Dalmatian Love

10/29/2026

Dalmatian : adorable companion or expensive headache?🐾

10/29/2026

Dalmatian — be honest. Would you choose this breed again, or not?🐾

10/28/2026

Real talk: are Dalmatian worth the effort?🐾

10/28/2026

10/28/2026

Should a 60 year old woman get a Dalmatian for herself?🐾

10/28/2026

Pray for Lucy

On a road trip across US. She got hit by a car in a campsite late at night. Driver was going 30 in a 10. F**k Texas’ laws around pets as property. Broken leg holiday over. Just need to get her home and pray she doesn’t need surgery 🙏🏼 If anyone can give me advice on next steps and how liability works out here that would be great…
She’s been seen by an emergency vet and given her initial bandages and splint. Saw a specialist today about surgery and they said the wound is so bad it needs a couple weeks before they could operate and even then it might not be the best option as there’s a high chance of infection if they added a metal plate.

- u/Psyterps

10/27/2026

Name suggestions for this 13 week old girl?

Considering Fresca, Fiona, June…other suggestions?

- u/Spottedpony-fast

10/27/2026

Let me be clear: I am NOT a dog person.
I agreed to foster these two Dalmatian puppies because my sister guilt-tripped me, and I figured—how hard could it be?
Two puppies.
A crate.
Food twice a day.
Someone adopts them.
End of story.
I was wrong.
Spectacularly wrong.
Frankie and Olive were 8-week-old Dalmatian pups from an “oops” litter.
Too curious.
Too energetic.
Too much personality packed into those long-legged little bodies covered in spots.
The shelter needed a short-term foster—just long enough for them to grow, get healthy, and be ready for their spay/neuter appointments.
I judged them immediately.
Dalmatians?
Four-legged energy machines.
Professional explorers.
The kind of dogs that look at you like, “What are we doing next?”
I pictured nonstop zoomies through the living room, investigating every suspicious sound, chasing anything that moved across the patio, and destroying my very real security deposit.
Then I opened the crate.
Frankie didn’t burst out.
He stepped out cautiously, then suddenly launched into a tiny tour of the room—nose working overtime, tail wagging, investigating every corner like he had just arrived in a brand-new world.
He sniffed the furniture.
Checked beneath the table.
Paused at the vacuum cleaner like he needed to personally determine whether it was friend or enemy.
Olive followed right behind him, her spotted little body moving with surprising confidence.
Within minutes, they had turned my living room into an adventure zone.
Delivery truck outside?
Investigate.
Neighbor closing a car door?
Investigate.
A leaf moving across the patio?
ABSOLUTELY INVESTIGATE.
They didn’t herd.
They explored.
Frankie appointed himself Director of Household Adventures—following my every move, racing toward the kitchen, bouncing beside me down the hallway, and appearing whenever I even looked like I might leave the room.
Olive specialized in Discovery Operations—watching through the window, listening for every interesting sound, and immediately investigating anything remotely exciting.
They had no concept of “quiet hours.”
No understanding that I did not require two spotted puppies announcing every interesting event happening within a three-house radius.
No awareness that I was fostering them—not signing up for a 24-hour adventure team.
The shelter warned me:
“Bonded pairs rarely get adopted together.”
People want one puppy.
Not two.
Especially not two Dalmatians who would grow into energetic, athletic companions with endless curiosity, strong personalities, and a deep commitment to being involved in absolutely everything.
“Prepare yourself,” the coordinator said.
“They’ll probably be separated.”
I told myself I didn’t care.
I wasn’t a dog person.
Then Olive got sick.
She stopped exploring.
Stopped racing toward the window.
Stopped bouncing after Frankie.
She just curled up tightly on her blanket—quiet, still, wrong.
Frankie unraveled.
He stopped chasing toys.
Stopped investigating every sound.
Stopped running around the room looking for his next adventure.
He padded over to her and placed his favorite squeaky toy beside her nose.
Nudged her gently.
Licked her ears.
When she didn’t respond, he pressed his spotted little body against hers, resting his chin across her back like he was determined to stay beside her.
He wouldn’t eat unless she did.
Wouldn’t settle unless she slept.
I ended up at the emergency vet, swiping my card for a $400 bill—for dogs that weren’t even mine.
When Olive finally bounced back, she didn’t return to the window.
She didn’t resume her adventures.
She walked—slow but determined—straight to me.
Rested her chin on my knee.
Held eye contact.
Not energetic this time.
Not curious.
Just soft.
Then she climbed into my lap like she’d always belonged there, turned in two precise little circles, sighed like she had finally decided the world was safe again, and fell asleep—completely trusting, completely safe.
That was it.
I called my sister crying.
“I think I’m keeping them.”
She laughed.
“I know. I knew the second you sent me that video of them chasing their own shadows around the living room.”
I wasn’t a dog person.
Now I’m a two-Dalmatian person.
Life comes at you spotted.
📍 Foster Fail Anniversary: 6 months 🐾❤️

10/27/2026

Our beautiful Halo — just 2 ½ years old — was hit by a car near our home.

The morning began the way it always does. Halo and I were outside with coffee, sharing our quiet little ritual before the world wakes up. She sat close beside me, her white coat covered in those beautiful black spots, her bright eyes watching everything around her — always alert, always curious, always connected.

She wore her new Fi GPS collar, and I had her safe zone set like always.

She wandered just a little — maybe 20 feet — nose down, determined and curious, investigating a scent only she could decode. That bold, energetic Dalmatian spirit. Independent and adventurous, but never far from her person.

I called her name.

She always comes — ears perked, spotted body turning instantly, long legs moving fast, her tail wagging with excitement.

This time… she didn’t.

I felt it instantly. Something wasn’t right. I got in the car to look for her. As I reached the street, my phone buzzed — a Fi notification saying Halo had left the safe zone. The location appeared on my screen.

And then I turned the corner.

Four cars were stopped in the road.

And Halo was lying there.

A young woman had hit her. Someone had already called 911, but instinct took over. I scooped her up — my brave little girl — and drove straight to emergency. I don’t remember that drive at all.

Halo is now in critical condition in the ICU.

Her injuries are extensive:

• A broken pelvis, including the ball and socket
• Internal bleeding (improved after a blood transfusion last night)
• Several broken ribs
• A head injury
• Cuts, scrapes, and bruises

And yet… she is still fighting.

Because that’s who she is.

She recognizes us. Her eyes soften when she hears our voices. She’s tried to move her tail. She has shifted her body. She has lifted her head just slightly — as if to say, “I’m still here.”

Those small moments feel like miracles.

This afternoon, I’m bringing her smashed sweet potato and Greek yogurt — her favorites. The foods she normally devours with total focus and enthusiasm. Just hoping she might take a small taste.

Hip surgery will likely be needed once she stabilizes. We’re waiting for the orthopedic team to review her X-rays and decide the best path forward.

We don’t know what the next hours or days will bring.

We only know that Halo is strong. She’s trying. She’s holding on — with that determined, energetic Dalmatian spirit she’s always carried.

Please keep our sweet girl Halo in your prayers.

She’s only 2 ½.

She has so much life left to live — so many walks to run, so many squirrels to chase, so many new scents to investigate, and so many mornings to sit beside us.

Hold your babies a little closer today. 🤍🐾