Paws Applause Scarborough

09/24/2026

Local community members are now offering a $1,000 reward for information on the shooting of a dog in Lebanon.

The York Sheriff’s Department is looking for information that leads to the arrest of the person who shot a German Shepherd, Kane, on September 15.

They revealed that the suspect will likely face one count of cruelty to animals.

Full story:
https://www.themainewire.com/2026/09/community-offering-1000-reward-as-york-sheriff-searches-for-suspect-who-shot-a-dog/

09/23/2026

USDA Secretary Brooke Rollins hosted what USDA called a “Strikeforce” roundtable and press conference with representatives from the Department of Justice, Department of Health and Human Services.

09/12/2026

25 YEARS LATER, WE REMEMBER THE ANIMAL HEROES OF 9/11 🇺🇸🐾

When the World Trade Center towers fell on September 11, 2001, hundreds of specially trained search-and-rescue dogs were deployed to Ground Zero, the Pentagon and other affected areas.

Working beside their human handlers, they climbed across unstable wreckage, squeezed into dangerous spaces and searched tirelessly for survivors. As hope of finding people alive began to fade, they continued the heartbreaking task of locating those who had been lost.

Other dogs provided something equally important: comfort.

Therapy dogs sat beside exhausted emergency workers, grieving families and traumatised survivors. They offered warmth and companionship during moments when words simply weren’t enough.

The animals could not understand the enormity of what had happened, but they understood their purpose. They searched when asked, remained beside their handlers and brought comfort simply by being there.

Some suffered cuts, dehydration and exhaustion, while handlers carefully washed dust and debris from their eyes, paws and coats. Contrary to a commonly repeated claim, most of the search dogs did not die shortly afterwards—but their service placed enormous physical and emotional demands upon them.

Today, none of the known 9/11 search dogs remain alive. Yet their courage, loyalty and service have never been forgotten.

Twenty-five years later, we remember every life lost, every person who ran towards danger—and the remarkable animals who stood faithfully beside them.

09/11/2026

09/10/2026

Roselle was asleep under her owner's desk on the 78th floor in Tower 1 of the World Trade Center when the attack commenced. She was awakened by the plane impacting some fifteen floors above them. Roselle calmly helped Hingson to stairwell B, despite the smoke, confusion and noise surrounding her.

She led her owner and 30 other people down 1,463 steps out of the tower. After descending over half the distance, they passed the firemen who were heading up, who Roselle stopped to greet. The descent took just over an hour. Just after they exited the tower, Tower 2 collapsed, sending debris flying. Hingson later said, "While everyone ran in panic, Roselle remained totally focused on her job, while debris fell around us, and even hit us, Roselle stayed calm."

In the heat of all the chaos, Roselle still just wanted to be friendly with the brave firemen.

09/09/2026

Gotta love the smile

09/08/2026

On September 11, 2001, Michael Hingson sat at his desk on the 78th floor of the North Tower. He'd been blind since the day he was born, and beneath his desk, his guide dog Roselle was fast asleep.

At 8:46 a.m., American Airlines Flight 11 tore into the building just 15 floors above them. The tower swayed nearly 20 feet sideways, then rocked back into place.

Roselle woke up, yawned, and sat quietly, waiting for a command. Hingson's colleague, David Frank, was already staring out the window at smoke and falling debris. What was Hingson supposed to do with a guide dog who couldn't read a single warning sign?

"Forward," Hingson said. And Roselle moved.

The stairwell was already packed by the time they reached it — 1,463 steps stood between them and the street. The air smelled like jet fuel, and the heat kept climbing as fire raged somewhere above them.

Firefighters pushed past them, heading up into the smoke while everyone else pushed down. Many reached out just to pat Roselle's head as they passed. Did she even notice, or was she only thinking about the floors still ahead?

Partway down, a woman stopped cold, struggling to breathe, certain none of them would make it out. Hingson and about eight strangers circled around her, and Roselle leaned in and gave her kisses until she found the nerve to keep moving.

For nearly an hour, floor after floor, Roselle never broke her pace. She never bolted, never froze, never let the panic around her become her own. By the time they reached the lobby, the world outside had already changed.

The South Tower had already been hit and was coming down, sounding, Hingson later said, like a "metal and concrete waterfall." They ran for a subway entrance and ducked underground as the ground kept shaking.

Minutes later, their own tower — the one they'd just walked out of — collapsed above the street they'd been standing on. They emerged from underground into a world blotted out by ash and debris, and once again, it was Roselle who chose which direction meant safety.

She walked Hingson nearly 40 blocks to a friend's apartment before either of them stopped moving. Neither of them fully understood yet what they'd just survived, or that no training manual had ever covered a collapsing skyscraper.

Roselle had helped guide around 30 people to the street that day. In 2002, she and a second 9/11 guide dog, Salty, received a joint Dickin Medal — only the second time in the award's history that two animals shared the honor.

Hingson later wrote about it all in his book Thunder Dog. In 2011, more than 400,000 people voted to name Roselle America's Hero Dog of the Year — though she never got to see it. She'd passed away that June, at 13 years old, just months before the award was announced.

She spent her last years retired from guide work, living at home with Hingson, playing with his older retired guide dog as if nothing had ever happened. Maybe that's the real lesson she left behind — not that she was fearless, but that she trusted her training and kept walking anyway.

Roselle never knew she'd saved anyone. She only knew her human needed her, and that was enough.

09/08/2026

After the 9/11 attacks, hundreds of search‑and‑rescue dogs were deployed to Ground Zero alongside human first responders. These dogs were highly trained to locate survivors in disaster zones, and many had spent years practicing scenarios where their searches ended in successful “finds.”

But at Ground Zero, the reality was devastating: day after day, the dogs found only deceased victims. Their handlers began noticing troubling changes, dogs growing visibly sad, confused, and even reluctant to continue searching. For animals conditioned to believe every search should end in saving someone, the constant absence of survivors felt like failure.

Handlers quickly realized the emotional toll was becoming dangerous. Rescue dogs rely heavily on morale, praise, and a sense of accomplishment to stay motivated and focused. Without those positive outcomes, some dogs began showing signs of depression: lowered tails, reduced appetite, and decreased enthusiasm for work. To protect their mental well‑being, handlers started staging mock rescues.

They would hide fellow rescuers in accessible spots so the dogs could “find” a living person, receive praise, and regain confidence. These staged successes weren’t just kindness—they were essential to keeping the dogs effective in an environment filled with trauma.

This practice became a quiet but powerful example of the bond between handlers and their dogs. Even in one of the darkest moments in modern history, rescuers recognized that emotional care mattered, not just for humans, but for the animals who worked beside them. The staged finds helped maintain morale, restored the dogs’ sense of purpose, and allowed them to continue contributing to the recovery effort.

09/08/2026

On the morning of September 11, 2001, Roselle, a calm, golden‑furred guide dog, rode the elevator up to the 78th floor of the North Tower with her owner, Michael Hingson. To everyone else, it was just another Tuesday. To Roselle, it was a job: stay close, stay steady, keep her human safe.

When the first plane hit, the entire building lurched like a ship struck by a wave. Lights flickered. Ceilings cracked. Papers rained down like snow. People screamed. But Roselle didn’t. She simply pressed her body against Michael’s leg, a silent message: I’m here. Follow me.

Smoke began to fill the hallway. The air tasted like burning metal. Sirens wailed from every direction. Yet Roselle walked forward with the same steady pace she used every day, guiding Michael to the stairwell.

Behind them, dozens of terrified people followed her tail like a beacon. Step by step, floor by floor, she led them downward through the choking darkness. The stairwell shook. The heat intensified. But Roselle never sped up, never panicked, never once broke her rhythm. She knew that if she stayed calm, her human would too.

Somewhere around the 30th floor, a woman froze, sobbing, unable to move. Roselle stopped. She nudged the woman gently, leaning her warm body against her leg until her breathing slowed. Only when the woman whispered, “Okay… okay,” did Roselle continue the descent.

It took nearly an hour to reach the lobby. Firefighters shouted for everyone to run. The tower groaned above them. Roselle guided Michael through the chaos, out into the blinding sunlight, and down the street, refusing to stop until she sensed they were finally safe.

Minutes later, the North Tower collapsed.

Roselle didn’t know she had just saved her owner’s life. She didn’t know she had led more than a dozen people to safety. She didn’t know she had become a symbol of courage around the world.
She only knew one thing: her human was alive, and she had done her job.

09/08/2026

After the a*tacks on September 11, 2001, hundreds of search-and-rescue dogs were deployed into the rubble at Ground Zero. They were trained to find survivors, to be rewarded by discovery. But hour after hour, they found only loss. No movement. No heartbeat. Nothing to save.

And these dogs, loyal to a fault, began to think they were failing.

Handlers watched confident working partners grow hesitant. Tails dropped. These animals—trained to be heroes—started to break down in ways nobody expected. So firefighters and volunteers made a choice. They staged mock rescues, hiding in safe spots and letting the dogs "discover" them. Those celebrations weren't just kindness. They were lifelines for the dogs' sense of purpose.

In a place defined by unimaginable loss, people still found the time to protect the hearts of the animals protecting them. It's a reminder that even the strongest need to feel like they matter. Even heroes need hope.