Testimonials

Thank you for all you do for the animals, and the way you do it!!!! We owe a lot to your patience, fortitude and generosity!!! You are an outstanding source of care and good! We are soooo thankful and grateful you are here and we found you.

All the best, and looking forward in 09,
Dorothy and Barry... Ty's parents!

Will,
Please allow me to give you a special review of my dog's recent stay at VIP in Wellington.

Zeus is my 18 month Rottie and we were leaving on a 5 day cruise. I found out about VIP from a brochure and your site appealed to me and my family.

From the very first call, Josh, I apologize for not knowing his complete name, took charge of the entire process.

He told me what was required from my Vet, he went through the charges in detail, he told me about his needing to meet my pet first to decide if he was a latent Cujo!

I was totally impressed by his professionalism and personality. He reassured me every step of the way and made my cruise experience more relaxing.

On my return, Zeus was in excellent shape, Josh took the time to summarize his stay and gave me a social report that only a dog lover would value.

In an age when complaining is the norm; I am making this effort to identify an employee who is an asset. Not to mention that I got value from my investment.

Because of Josh, I will continue to use your facility and guarantee Zeus' care with my own peace of mind.

Thank you,

Anton Johnson
South Florida

People in glass houses shouldn't throw bones

By Nicole Neal

Palm Beach Post Staff Writer

Sunday, February 01, 2009

Maybe the Ottos have dreams of following in the footsteps of another South Florida couple and publishing "Petri & Me." I don't know.

What I do know is this: We dog owners are in no position to judge.

In case you missed it, a wealthy West Boca couple spent $155,000 to have Lancelot the Labrador genetically remastered after he went to that great gated community in the sky. Lancelot Encore, as the synthetic version is named, arrived Monday at Miami International via a San Francisco biotech firm by way of South Korea.

(Why anyone would recycle a Labrador is beyond me. Is there a shortage of this loping, manic-eyed, blockheaded breed, whose primary function seems to be ejecting its coat in tumbleweeds of fuzz while maintaining a consistent emotional state that can best be described as hyper-gleeful? Its secondary function: getting and staying wet.)

Anyway, the specter of specially engineered Labradors cavorting cheerfully through America's sprinklers has some people wagging fingers at the Ottos. Shelters are overcrowded with animals awaiting homes! And indeed, for $155,000 the Ottos could have adopted 2,672 dogs from Palm Beach County Animal Care and Control, which pawns their pooches at $58 a pop, chipped and snipped. (I know. My now-emasculated mongrel - a "South Florida Special," otherwise known as a "pit-bull mix" - owes his life and his attendant ridiculous good fortune to the kind folks out on Belvedere Road.) The money spent could have spayed and neutered animals for six months, a Miami rescue worker has said. Not only that, the Ottos could have sent nine canines on a 108-day world cruise aboard the QE2.

Instead, the Ottos got their beloved dog cloned.

I find it hard to work up a good head of steam over people who love their animals enough to order a spare. It's not like they grew a designer dog in a South Korean lab so Mrs. Otto could have a soft, cozy puppy-fur parka.

Come on, dog lovers, admit it: It's a matter of scale. If you care about your dog, but you're not the scion of a NASCAR founder, like Mr. Otto, then your acts of devotion do not garner worldwide media attention. They merely garner looks of incredulity from your father if he, like mine, is a denizen of that nose-to-the-grindstone Silent Generation.

This I know because - for sport, I believe - my husband let slip my own dirty dog secret during a family dinner: I take Daniel, the aforementioned mongrel, to doggie day care.

"Just twice a week!" I peeped. An uncomfortable silence descended. My sister, the diplomat, parried with a skillful maneuver, an attempt at appealing to Dad's practical side: "She doesn't have to leave work to walk him!" He would not be distracted. One aspect, in particular, seemed to pain him: "Is this something it graduates from? It doesn't graduate? It just keeps going?" We had a hard time changing the subject.

Anyway, this is - was - my secret shame, one I discussed only in the specific company of like-minded "dog people," i.e. the people I see in the lobby of Very Important Paws. But the Ottos and the finger-wagging that ensued has me rising to their defense.

Yes, we're down to one income in my house. We long ago did away with the little trappings of middle-class life - the pedicures, the pool guy, the Gorgonzola crumbles. But I will give up fresh food - becoming, I'm sure, the first doggie parent at Very Important Paws to be under treatment for scurvy - before I stop pulling up on Monday and Wednesday mornings and getting thrown into the glass doors of VIP by 76 pounds of overjoyed pit-bull mix.

Daniel loves the place. If he could have his way he would live at VIP and merely deign to see me for his custodial needs.

And I love VIP, too. Because a tired pit bull is a good pit bull. Daniel will race out at the end of the day, bound into the car for his cookie (I have to trick him to get him loaded up; like I said, he really loves VIP), and fall immediately asleep.

At home, he actually puts himself to bed.

"Where's Daniel?" my stepdaughter will ask.

"He went to bed early."

Of course, taking one's dog to day care is littered with emotional land mines even outside the family table. Sometimes, in the lobby at VIP, after we've stepped around a homeless person to get in, we devoted dog owners will give each other an uncomfortable smile, an apologetic shrug. Our oblivious beasts strain at their leashes.

If money were no object, would I clone Daniel? No. One of the joys of dog ownership for me is finding a pet at the pound and then giving him the best life I can for as long as he's with me.

But I'd love to have $155,000 to blow. Because that would keep Daniel in day care at his current schedule for 62 years. And no, Dad, he still wouldn't be any smarter.

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