After co-ordinating the Scottish St.Bernard Rescue for the past eight and a half years, and dealing with all sorts of problems, from untrained and aggressive dogs (and owners) to some very sad, happy and memorable moments.

It is only after a great deal of thought, I have decided that, due to other time consuming commitments, to close the Rescue Centre.

Thank you so much to Audrey, Danny and all who have given their help and support in dealing with the numerous rescue dogs that have passed through the centre.

Kay-Dee Coyle

Heidi’s owners were getting divorced so she was handed into the rescue late one night. At about five o’clock the next morning, Danny and I heard strange noises coming from outside, as it had been snowing heavily and there was a blizzard raging, Danny suggested that I should be the one to investigate.

I soon discovered St. Bernard sized paw prints in the snow leading from a now vacant kennel. Pausing only to don wellies and waterproofs, I followed Heidi’s paw prints across the fields, where they eventually led me to a farm about a mile away. I found her hiding under a tractor and tried to coax her out but she was determined to get away from me, as I was the wicked person who had kept her prisoner. All she wanted to do was find her way home, so when she heard my voice she ran off. After several unsuccessful attempts at trying to catch her I gave up and headed home to get Danny’s help.

Unfortunately he had already left for work so I phoned Audrey, who set out to brave the storm and help me search for Heidi. While I was waiting, I phoned the local radio station who kindly broadcast that Heidi was on the run and that I would be grateful for any sightings. The reports came in thick and fast, some believable and some totally impossible (unless she had grown wings and broken the sound barrier).

A farmer I had spoken to earlier, phoned to say he had spotted her lying in a snowdrift in one of his fields. Hoping she would be hungry, I armed myself with a dish of tasty dog food to try and tempt her back into captivity. I met the kind farmer who gave me a ride on his tractor to where Heidi lay in the field but as soon as she heard my voice she jumped up and ran away.

Defeated, I went home praying that her homing instincts were not finally tuned, and wondering what I would say to the couple if she turned up on their doorstep, when they had left her in my care less than 24 hrs before.

At this point, Audrey phoned me on her mobile to say that she had spotted Heidi in a field with some sheep about two miles away. I went out to meet her at the field, by this time the snowstorm had worsened and Heidi was barely visible from the road. Approaching her, one from either side, we managed to get within one foot of her, but she jumped over a fence and vanished into some woods like an overgrown snowball. Leaving poor Audrey exposed to the elements in the search for Heidi, I went home to man the phone. A call came from the undertaker at the local crematorium who had heard on the radio that Heidi was AWOL, so when he saw a large dog running through the grounds, he quickly realised that this must be the missing St.Bernard and managed to entice her into the building with a biscuit.

When I arrived, Heidi was lying snug by the office fire, while I, on the other hand was completely bedraggled. I was relieved to have her back as it was now 4pm and getting dark. Once home I rubbed her down with a towel, blow dried her, fed her, made myself a cup of coffee and had just sat down to drink it when I realised I hadn’t told Audrey (who was still trudging about in the snow, scanning the countryside for Heidi) that she was safe and sound. Ooops!

Heidi was successfully rehomed but sadly, died 3 years later.

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A pub landlord telephoned the rescue asking for assistance. Apparently a man had been in his bar trying to sell a 3-year old St. Bernard dog for drug money. Danny and I arrived post-haste, and the landlord directed us to the top-floor flat where the junkie lived. He hurled a torrent of abuse at us from his window until we mentioned buying the dog. This was against our principles knowing what the money would be spent on, but after seeing the dog, we felt we really had no choice as Bruno was severely underweight and his coat was badly matted and dirty.

After a few weeks of TLC with us, Bruno settled down well into his new family and is now 8 years old.

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18-month-old Tanya was brought to the rescue late one night. When she was brought out of the van I noticed her trousers were covered in blood, the young man who had delivered her said she may have cut her foot when he stopped to let her out to the toilet, not believing him for one minute, I phoned the vet and he said to bring her in right away. Her temperature was 106.5 and she was very weak, the vet examined her and thought that she could possibly have pyometra. Blood and urine tests were taken, but due to her high temperature he didn’t want to risk operating, so he gave her a large dose of antibiotics and asked me to bring her back in the morning.

The next day her temperature had dropped to near normal and she looked a lot brighter but she was widdling a mixture of blood and urine every five minutes. At the surgery, Tanya was x-rayed and she was found to have bladder stones. On arriving home, I phoned Audrey to come and help me bath her. While Audrey was cutting the matts out from behind her ears she was horrified to see that she was crawling with beasties (Tanya not Audrey).

I went and emptied the bath which I had just filled with sweet smelling dog shampoo, and substituted it for a bath of vile smelling beastie killer.

Tanya was so good-natured, she took it all in her stride, even wagging her tail in the bath, she was a real pleasure to have around.

Three weeks later the owners phoned, I asked them about the problems Tanya had when she arrived at the rescue, they insisted that she was fine when they put her in the van, and, even though they couldn’t keep her, they now wanted her back to sell as a brood bitch. Their request was understandably denied.

I contacted the R.S.P.C.A. and explained the situation to them, they told me I had no power to hold Tanya and the owners could take her away if they wished. They had the right to remove her from the Centre, as in the rush to get her to the vet, the young man had not been asked to sign her over to the rescue. The Inspector from the R.S.P.C.A. said he would monitor her progress if they took Tanya away.

After a long and bitter battle, Tanya’s owners gave up the fight for her, and signed her over to the rescue. She was rehomed as a pet, spayed and lived happily for many years.

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Smirnoff, a 9-month old St. Bernard, had been seen rummaging around in dustbins for some days, before a concerned neighbour contacted the rescue.

Danny and I visited the lady owner who was very depressed, she explained that her husband had left her two months previously for her best friend. Smirnoff had belonged to her husband, and she was damned if he was going to get the dog as well, even though she didn’t have the money to feed him.

Through no fault of his own, poor Smirnoff had been living on scraps from the table, and as a result he was badly undernourished. Thankfully she let us take Smirnoff into the care of the rescue.

Smirnoff was rehomed to a lovely family, but sadly, he died of heart failure at 5 years of age.

Another casualty of separation. A man appeared at the rescue with Bruno, a seven-year-old snarling St. Bernard. He put the dog in the kennel and assured us he was really a pussycat and would settle quite quickly. After many hours I still couldn’t get near him, he would throw himself at the mesh with his teeth bared, this dog really meant me harm, he certainly wasn’t acting the least bit like a pussycat. I tried sitting by his run talking to him offering him biscuits, he was having none of it, it was me he wanted to eat. The next day there was no change in his behaviour, and as we hadn’t been able to get in to feed him or change his water. it was decided to phone the owner and tell him we felt Bruno would be impossible to rehome. He arrived to collect Bruno (not very happily I might add) he told me I knew nothing about dogs, and I should just go in, throw Bruno on the floor and show him who was master, he proceeded to demonstrate just how to do this. Bear in mind he had had Bruno since he was a six week old pup and the dog didn’t seem to mind his long serving owner throwing him about the floor, in fact he seemed to thoroughly enjoy this dominance game. Now I may have been dedicated to the rescue and the cause of St. Bernard’s, but there was no way I was going to open his run, take him by the neck and throw him to the ground.

After my refusal to take part in this bizarre ritual, Bruno was taken back home never to be heard from again.