Mt. Olympus Boerboel

Home of the South African Mastiff

Adoptions





"The greatness of a nation
can be judged by the way its
animals are treated."
- Mohandas Gandhi





FROM TIME TO TIME, WE RECEIVE INFO ON BOERBOELS NEEDING A TEMPORARY OR FOREVER HOME. WE
WILL PLACE INFORMATION HERE WHEN AVAILABLE:

FOR ADOPTION:




PLEASE NOTE:
AN ADULT BOERBOEL FOR ADOPTION IS A HUGE COMMITMENT. THEY COME WITH THEIR OWN SET OF
PROBLEMS AND BAGGAGE. MOST OF THE TIME THERE IS NO WAY TO TELL HOW GOOD OR HOW BAD THEY
HAVE BEEN PREVIOUSLY TREATED. THEY MAY HAVE TEMPERAMENT ISSUES NOT COMPATIBLE WITH YOUR
HOME ENVIRONMENT. PLEASE BEAR THIS IN MIND, ESPECIALLY WITH CHILDREN. IF YOU THINK GETTING AN
OLDER BOERBOEL BECAUSE IT WILL BE EASIER THAN RAISING A PUP AND LESS HASSLE, THINK AGAIN. SOME
ARE EXCELLENT, SOME NEED MORE WORK THAN OTHERS. SOME MAY BE DOG AGGRESSIVE. SOME MAY NOT
BE GOOD WITH KIDS. SOME MAY EVEN BE PEOPLE SHY AND REQUIRE AN EXTREME AMOUNT OF PATIENCE,
LOVE,  AND CARE - SOMETHING THEY MAY HAVE BEEN LACKING OR NEVER SEEN.  THESE ARE NOT THE
DOGS TO TRY TO SEE HOW THEY ARE AND CHECK ONE OUT IN  YOUR HOME TO SEE IF THEY WILL WORK.
THEY NEED A STABLE, LONG TERM COMMITMENT BY UNDERSTANDING, DEDICATED PEOPLE.

AGAIN, CONSIDER ALL POSSIBILITIES PRIOR TO ACCEPTING RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY BOERBOEL  - PUP OR
ADULT. AN ADOPTION NEEDS OUR LOVE AND CARING, NOT JUST SOMEONE WANTING A POSSIBLE CHEAPER
OR EASIER DOG. NEITHER WILL PROBABLY BE THE CASE. MOST WILL NEED EXTRA AMOUNTS OF HEALTH
CARE AS THEY MAY HAVE BEEN NEGLECTED, ABUSED, OR MAY HAVE PHYSICAL AND OR PSYCHOLOGICAL
NEEDS. THERE WILL PROBABLY BE ALOT OF UNACCOUNTED FOR EXPENSES ASIDE FOR JUST THE
ADOPTION FEE AND OR TRANSPORT FEE.

I WRITE THIS NOT TO TALK ONE OUT OF A RESCUE. BUT TO HELP SOME ONE MAKE A INFORMED DECISION
AND COMMITMENT TO THESES WONDERFUL AND MAJESTIC DOGS. IN MOST CASES, A PUPPY IS A FAR
BETTER WAY TO GO WITH THE BOERBOEL. EITHER WAY,  DONT TAKE THEM FOR A "TEST DRIVE". MAKE
SURE YOU ARE PREPARED TO COMMITMENT TO THEM.
--RICHARD AND MICHELLE





I rescued a human today.
Her eyes met mine as she walked down the corridor peering
apprehensively into the kennels. I felt her need instantly and knew
I had to help her. I wagged my tail, not too exuberantly, so she
wouldn't be afraid. As she stopped at my kennel I blocked her view
from a little accident I had in the back of my cage. I didn't want
her to know that I hadn't been walked today. Sometimes the shelter
keepers get too busy and I didn't want her to think poorly of them.
As she read my kennel card I hoped that she wouldn't feel sad about
my past. I only have the future to look forward to and want to make
a difference in someone's life. She got down on her knees and made
little kissy sounds at me. I shoved my shoulder and side of my head
up against the bars to comfort her. Gentle fingertips caressed my
neck; she was desperate for companionship. A tear fell down her
cheek and I raised my paw to assure her that all would be well.
Soon my kennel door opened and her smile was so bright that I
instantly jumped into her arms. I would promise to keep her safe. I
would promise to always be by her side. I would promise to do
everything I could to see that radiant smile and sparkle in her
eyes. I was so fortunate that she came down my corridor. So many
more are out there who haven't walked the corridors. So many more to
be saved. At least I could save one.

I rescued a human today.



I PLACE THIS ON THE WEBSITE TO LET EVERYONE KNOW WE TAKE OUR PUPPIES VERY SERIOUSLY. WE
DONT JUST SELL THEM AS A COMMODITY. THEY ARE A TRUE LABOR OF LOVE. WE WANT OUR BUYERS TO
UNDERSTAND THIS AND COMMIT TO OUR BOERBOEL PUPPY FOR THEIR LIFE WHEN YOU PURCHASE ONE.
LOVE THEM, TREAT THEM AS PART OF THE FAMILY, AND THEY WILL GIVE YOU BACK MORE THAN YOU EVER
IMAGINED.



HOW COULD YOU??

You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became
your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask, "How could you?" -- but then you'd
relent and roll me over for a belly rub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that
together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I
believed that life could not be any more perfect.

We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is
bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I
waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad
decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and
obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement.
I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried
that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate.

Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend.
They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and
gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so
infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their
worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet
and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone
from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career
opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made
the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of
hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said, "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged
and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You
had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar, as he screamed, "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!"
And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and
responsibility, and about respect for all life.

You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with
you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew
about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads
and asked, "How could you?"

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my
appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had
changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who
might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to
their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.

I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate
room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart
pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out
of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I
know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran
down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the
hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down
sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured, "How could you?"

Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said, "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it
was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to
fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I
tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her.

It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May
everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.