want people to think, really think and not let these puppies down. You don’t start giving them attention next week or the week after. It’s right now, and they take up so much time.
I’m trying to make sure they experience everything they need at this age, playing hard, biting each other, getting into trouble, annoying their mum. It’s all part of growing up.
Of course some will still say “Many Tears are selling puppies for Christmas” or “These puppies are bought from breeders.” There will always be people like that, people who would rather pour their energy into being unkind than into helping animals.
I just hope people heard what I was really saying. And I hope it helps.
Once the camera crew finally left, I tried to catch up on all the work I’d fallen behind on. I’m still hoping everything we filmed won’t fall on deaf ears. If anyone takes a puppy at this time of year, they must put that puppy first. If they can’t do that, then they simply shouldn’t take one.
I still don’t think Christmas is the ideal time to adopt a dog or a puppy, but if someone is truly committed, they can make it work. And the reality is that rescues are full of dogs and puppies who need homes. If they aren’t adopted, more can’t come in.
That’s why we stay open every day of the year. If someone applies for a dog over Christmas, we don’t say “no”; we just look very hard at whether it’s right for the dog and the people. Because God only knows there are so many dogs out there needing homes.
My jobs today ranged from filling a van with things for our Christmas fair, to tidying up the shop, to sorting out complaints. Complaints always arrive at the exact moment you think you might have a cup of hot chocolate.
I never got to sit on the beautiful horse. I never got to do anything I actually wanted to do. I had my puppy cuddles early this morning and that was it, after that it was just feeding and cleaning them exhausted, and slightly frazzled.
We took the van full of goods to the hall where the fair will be, unloaded it all, bought some chips (the high point of the day), came home, and suddenly it was nearly 9 o’clock. That means I’ve been working for 18 hours, and I feel every second in every bone. Honestly, bits of me I didn’t even know existed are aching. Back to Poppy and her family, I let Poppy out, then let her in, checked a few dogs then came in. Cold, tired and feeling deflated. But I have my electric blanket.
My magic blanket.
The blanket that has healing powers, and which every dog in the house believes was bought specifically for them. If I could get royalties from the amount of dog hair this blanket attracts, I could probably retire.
Tomorrow will be busy, of course that means more work for me, which is fine, or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself as I limp from one job to the next.
The Day I Became the Pony Express
It’s pouring with rain today, of course it is, because it’s our annual Christmas fair. I can’t decide if that’s a good omen or a terrible one. Either the public will stay home, bored senseless and desperate enough to come and spend money with us, or they’ll simply stay home and not move at all. Hard to know with humans.
I want all the staff to get a chance to go to the fair, admire all the effort everyone has put in, and maybe win something on the tombola. They deserve that tiny bit of fun, believe me, they’ve earned it twice over, so we built a rota. A rota made of hope, sticky tape, and the belief that nothing will explode while they’re gone.
Meanwhile, adoptions were still rolling.
The horse crew had set up a whole equine stall at the fair. Now, I don’t think many horsey people were attending this particular fair, but they’d put their hearts into it, and I hope they sell a few things. Because of that, hardly any equine staff were around, and I was asked if I could go out riding.“What a burden" I said, pretending to be put-upon…Complete lie. I absolutely loved it.
So I went out wearing my donated Postman coat. I still haven’t managed to cover up the giant POSTMAN across the back, but honestly it feels very Pony Express. The poor chap stuck behind me in the rain probably didn’t think so, as we plodded through flooded roads while water hammered down. The horse kept his head down, battled on like a soggy warhorse, and I promised him a beetroot when we got home. He loves those..... Bribery is an art!
Got him home, wrapped him up snug and warm, and peeled off my Postman coat, completely dry underneath. Whoever sent it: I love you. I may legally be a postman now.
Then I popped back into the chaos to help anyone trying to get to the fair. I fed the puppies, cleaned the puppies, watched people come and go, and admired the lovely dry bedding and towels coming in. Thank you to everyone who brought them, you saved many tiny bottoms from cold floors and bigger ones also.
I dashed over to the fair myself for about ten minutes, thanked as many people as physically possible in that time, and then raced home to feed my own dogs and say hello to the volunteers.
Then it was on to paperwork, of course, because choices need to be made about which dogs we are picking up, and from where. All the forms must be exactly right. Steph is coming in tomorrow to check it all. I’ve done some, but Saturday is meant to be my “finish at a reasonable hour and watch a movie together” day. I would say this happens one out of every 25 Saturdays. If I’m lucky. Tonight might have been the one…
But oh no, the universe said absolutely not. One of the foreign rescue groups, who work heartbreakingly hard fundraising and begging people to take dogs in terrible conditions, called in a meltdown. Someone had committed to a dog, but now that it’s actually time for the dog to travel, the person has decided they won’t take it after all. The poor organiser has been in tears all day.
Finally she called us. Of course I’ll help, but there’s a problem: Legally, the dog must go to the address on the paperwork and stay there 48 hours.
No detours. No shortcuts. No “pop it over here instead.”
If they can’t find someone to hold the dog, the only option is sending it straight back to Romania.
They’re now desperately trying to persuade the original person to keep the dog for 48 hours so we can collect it afterwards. It’s 4½ hours away. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I feel awful for the organiser, and even worse for the dog caught in bureaucratic limbo. Commitment means something to me. If I say I’ll take a dog, I take a dog, I don't change my mind, I don’t fling it back like a faulty toaster.
Anyway, that swallowed up a huge chunk of the evening.
Bill dashed to the fair to collect the unsold bits and returned to find me knee-deep in newspapers and puppies. Suddenly it was dark, we were nowhere near watching a movie.
But there’s still a chance. Maybe... just maybe, the evening will redeem itself. Let’s see what happens.
(But I’m keeping the Postman coat on standby. You never know.)
This morning started with the van still sitting outside, bursting at the seams with everything from yesterday’s fair. All of it needed putting away and, of course, only I know where any of it actually lives. Bill helped a little, and a few staff members moved bits, but the whole job felt like trying to tidy a teenager’s bedroom with a teaspoon. Absolutely endless.
Just before lunch a litter of whippety-type puppies arrived, which instantly acted like a magnet. Staff members who had been “busy” two seconds earlier suddenly materialised, sat down, and began cuddling puppies with Olympic-level commitment. At least someone had a nice lunch break.
A few lucky dogs found homes today, and several more were rung in to come tomorrow. Somehow the whole day felt like a Monday pretending to be a Sunday, and not doing a very convincing job of it. So much to do… and such a little Sunday in which to do it.
We’ve got over 50 dogs arriving this week, which means some of the current residents will have to shuffle kennels. We try to keep newcomers together because so many of them have lived in groups and absolutely cannot stand being on their own. Some of them look suspicious at the very idea of a single kennel, as if it’s a trick. When they come in as a group they’re usually much braver.
We’ve been very fortunate to receive lots of lovely warm coats, which is a relief because I haven’t the faintest idea what the weather thinks it’s doing. One minute it’s freezing, then pouring with rain, then suddenly sunny before deciding it’s bored of that too. Not at all what I expect this time of year, but at least today there isn’t a sign of snow, which feels like a small mercy.
This is the week the puppies are going up on the website, and I know finding them homes will be tough. We’re not putting Poppy up yet for adoption, she’ll go into foster first to learn about living in a house and gain confidence with dogs and people. She’s such a sweet soul, but she’s scared of anywhere that isn’t her yard or her kennel. She has a little routine she sticks to, and any deviation is treated as a national crisis.
We’ve started weaning her puppies completely now, and it’s not just the pups she misses, it’s her whole sense of place. So I’m going with her to help her settle, even though I’m not looking forward to it. Luckily, I trust the person who will be fostering her completely, and I know she’ll do her absolute best.
I still haven’t caught up on the last few days of near-sleeplessness, and last night I lay awake worrying about some Romanian dogs coming in. One of them has caused all sorts of complications, not the dog, of course, but the arrangements around where the poor thing was supposed to go. I know worrying won’t change a thing, but the nights feel much longer than the days, and my brain insists that 2:30am is the perfect time for catastrophising.
Today I’m feeling a bit spoiled, a bit hopeful, and dare I say it wonderfully alive. It’s been such a lovely day that my mind is wandering all over the place, so let me try to gather it long enough to tell you something that’s been sitting in my heart.
I should probably backtrack just a wee bit. Christmas is creeping up, and with it comes that familiar question: What on earth do you buy for someone who has everything? Great-great-great auntie? Grandparents? That impossible friend who insists they “don’t need a thing”?
Well, there is one thing they almost certainly don’t have: the book I wrote.
Now, I’ve been told it’s entertaining enough to actually keep people reading (a miracle in itself). But more than that, it’s a money maker for Many Tears in the best possible way. The government doesn’t charge us tax on book sales, so every penny goes straight to helping the animals. Nothing skimmed off. Nothing lost. Just pure support for the rescue and the lives we’re fighting for.
The book is full of pictures, full of stories, full of the why and how of Many Tears, the ethics, the heartbreak, the hope, the stubbornness, the laughter, the faith, and the foolishness that built this place. By reading it, you’ll understand how I see people and the world, shaped by everything I’ve witnessed in rescue over the years. For better or worse, it’s the story of what turned me into the person I am today, whether that’s someone you love or someone who drives you mad!
If you’d like a copy, I’d be thrilled. I can even write something in the front cover, anything you’d like. They charge a little extra for that because it takes a bit of my time, but I’m always happy to do it. I want each book to feel like it truly belongs to its new owner.
I’d love to tell you to order one before they run out, but in truth there are about a hundred waiting to be read, maybe cherished… who knows? Perhaps one day a film producer will stumble across the story and decide it deserves a screen. Mind you, these things usually only happen once the author has popped their clogs, and some days that doesn’t feel far off!!!. But not today. Today, I’m 21 again. Everything feels bright and possible. The world looks full of promise.
To order a book for Christmas, please follow the link to our shop: https://shop.manytearsrescue.org/products/red-white-and-true-hardback-book
A Day Full of Fleas, Triumphs, and Tiny Miracles
What a brilliant day it’s been, honestly one of those days where you flop into bed smiling, even if you spent half the morning chasing a flea the size of a grain of pepper with the attitude of a lion.
First thing, I was teaching Steph how to do the paperwork for Ireland. Now, this is not normal paperwork, this is the kind of paperwork that could make a grown adult weep softly into a cup of tea. But do you know what? She smashed it. Yes, there were a few moments where I had to say, “No, not that box. No, not that page either…” but teaching is hard! Watching someone else do the job you’ve done for years is like watching a toddler ice a wedding cake: nerve-wracking but very cute.
I was genuinely proud of her, she worked so hard and did wonderfully. I don’t always find patience easy with people (animals? yes; humans? less so!), but today I felt proud of myself too.
Then off I went to the puppies, who were scratching like they were auditioning for Riverdance. We’re slowly weaning Mum off them so she can get ready for her new future, ideally a home, or a foster home with the patience of a saint. If she learns to walk nicely on a lead, we’ll send her straight to a forever home. If not, the foster mum we’ve picked will adore her anyway.
Meanwhile Poppy was away with Pelli. Pelli is… well, he is probably the roundest dog in Wales. If he rolled down a hill he’d gather speed. His backstory is heartbreaking: he was once adopted from us, after originating in Romania then loved and fed (and fed, and fed…) by his sweet owner who developed Alzheimer’s. The poor woman likely forgot she’d already fed him and gave him second breakfast, third breakfast, and possibly brunch. When she was taken into care, he ended up in kennels and nobody wanted him, not even the ladies family!!!
The kennel owner even said they couldn’t bring him to us but could organise putting him to sleep!
We said, “Absolutely not,” and arranged transport pronto. Here? He’s been a total delight. Dog, reactive? No. Miserably starving for affection? Yes. Now he’s got a beautiful blonde girlfriend named Poppy and the two of them potter around like a retired couple on a seaside holiday.
While Poppy was off charming everyone, I whisked one of the puppies to the vet to figure out the scratching mystery. We peered into ears: nothing. Looked under the microscope at chopped bits of golden locks: nothing. And then, BEHOLD! A tiny black flea strutted across the slide like it owned the place. A flea! On my miracle puppy!
When Mum came in she was in such dreadful condition we didn’t dare put chemicals on her, like spot on treatments as we saw no flies. We honestly didn’t know if she’d even survive those early days, so we were incredibly gentle. We bathed everyone and scrubbed and checked but never saw a flea… until today, when the little hitchhiker made its grand appearance.
So today EVERYBODY was the right age to be flea-treated. Poppy was treated too, got her first vaccination, kennel cough, and wormer, the lot. Now we have flea-free puppies who have stopped doing the Irish jig. And thank goodness, I was beginning to think maybe the flea came off my own trousers!
Next, a gentleman arrived with his elderly mum. He lives next door to his mum. He said his own dogs (Boxers) play in fields every day and that whatever dog she chose, he’d make sure they all got on. They met Pelli and fell instantly in love. We’re doing the home check now and I’m SO pleased, Pelli deserves happiness more than he knows.We did a new Brucellosis test just to be safe (we weren’t sure if his previous adopter lost the original result years ago). It came back clear, so we were all beaming.
Then I asked Tracey to help train Poppy on the lead. Now Tracey is a brilliant handler, she reads dogs beautifully. Poppy did her usual trick: “OH NO I’M TERRIFIED, I MUST ROLL DRAMATICALLY ON MY BACK LIKE A FAINTING VICTORIAN LADY!” However, Tracy read her well and did not stop and pamper her but marched through Poppys dramatics, and once Poppy realized walking got her treats and her dramatics got her ignored, she soon cottoned on. This is a REALLY special step to learning all about how wonderful life can be. I am so proud as she is doing so well. Thanks to Tracy.
My Daughters
I have two wonderful daughters, each very different, and both brought up inside the world of rescue. It has shaped them in ways I couldn’t have predicted.
One has taken a completely different path in life and is doing incredibly well. She has three Many Tears dogs of her own, and she loves them dearly, they are her little family with Max my grandson, and she gives them the home every rescue dog dreams of.
My other daughter has lived and breathed animals from the moment she left home. She became a dog trainer, then an agility expert, and an artist, and now she is the Ambassador for Dogs 4 Wildlife. I’m immensely proud of her.
This organisation works in Africa with highly trained Malinois who track and locate poachers. They also work closely with local communities, helping them care for their own dogs and ensuring the animals around the camps receive proper veterinary treatment. Their vets make sure the community dogs are vaccinated, healthy, and cared for.
Here at Many Tears, we’re collecting leads and collars for those communities. These simple things help encourage people to bring their dogs to the veterinary camps, where they can receive the check-ups, inoculations, and treatments they need. It’s a small gesture that makes a large difference. Dogs 4 Wildlife’s work is saving wild animals whose lives are constantly under threat, animals poached for their tusks, their horns, or whatever part is ripped from them and sold, leaving the rest of the carcass behind to rot. Babies are left without mothers, entire species suffer, and the ripple effect is devastating. The work they do genuinely saves lives.
I’m so proud that my daughter has become their ambassador. Through her art, her drawings and paintings of Africa’s threatened wildlife, she has captured the attention of many people who now want to help too. Her artwork shines a light on the beauty of these animals and the tragedy they face.
If you want to learn more, this is their website and the work they are doing: www.dogs4wildlife.org. I’ve also posted a few of her beautiful pieces of art that highlight the wildlife in Africa and the danger they’re in from poaching.
Thank you for reading my diary,
Sylvia x
✨To donate to Sylvia's diary, please follow the link: https://many-tears-animal-rescue.giantgiving.com/campaign/sylvias-diary/
