Newfoundland Lover

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Just say hi ! So we know you are still active in this group❤️😍
03/02/2026

Just say hi ! So we know you are still active in this group❤️😍

We just rescued her and she needs a beautiful name🥰
03/02/2026

We just rescued her and she needs a beautiful name🥰

This boy is 17th today. Wish him a good one 🤗❤️❤️
03/02/2026

This boy is 17th today. Wish him a good one 🤗❤️❤️

Seven years ago, I stepped into a pet store with a simple errand in mind — grab a bag of dog food and head home.Instead,...
03/02/2026

Seven years ago, I stepped into a pet store with a simple errand in mind — grab a bag of dog food and head home.

Instead, I left with my future best friend — a tiny Newfoundland.

He wasn’t the loudest puppy in the pen. While the others yapped and tumbled over one another, he stayed tucked quietly in the corner. A small bundle, watching. When our eyes locked, there wasn’t some dramatic movie moment. Just a steady, certain feeling. That one’s mine.

I had no clue what I was doing. I didn’t know which leash made sense or what brand of treats mattered. I just knew I couldn’t walk out without him.

I set him gently into the shopping cart, and he curled up without protest, like that space — like I — already felt familiar.

Like he’d chosen me too.

Seven years later, that tiny Newfoundland has grown into a gentle giant, a steady and loyal companion. His muzzle has started to gray, and his steps are more measured than they used to be. But he still sticks close, my quiet shadow through store aisles and through every chapter of my life.

Between that first day and now is a lifetime of moments.

Early morning walks.
Rain-soaked adventures.
Scares at the vet that left my hands trembling.
Nights when he rested his head against my leg, steady and grounding, as if reminding me I wasn’t alone.

Some people shrug and say, “It’s only a dog.”

They don’t understand.

He stood by me when I didn’t know where I was headed. He stayed when things felt overwhelming. He treated ordinary days like victories worth celebrating.

He didn’t just grow older over these years.

I did too.

Every now and then, I lift him into a cart again for a quick photo. Not because he needs it — he’s far too big now — but because it takes me back to where it all began.

I walked in for supplies.

I walked out with family.

And I’m grateful for every mile we’ve traveled side by side. 🖤🐾

Collected.....

We adopted Barnaby to die.I know that sounds harsh, but it’s the truth.He was 15 years old. A senior black-and-white New...
03/01/2026

We adopted Barnaby to die.
I know that sounds harsh, but it’s the truth.

He was 15 years old. A senior black-and-white Newfoundland with cloudy eyes, stiff joints, and a slow, careful step.
The shelter paperwork said “Hospice Foster.”
His previous family surrendered him because he “slept too much” and was “getting old.”

So we prepared for goodbye.

Orthopedic beds in every room.
Ramps instead of stairs.
Quiet evenings. Gentle mornings.
We thought we were giving him a soft place to land for his final weeks.

Barnaby had other plans.

Week 1: He slept. The kind of deep, uninterrupted sleep that only comes when you finally feel safe.
Week 2: He realized he wasn’t going back. This wasn’t temporary. This was home.
Week 3: He found the stuffed bear.

Not brand new.
Not expensive.
Just a worn little teddy bear—and suddenly, it was everything.

He carried it from room to room like it was treasure.
Held it close with both paws when he sat.
Fell asleep with it tucked under his chin.

That’s when the “dying” Newfoundland disappeared.

The dog who “could barely walk” started trotting proudly through the kitchen, teddy bear clutched in his mouth like a trophy.
The dog who “slept too much” began waking us up at sunrise, bear in hand, ready for breakfast.
At night, he sits just like this—holding it tight, as if he’s afraid joy might vanish again.

That’s when we understood.

Barnaby wasn’t dying.
He wasn’t fading because of age.
He was tired from loneliness.
From cold floors. From feeling unwanted.

Now he’s 15 years old.
He steals pizza off the counter.
He beats me to the backyard door.
And he still carries that same stuffed bear—proof that comfort turned into hope.

We failed at hospice fostering.

But we succeeded at something better.

We gave a senior Newfoundland a reason to hold on—and he showed us that sometimes, love doesn’t just extend a life…

It brings it back.

𝗪𝗘 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘 😊𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘...𝗦𝗔𝗬 𝗬𝗘𝗦 😊
02/28/2026

𝗪𝗘 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘 😊
𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘...𝗦𝗔𝗬 𝗬𝗘𝗦 😊

No kiss for me — I know I’m not the cute type.😔😔😔
02/28/2026

No kiss for me — I know I’m not the cute type.😔😔😔

Perfect shoot ❤️❤️
02/28/2026

Perfect shoot ❤️❤️

On Friday I welcomed an emergency foster, a pregnant 4 year old Newfoundland dumped by an Amish breeder who decided to g...
02/28/2026

On Friday I welcomed an emergency foster, a pregnant 4 year old Newfoundland dumped by an Amish breeder who decided to get out of breeding. On Sunday she (Aloe) gave birth to 6 puppies. 4 boys and 2 girls. They are absolutely precious and I am so in love! Both Aloe and her babies are very healthy and doing great. We are not sure if they are pure Newfoundlands or Newfoundland poodle mixes. But time will tell. In the meantime, enjoy my favorite puppy photo so far ❤️

Just a few hours ago, I brought Tango home from the shelter. He still doesn’t know who I am. To him, I’m just another hu...
02/27/2026

Just a few hours ago, I brought Tango home from the shelter. He still doesn’t know who I am. To him, I’m just another human — a new scent, a different voice, and an unfamiliar road. 🐾

And yet right now, he’s lying on my couch beside a soft blanket, resting so peacefully as if he’s finally found real relief. He’s not watching the front door anymore. He’s not pricking his ears at the neighbors’ footsteps. He’s not lifting his head at every tiny sound. He’s just breathing slowly… and sleeping in calm. 💤

I was a little tense during the car ride. He sat quietly in the back seat, looking out the window — as if trying to understand whether this trip was just another temporary stop or the end of his long wait. When we stepped inside, he hesitated. He paused at the threshold and sniffed around carefully, as if making sure this place was truly his.

He didn’t rush to the food bowl. The treat I offered didn’t matter much either. First, he slowly explored the entire living room, sniffing every corner with that natural curiosity. Then he circled once or twice on the couch beside the blanket… and lay down. He rested his head on his front paws and let out a long sigh — as if this space already belonged to him. 🛋️

And that’s when my eyes filled with tears. 🥺 Not because of his past, and not even because of the tired look in his eyes — but because of that quiet moment of trust. When a cautious, sensitive soul finally lets down his guard and falls asleep beside you.

Today, Tango didn’t just find a home. He found peace. And I feel like I received the greatest gift in the world — I became someone’s safe place. ❤️

In the kennel they warned me: Titus is a big dog, who has suffered bad treatment and could be dangerous.Eighty-eight pou...
02/26/2026

In the kennel they warned me: Titus is a big dog, who has suffered bad treatment and could be dangerous.

Eighty-eight pounds of muscle. A white and gray Newfoundland with thick fur, old scars mapping his face, and eyes that had clearly seen too much. They called him “too much dog.” Too strong. Too intense. Too broken. Too risky.

But when Titus came home, what he showed wasn’t aggression — it was heartbreak.

He moved softly through the house, like he didn’t want to take up space.
He slept lightly.
He flinched at sudden sounds.

Behind that powerful, scarred body was a soul that had only ever wanted one thing — to finally feel safe.

And then came Pip.

A four-week-old abandoned orange kitten who could fit in the palm of my hand. Tiny. Fragile. Completely alone.

Everyone held their breath.

Titus didn’t growl.
He didn’t stiffen.
He didn’t snap.

Instead, he gently pulled that tiny kitten between his big, scarred paws… and rested his chin over him like he had found the one thing he didn’t know he was missing.

From that moment on, they were inseparable.

Titus wraps his strong Newfoundland body around Pip when they sleep, like a living shield.
He checks on him the second he hears a cry.
He scans the room before Pip explores it — protective, watchful, steady.

The dog they labeled “dangerous” became the safest place in the world for a kitten who had nothing.

He’s not a monster.

He’s a guardian.
He’s a gentle giant.
He’s Pip’s dad. 💙🐾

Last night (February 23, 2026), I was sitting in my garage when four men suddenly stormed in and attacked me, demanding ...
02/25/2026

Last night (February 23, 2026), I was sitting in my garage when four men suddenly stormed in and attacked me, demanding my car keys.
It happened fast. Too fast.

One minute it was quiet. The next, I was on the ground, disoriented, trying to protect my head while they shouted for my keys. Through the chaos, I told them the keys were inside the house — hoping it would buy me a second to think.

They rushed in.

What they didn’t know… was that inside my home were my two blue-grey Newfoundlands.

My boys aren’t just dogs. They’re rescues. Once overlooked in a shelter. Once labeled as “too energetic.” Once unwanted.

But that night, they were everything.

The moment those men crossed the doorway, my Newfoundlands stepped forward — alert, confident, unshaken. They didn’t attack. They didn’t chase. They simply stood between the intruders and the rest of the house, bodies steady, voices strong, barking with a force that filled every corner of the room.

It wasn’t chaos.

It was protection.

The kind that says: “You’re not getting any further.”

The men froze. You could see it — they weren’t expecting resistance from two dogs people often mistake as just gentle giants. Within seconds, they turned and ran.

And my dogs?

They didn’t pursue them.

They came back to me.

They stayed pressed against my side while I caught my breath, while the adrenaline wore off, while I sat there with a bruised eye and a full heart — realizing the two shelter dogs people once passed by were the same ones who just stood between me and something far worse.

Newfoundlands aren’t what the stereotypes make them out to be.

They are loyal. They are intelligent. They are deeply bonded to their family.

And sometimes, they are the reason you get to see another sunrise.

Rescue dogs aren’t “less than.”

Sometimes… they’re everything.

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Los Angeles, CA

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