Runaway Ranch Chihuahua's

08/01/2025

Puppy update

07/28/2025

07/28/2025

My new plant: The Reggie plant! (Litter #11)

07/28/2025

They look around with eyes filled with an old fear. Not a violent fear—no… a quiet one. Silent. The kind that lingers when you've been moved too many times. When you've never known if the next human would be the right one.

They left the shelter a few days ago. They were together there, always pressed against each other in the corner of the cage. Two small bodies, two small souls clinging to each other like a lifeline. No one wanted to separate them. It was clear that if they lost that bond, they would fade away.

So I took them. Both of them. Because you don’t adopt half a heart.

Since then, they’ve had their own bed. Soft, warm, peaceful. But they still stay like that, huddled in a corner, eyes lifted toward me as if, at any moment, I might take them back. As if they’re waiting for the car. The return. The abandonment.

They don’t know yet that this is their home. Forever.

I don’t force them. I speak to them gently. I walk by often, leaving little glances, tender gestures—no pressure. I give them time. I know that real trust can’t be demanded. It has to be built, day by day, in the little things.

Sometimes, one of them wags their tail, just a little. The other perks up an ear when I open the door. Tiny signs. Seeds of trust.

And I watch them sleep together, like here. And I make a silent promise to myself: they will never go back there. Never again. Their waiting is over. They don’t know it yet, but the hardest part is behind them.

Now it’s my turn to help them heal. At their pace. With patience. With love.

And one day, I know it… they’ll get up together, tails high, hearts light.

They’ll understand.

Finally.

They are home.

07/28/2025

07/28/2025

07/27/2025

Going to have to let my baby's go. With congestive heart failure, I just can't keep up with them. Pm for info