Willow’s Story

Willow was one of 70+ dogs pulled from a puppy mill in November 2023 by Paws for Miles. From what they understand, for 3.5 years while being bred, she never left a pen and they were thrown pig slop.

Her family started as fosters but chose to adopt because they knew she would be returned for not being a “normal” dog. When they brought her home, she Army crawled including when going to the bathroom. It took her weeks to eat out of a bowl.

She eventually allowed belly scratches from only those in their household and will only take treats from her mom(which took until January 2025).

She HATES being inside and causes her so much anxiety. Luckily her family set up a large kennel that is always open to their entire garage and on nice days to their yard. Her mom sits in the garage/outside every morning with her to play ball and her version of tag.

It’s taken Willow two years to get this far where her family feels she’s finally 90% dog again.

Mya spent the first 3 years of her life as an Amish mill momma. She wasn’t raised, trained, or loved—she was used.

Her world was confinement, repetition, and isolation. Her body was expected to produce again and again, with no regard for her emotional or physical well-being.

She was never someone’s “good girl.”

She was inventory.

When she came into foster care, it showed.

Mya was shut down, disconnected, and constantly on edge. She didn’t understand affection because it had never been given freely. Fear dictated her reactions, especially around other dogs—because in her past, nothing had ever been safe or predictable.

What mill life took from her was the chance to learn trust, comfort, and normalcy. What it left her with was survival.

With patience and kindness, Mya has begun to reclaim what was denied to her. She’s learning that hands can be gentle, that rest doesn’t have to be earned, and that she no longer has to protect herself from everything around her.

Her confidence is growing.

Her personality—cuddly, goofy, and deeply loyal—is finally coming through.

She now does well with other dogs.

Mya carries the weight of what she endured, but she also carries something stronger: the ability to heal.

Bojangle’s Story

Bojangles just turned 11 and was brought home in October 2015, after he had already been returned twice to his breeder. His owners paid $500 for him—money exchanged with the promise that his struggles were “behavioral,” not medical.

The breeder told them Bojangles had been returned because he couldn’t handle being an only dog. In one home, he paced constantly, barked, cried, and never seemed to settle. He was then sold to a senior citizen, again as the only dog, and the same thing happened. Too anxious. Too much. Too inconvenient.

From the start, it was clear something wasn’t right. He is severely pigeon-toed, but more concerning was the coughing that began a month or two after they got him. When they reached out to the breeder, he told them it was likely leftover kennel cough or dog flu—something he had supposedly been treated for shortly before going home.

But their vet wasn’t convinced.

After taking Bojangles in for a full workup and requesting all of his prior veterinary records, the truth came out. He never had kennel cough. He never had dog flu. What he has is an extremely enlarged heart, so large that it presses against his trachea and causes the coughing.

The breeder knew.

Not only did they know, they had already been giving him heart medication—yet never disclosed his diagnosis, never shared the records, and never gave them the chance to make an informed decision. They sold a medically fragile dog, twice returned and already suffering, for $500 and a lie.

Bojangles also carries deep anxiety. The kind that doesn’t respond to CBD, tinctures, or a Thundershirt. The kind that lives in his nervous system. He doesn’t really know how to be a dog. He doesn’t know how to play. They’ve done everything they can to manage his anxiety and give him a life filled with comfort and safety.

But his body is failing him now.

Bojangles is in end-stage heart failure. He can’t walk more than a few steps without becoming breathless and coughing. Each movement costs him. Each day is heavier than the last. And while he is incredibly sweet, watching him struggle is heartbreaking.

Loving him means making the hardest choice.

In the next few weeks, they will say goodbye—not because they don’t want him, but because they love him too much to let him continue to suffer. His story is a painful reminder of the consequences of unethical breeding, withheld medical truths, and treating living beings like returnable merchandise.

Bojangles deserved better from the very beginning.

Then one day, she disappeared. My sister assumed the worst—that she had been sold or had died. A month passed. When they returned the next week, Foxy Lady was there again, sitting in a tiny kennel with a price tag on her. This time, it was impossible to ignore. Every rib showed. Her fur was severely matted. She looked like she was giving up.

That’s when my sister asked my dad if she could buy her—not because she wanted a dog, but because she needed to get her away from that woman. The plan was simple: save her, rehab her, and then find her a safe home.

That night, Foxy Lady came home.

We took her straight to the vet. She weighed just 19 pounds and was only days away from organ failure. She was peeing blood. Her canine teeth were chipped from chewing on the metal bars of her cage. One ear was torn. Scars surrounded her right eye. X-rays revealed bird bones still sitting in her GI tract—evidence of desperation, not nutrition.

She didn’t know what toys were. She had never been inside a house.

Even now, her body remembers. When she gets anxious or her stomach is upset, it growls loudly before turning into liquid stool. She’s terrified of brooms, vacuums, and loud noises—especially storms. When thunder hits, she hides in the bathroom. She has separation anxiety and will lunge at the door if you try to leave, afraid she might be abandoned again.

But despite all of that—despite the neglect, the trauma, and the pain—she is a great dog.

Foxy Lady has been with us for a little over 10 years now. She is loved. She is safe. And she is living proof of the lasting damage caused by irresponsible breeding.

So when we talk about boycotting pet stores and puppy mills, flea markets must be part of that conversation too. Buying animals from flea markets only encourages people who have no business breeding dogs to profit from neglect and abuse.

Foxy Lady survived. Too many others don’t.

This is Foxy Lady’s story.

For months, my sister and dad saw her at the White’s Farm Flea Market in Indiana. She was being sold by a backyard breeder, sitting there week after week. By the time they noticed her, she had already had a litter of puppies—puppies that were sold before anyone thought to help her.

Every time they went back, she looked worse. Thinner. More tired. More defeated.