I lost Rosie on May 1st, 2025. Fifteen days later, The Pink Paw Project was born. I poured every ounce of grief, excitement, and nervousness into this rescue. I spent many late nights working on the website, designing unique stickers on Canva, and creating merch.

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When it was time to take in dogs, I saw a post about a 10-year-old named Jax. He had been surrendered by a kind woman who rescued him after he was left alone in a kennel for three days when his owner moved away. From the moment I met Jax, he was special. He was so happy despite everything that had happened to him. He was ready for a new beginning, and I saw something in him that changed me. If he could be brave enough to trust us after being scared and confined for three whole days, then I could be brave enough to do this.

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Jax spent time in additional foster homes, where he was a happy pup. He made it back to my house for a couple of weeks before it was time for him to be adopted. Watching him leave the rescue and happily jump into his new beginning was incredibly bittersweet. He showed me true strength and bravery. I am forever grateful that he was our first rescue pup, and he will always have a front-and-center spot on the rescue website.

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We had so many amazing pups right off the bat. Pax and Delta—who turned out to be a good 50 pounds heavier than we expected—ended up being the sweetest, snuggliest 80-pound fluff balls. Both are now living in their perfect homes. Delta lives on a farm in Valdez, and his adopter still sends us photos. He looks so happy.

Rocket was another unforgettable one. He was about 50 pounds heavier than he should have been and so anxious that he cleared a four-foot fence and went on the run for five hours before being caught. Since then, his adopters have had him on a great diet, and he has lost all of his extra weight. He could probably still clear that fence—but we’d be a lot less shocked now.

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Aspen was one of the harder cases. She was extremely afraid of people. She allowed me to pet her while her owner was present, but the moment the leash left her hand, Aspen reared up like a wild horse, kicking her legs out of pure fear. We got her inside and spent days sitting outside her kennel, simply being present while she decompressed and learned the sounds of the house. Slowly, she began to come out of her shell.

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The moment she met my boy Ozzy, she lit up. Her tail started wagging, and she immediately wanted to play. After that, she allowed us to pet her and would rest her head on us. There was still a lot of work ahead, but by the time she went to her amazing foster, Hollie, she was running around the house and playing. Aspen is now permanently living with Hollie, and her fur babies Harley, and Lola. Once she trusted you, she was a true lovebug.

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I was foster-free for about 12 hours before Marley showed up.

Marley was one of the funniest dogs I’ve ever met and the sweetest snuggle buddy. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body—but she was sometimes extra naughty. We have a rule at home (very loosely followed) that no foster dogs are allowed on the bed, but Marley made herself comfortable at my feet every night, and I couldn’t say no.

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Marley was in rescue for about three weeks when her now-owner, Scott, showed interest. When he arrived, she ran to him. It was a moment words can’t describe—like watching real magic happen. Marley was on her absolute best behavior and never strayed far from Scott’s side.

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We talked for a long time. He told me about his family, his work, and the dogs he’d had in the past. He also shared that he had been tragically diagnosed with cancer earlier that year and wanted another dog—a true best friend. With his partner’s consent, we signed the papers, and Marley became theirs. I’ve seen her since, and she is as happy as can be. She is exactly where she belongs.

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A couple of months later, I had six puppies in my house at once—and I will never do that again. Pumpkin was the runt of the litter and by far the feistiest. She had more attitude than all the other puppies combined and was also the last to be adopted.

She attended an event where a very sweet man met her and immediately fell in love. He had just lost his dog of 16 years, and Pumpkin looked just like her. He would ask questions, then say it was too soon for another dog, pause, and then ask another question. We left the event with Pumpkin, but two days later he submitted an application. It was absolutely meant to be, and she is now living her best only-dog life.

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While there have been many happy, bittersweet, and pride-filled moments, there has also been deep sadness.

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One month into the rescue, Yukon came in, followed shortly by Koda. We were told they were nine months old, which turned out to be incorrect—they were actually two years old. Two large dogs, straight off a plane and a six-hour car ride to Fairbanks, completely shut down and terrified.

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Almost immediately, Yukon showed severe dog aggression, lunging with teeth bared at the sight of another dog. Koda stayed in his crate for about a week before even coming out. When his foster home was quiet, he would stand on leash with wide eyes, frozen in fear. He began showing signs of improvement, and then suddenly had a violent episode where his foster was bitten in the face and he attempted to bite again.

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He was placed on a 10-day quarantine while we consulted with our vet and Animal Control. After that period, Koda was humanely euthanized.

Yukon was different. He wasn’t outwardly aggressive toward people, but when triggered by seeing another dog, he could redirect onto humans. He spent four months in foster improving before being adopted into a dog-free home. Four months later, the family reached out, devastated. Yukon had repeatedly bitten both an adult and a baby in the home unprovoked.

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We helped guide them through a decision that should have been made earlier. My naiveness kept me from pushing hard enough to keep him from being adopted out and people were injured as a result. On October 22nd at 9 a.m., I met them at the shelter, walked them through the process, and apologized deeply. That evening, I messaged them to let them know I was there for anything they needed. Their response said, “Thank you for guiding us through this. It was very hard for us and the kids. I appreciate you being honest and telling us what needed to be done.”

That message meant everything to me. It proved that even in the hardest moments of rescue, accountability and compassion matter. Yukon passed that same day. Instead of sadness, I felt peace—knowing he was no longer suffering in his own mind and was finally free.

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Many behavioral cases that end in euthanasia make sense. But there is another kind that is just as serious and even more heartbreaking.

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Colby was one of our first rescues. He came from a rescue in Wasilla after three failed adoptions, then bounced between homes before coming to us. From the start, he was covered in scars from dog fights and labeled “an asshole.” At any level of arousal—happy or not—he would jump and nip, but it was always more of a chump- often breaking skin.

I spent a month and a half working with him every single day. Hours of training with muzzles, leashes, and learning what “appropriate” behavior looked like. When an adopter showed interest, we were very clear about how much work he still needed—intense structure, training classes, and daily exercise.

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Despite everyone’s best efforts, including additional training and boarding with a former foster, Colby returned again after causing extensive damage to his adopter’s home. After months of bouncing between homes, repeated dog fights, and an inability to control his impulses, the vet, shelter, and I agreed that humane euthanasia was in his best interest.

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Colby was the only behavioral case I stayed with during euthanasia since Rosie. I held him in my lap, told him he was a good dog, and made sure he knew he was loved. He passed in my arms on the floor of the vet clinic. His loss hit me harder than my own dogs because he wasn’t a bad dog—he was an unsafe one. He couldn’t be safe for himself or others. Similar to Rosie none of which was his fault. Colby will always hold a piece of my heart.

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If you’ve read this far, you are a saint. I promise I’m almost done—but there is one more rescue that deserves to be mentioned.

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Sir Reginald Dwight was a senior cat with kidney disease. We made him a hospice case, understanding that it could take years for his condition to progress. I hoped for that—but Rosie had other plans. She clearly needed a cat friend over the rainbow bridge.

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Reggie declined quickly and unexpectedly. One week he was fine, and the next he began losing weight rapidly. I cherished every day with him—every couch snuggle and every little “love bite” reminding you he was there. He slept on my pillow every night for four months.

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When we finally brought him to the vet, I was hysterical. Colby, Yukon, and Reggie all happened within a month of each other—it was grief stacked on top of grief. When Reggie received the calming injection, he looked so small. We rescued him at nearly 20 pounds, and by the end he barely resembled the cat he once was. He was loved and cried over until he joined Rosie. He now has a permanent place beside her in my home.

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Rescue is full of incredible highs and days that make you feel like you’re on top of the world—and days that make you feel like you can’t do it anymore. In just eight short months, there have been so many of both. And while it’s incredibly hard, it’s always worth the heartbreak—to see a dog like Aspen thrive, to know Yukon and Koda are free from fear, or to spoil a hospice pet until their last moments earthside.

I know I’ll meet each one of them again someday. I’m not rushing anything—but I can’t wait to love on them all again.

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Now we are stepping into a new chapter, not forgetting our past but using it as inspiration to be better. Golden Heart Animal Rescue won't be the biggest or the fastest moving rescue, but we will insure the safety of our animals, our fosters, ourselves, and the animals that come into our care along with being kind, and compassionate to those we meet. 

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-Madeline D'Hondt