The two organizations have been on opposing sides for ages regarding euthanasia. The Toronto Humane Society typically takes a rehabilitation approach, while the OSPCA is not opposed to euthanasia for any reason, and use it at their discretion.

For those that are unaware: the OSPCA is the governing body over Ontario animal welfare organizations.

Let me paint a little picture for you:

A dog is in the backyard of its home, a fully fenced lot where two young children are playing on the other side of the fence. They are taunting the dog; poking it with sticks through the chain link, barking at it, running back and forth, yelling, and throwing a ball at the fence.

With a toss, the ball is launched over the fence and one child begins to climb that fence to retrieve said ball. The dog, now aggressively chases that ball which was used to taunt him only minutes ago. It lunges for the ball, at the same time as the child, and latches on to his arm instead of the ball.

No one was there to see the incident or the behaviour that led up to the child jumping over the fence.

The dog is now aggressive and deemed a danger to society.

It happens all the time, people.

But! because of the different outlooks these two organizations have regarding the issue of euthanasia, the dog now faces two completely different fates – depending on which one he is surrendered too.

keep reading…

There aren’t a lot of people in this world who laugh at my crude sense of humour. Because, really? I am a twelve year old boy trapped in an aging saggy woman body.

When I first met her in person, Anissa was sitting in the lobby of the Sheraton Hotel in Chicago during this past BlogHer. As I walked past the lobby on the way to the elevators, I heard her cry out, “Hey! Bitches!” to which I, of course responded to, because honestly? HELLO!

As I turned towards the person calling out some derogatory reference my name I saw Anissa waving manically.

She was so pleased with my response that she began yelling to anyone who would listen, “Hey! She turned around! She’s turned around!”

For all I know, she could have meant it literally. I mean, it’s not like that would have been the first time. But I took it as endearing: that’s what us bitches do.

A huge grin crossed her face as she shoved her gigantic boobs in my face hugged me fiercely, and it was then I was completely sold on all that is Anissa.

photo taken by Shash and stolen borrowed from Anissa’s facebook.

Still, to this day, I love her like a sister. There aren’t many people that can make me laugh the way she does.

Why am I blowing smoke up Anissa’s ass telling you all about Anissa?

Because yesterday afternoon news traveled through twitter like a tsunami that Anissa was in the ICU after suffering a stroke. At the rip old age young vibrant age of 36, Anissa has suffered a second stroke (you can read about her first one here).

But not only has she been dealing with her own health issues, the Mayhew family just celebrated a huge milestone for the youngest in their clan. Peyton has been one year cancer-free!  (Peyton’s story can be found at Anissa’s first blog Hope4Peyton.) For once in a long while everyone was healthy and doing well. Now this.

Right now, there is a P.O.  box being set up for those of us far away to help out.

**UPDATE**

The P.O. box address is:

The Mayhew Family
860 Johnson Ferry Road 140-184
Atlanta, GA 30342

By sending gift cards for food, gas and other necessities we can try to help alleviate the burden on their family of five. By sending funds we can help diminish the financial burden, because at this point? There is little news about what the future holds for the Mayhews.

For more information, please visit Aiming Low where they are trying valiantly to provide up-to-date information on Anissa’s condition and what we can do to help.

If you write a post for Anissa, please take a moment to add it to the Mr. Linky provided at Heather’s site, Izzy’s site, as well as at Aiming Low.

If you have questions, please email

Please note: the family has asked for privacy at this time. Please respect the Mayhew family’s privacy by NOT calling the hospital. The outpouring of love is amazing, but we need to remember that there is a family who needs their space.

Most of all: Please pray that our friend pulls through this.

I had another post here, which you may have caught in your reader.

I took it down.

Not because it was offensive or low brow, but I felt it was insensitive. I didn’t realize the date before I hit publish.

Today is not about my flourishing 18 month old baby boy, who has had an easy and uneventful go at the world since day one *touch wood*.

Today is instead about those who have not.

Today is about those sweet babies whom were born prematurely and have fought brave, hard and long battles to make our world all the more better.

Today is a day to stand up and help these small tiny children battle against the fight for their lives.

Today we FIGHT.

In An Average Week in the United States*:

10,440 babies are born preterm

1,664 babies are born very preterm

6,769 babies are born low birthweight

1,217 babies are born very low birthweight

• In 2006, there were 542,893 preterm births in the United States, representing 12.8% of live births.

• Between 1996 and 2006, the rate of infants born preterm in the United States increased more than 16%.

• During 2004-2006 (average) in the United States, preterm birth rates were highest for women ages 40 and older (16.8%), followed by women under age 20(14.7%), ages 30-39 (12.7%) and ages 20-29  (12.1%).

• During 2004-2006 (average) in the United States, preterm birth rates were highest for black infants (18.3%), followed by Native Americans (14.1%), Hispanics (12.1%), whites (11.6%) and Asians (10.7%).

• In 2005, the annual societal economic cost (medical, educational, and lost productivity) associated with preterm birth in the United States was at least $26.2 billion.

Learn. Do. Give.

For them.

When I received Kevin’s request for support, I knew immediately this was something I would do. Not only because he’s a friend but because I believe that no matter what, no child should ever suffer. Ever.  The least I could do was offer up this space.

Kevin blogs at Always Home and Uncool. He has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife’s birthday.

:::

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter’s cheeks, joints and legs was something he’d never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn’t admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions — none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner — then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn’t know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter’s knee showed signs of an “allergic reaction” even though we had ruled out every allergy source — obvious and otherwise — that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift — a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago — Oct. 2, 2002 — the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter’s first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn’t tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don’t know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter’s condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

It’s been five months since this beauty left a gaping hole is the hearts of many.

Please take a moment to stop by and send her parents some love.

Donate to a cause dear to their hearts.

Help others.

There’s really nothing like feeling hot.

Not that I would know anything about being hot. Not after cleaning up throw up from my hall carpet all morning. Not to mention the trail of vomit leading to the washroom and splatter of stuff that didn’t make it. I KNOW. Gross right?! And since there’s no one here to share in my pain… YOU’RE WELCOME.

Nothing can compare to that new hair do, getting a makeover or getting dolled up for a night on the town. Am I right?

This little angel knows what I’m talking about.

That’s why you should get your gorgeous buns (have you been working out?) over to March for Maddie and bid on some freakin’ fabulous stuffs which were all donated by Cindy Deily (a buyer at Sephora). Cindy decided to rally her colleagues to dig deep into their personal beauty stashes to put together an auction to benefit the March of Dimes.

ONE HUNDRED PER CENT of the proceeds of the auctions – less shipping costs and PayPal fees – is to be donated to the March of Dimes in Maddie’s honor.

All items up for auction are new and unused.

Retail values of each lot will be stated in the auction.

Bid to Win! T3 Pro Iron and Oscar Blandi

Auctions will be running until Friday May 15th with TONS of special items available for everyone.

Clarisonic Skin Care System up for grabs!

And a side note: Me? LOVE girlie stuff and am, coincidentally, celebrating my 28th birthday on the 16th. Wouldn’t I just LOVE a wonderful package of beauty goodies?! Just sayin’.

So please, stop by and bid knowing that you’re getting some AWESOME products while supporting a wonderful organization that helps pregnant mommies and supports babies. And really, who doesn’t love babies!?

Friday morning us three crazy Canadians and a handsome little baby Hudson piled into my car and made the seven twelve hour trek to Indianapolis where we invaded Casey’s house, ate her food, slept on her couch and kicked The Moosh from her room. In true Canadian fashion, we made ourselves at home the minute we crashed through her front door.

After hanging out with a couple other rowdy Canadians, Casey was truly un-phased by how *cough*classy*cough* we are, and for her to open up her home to “strangers” for the weekend was so very gracious and truly heroic because we are  loud, obnoxious and crass  ladies.

What brought us together? Our favourite preemie, Maddie.

Sunday we participated in the Indy March for Babies which took us on a five mile trek through downtown Indianapolis while we enjoyed the super warm weather and sunshine.

But that was after a truly tragic evening.

Something happened to me this weekend that I have a hard time talking about.

I don’t think I’ve cried this much in months years.

It all started with an all too innocent game of Boogie Super Star.

And ended in this.

In my defense: a) I was copying the dance moves in the game, b) I had NO idea she was filming this hot mess, and c) it made my Hedder laugh so that’s all that matters.

And one more thing? I want to take The Moosh and her mommy home and keep them forever and ever.

When I couldn’t make it to LA for Madeline’s service I was heart broken – still am – but my passport is expired and there’s just no conceivable way I would have gotten it in time to fly there ( us Canadians can’t fly to the US with all our fantasticness without one). In my mind I feel as though I was /am less of a friend because I couldn’t be there in person for Heather and Mike when they needed NEED so much support.

I’ve been wearing purple just about every day, had my nails painted purple, I’ve blogged, created a blog, helped my new home girl Jenn move a blog and re-tweeted more than I ever have in my life, yet I feel like I haven’t done enough. I feel like there is just so much more I can and should be doing.

And in no way am I trying to diminish everything that everyone else has done, no matter how small. The most important thing is that Maddie’s memory is alive. This is strictly about me and only me.

But no matter what I do it will never be enough. I will never replace what they’ve lost. I will never be able to bring Madeline back or take away their pain. I am fighting against an overwhelming current of sadness and tears which I can’t quite manage; instead I tumble and twirl into the eddies just hoping for a mere second where I can break loose and catch a breath before I dive right back in.

Heather and I were emailing back and forth last night when the news came in the mail. I fired back emails about working on moving her blog, Rigby and Mordecai, everything and anything I could babble on about to distract her as she had requested. I wanted nothing more than to be in that living room, take that mail from her hand and tell her it’s okay to wait. Tell her it’s okay to just grieve her loss and not read that painful, painful document. (Because seriously California? You HAVE to come up with a better way of getting a death certificate to grieving parents. You’re on notice Cali. Buck up.)

As much as I didn’t want her to read it, if I were in the same situation, I would have to. All I could do what sit here, at the other end of our wireless, cold, connection as I waited for her to reach out, and thankfully she did. We chatted back and forth about the most mundane things to distract her until the wee hours of my east coast morning, and yet I still feel as though I have failed her and Mike by not being there (because I have a tendency to want to interject myself into situations where I don’t need to be, it’s a habit).

See, totally about me.

One of the most important things we can do, as their community, is keep Maddie’s memory alive. Come the day that the walks have ended, the donations dwindle and it seems as though everything we can do has been done, remember that there is always more: a quick tweet, an email, even a card can mean so much.

Mother’s Day is mere 17 days away.

Father’s Day shortly thereafter.

I don’t know what else to say other than both Mike and Heather’s strength is completely and utterly admirable. Her and Mike both have been so giving throughout this whole ordeal with letting everyone into their lives; letting us grieve their loss along side them, virtually holding hands along the way.

:::

Help convince Hugh Jackman to donate $100, 000 to the March of Dimes in Madeline’s name: here’s how.

I’m heading to Indianapolis Friday with Karen on  to walk along side Casey as we March for Maddie. Casey has been generous enough to put us up for the weekend so long as we ply her with Canadian chocolate, which is pretty damn generous of her.

So please, if you can, donate to support our cause. Even a dollar can go along way because all pledges go towards helping families of babies born too soon or sick. Monies raised helps fund research to find answers for some serious problems that threaten babies just like Maddie Moo.