Meet Rhiannon, now known as Hannah—a 9.5-year-old, 85-pound female Great Pyrenees mix who looks remarkably like an English Cream Retriever. And by “remarkably,” we mean if you introduced her as an English Cream, absolutely no one would question you. She may technically be a Pyr mix, but visually, she looks like someone dipped her in vanilla frosting, and gave her the serene expression of a woman who has finally stopped answering emails after 5:00 p.m.
Pickup Location: Bella Vista, AR
Adopter will need to pick up in person if approved. We do not do transports.
Apply here:
https://www.pyrpawsandfluffytailsrescue.com/adoption-app
Hannah recently came back to PPFT through absolutely no fault of her own. Her beloved owner has to move into assisted living and, heartbreakingly, can not take Hannah along. Hannah is gentle, sweet, affectionate, calm, and quiet—which sounds suspiciously like we simply opened a thesaurus to the word “lovely” and copied down everything we found. Her temperament is softer than a warm dinner roll, sweeter than a bakery display during a sugar shortage, and calmer than someone who took the last available appointment at the spa and turned off their phone. At 85 pounds, she is certainly not travel-sized. You will not be tucking her beneath your arm and casually strolling through Target—but she carries her substantial amount of fluff with the quiet elegance of an expensive cream-colored rug that occasionally gets up, follows you into another room, and requests affection. She is essentially a full-sized emotional-support cloud: large enough to make your home feel cozy, fluffy enough to lose a hand in, and sweet enough to make you wonder whether she is actually composed of spun sugar, dryer lint, and extremely good intentions.
Hannah’s dream home is a quiet one where she can be the only dog and her person is home most of the time—partly because she enjoys companionship and partly because every retired executive needs at least one assistant available to deliver back scratches, open doors, and confirm that yes, she remains breathtakingly beautiful. She would prefer to be the sole canine resident because Hannah is 9.5 years old and has officially reached the stage of life where she does not want roommates, coworkers, group projects, or anyone breathing too loudly near her snacks. She has lived with two Yorkies and is mostly okay with them, but she has nipped at both and generally does not enjoy other dogs. Basically, Hannah has been assigned two tiny, nervous interns and would like Human Resources to know that she never approved their hiring. At the vet, however, she is perfectly fine seeing other dogs, presumably because she understands that a medical facility is no place to start nonsense and everyone should simply sit down, accept their annual betrayal, and wait for the cheese. Cats remain an unsolved mystery because Hannah has never met one. She might love them. She might ignore them. She might stare at one and wonder why someone purchased a haunted throw pillow with knives in its feet. Humans, though? Hannah loves them. She is friendly with everyone and greets visitors politely, without launching herself at their chest like an 85-pound T-shirt cannon powered by emotional instability. No frantic barking. No interpretive dance. No immediate background check. She simply welcomes people with the calm professionalism of a hotel concierge who happens to be shaped like an enormous vanilla Twinkie. She is wonderful with adults and has been gentle and sweet with her owner’s grandchildren, who are now nine and ten. When they were three and four, she occasionally bumped them over—not because she was being rough, but because Hannah weighs 85 pounds and toddlers are built like loosely assembled Jenga towers wearing light-up shoes. Sometimes the cloud drifts through, the toddler encounters weather, and gravity completes the paperwork. Older children who are sturdy enough to withstand an accidental drive-by fluffing would be the best match.
At an energy level of four out of ten, Hannah has enough enthusiasm to enjoy life but not enough to turn your home into a live-action insurance claim. She likes toys and enjoys chasing a ball in the backyard, although she approaches fetch less like a committed athlete and more like an upper-level manager making a brief appearance at the company picnic. She will chase the ball, demonstrate that she still possesses impressive athletic ability, and then presumably wonder why the humans keep throwing away something they clearly want returned. Water activities have been formally rejected. Hannah does not swim, splash, frolic through sprinklers, or wade dramatically into ponds for an inspirational calendar photo. She is 85 pounds of premium land-based merchandise and sees no reason to become a damp bathmat with opinions. Hannah is a homebody at heart. She is accustomed to a quiet home, a very large securely fenced yard, and a covered deck where she can lounge like a wealthy widow whose third husband disappeared under completely ordinary circumstances. From there, she can supervise the property, absorb a tasteful amount of fresh air, and occasionally bark at a deer because somebody must inform the wildlife that this neighborhood has standards. Her barking is otherwise limited. She does not spend the day screaming into the atmosphere because a leaf touched the driveway. She saves her voice for important matters—primarily deer, suspicious woodland movement, and presumably any forest creature attempting to enter the property without an appointment.
Although Hannah prefers home, she likes everyone who visits and could probably enjoy a quiet coffee-shop outing. She has the temperament for public appearances: pleasant, composed, and unlikely to flip a table because her puppuccino foam was uneven. She is less “wild adventure companion scaling a mountain at sunrise” and more “distinguished lady joining you for coffee before returning home to lie beneath a ceiling fan.” Frankly, that sounds better anyway. Traveling with her is easy. Hannah can jump into the car without assistance, settles down calmly, and rides quietly without becoming carsick. She is not interested in staring out the window, shouting at motorcycles, or smearing three gallons of nose juice across the glass. She lies down like a large cream-colored duffel bag filled with warm bread and good manners, trusting you to handle the transportation portion of the expedition. She already knows sit, down, off, shake, stay, and wait, which is a fairly impressive résumé for someone whose chief career objective is lying near your bed and receiving compliments. Hannah is fully potty trained, does not chew inappropriate items, has no separation anxiety, and is not an escape artist. When left home alone, she stays inside and naps. That’s it. She does not eat the drywall, summon the police through the security system, or disassemble the sofa to investigate whether another sofa is hidden inside. She simply clocks into her position as Senior Vice President of Remaining Horizontal and takes care of business. She does not get on the couch and sleeps on a dog bed beside her person’s bed, close enough to provide emotional support but far enough away to respect everyone’s spinal alignment. She is basically a giant bedside marshmallow with a pulse—a soothing, cream-colored emergency contact who cannot operate a telephone but will absolutely be present if you wake up at 2:00 a.m. and need to remember that something good exists in the world.
If you believe your home needs a quiet senior queen, a recreational ball chaser, a bedside marshmallow, and an enormous English Cream Retriever impersonator all wrapped into one magnificent package, please fill out an adoption application:
https://www.pyrpawsandfluffytailsrescue.com/adoption-app
Once your application is submitted, we can review it and send it to Hannah’s foster family. Yes, there is paperwork. We know. Devastating. Unfortunately, “I saw her face and immediately began reorganizing my entire life around her” is emotionally compelling but does not technically qualify as a completed application. Bureaucracy remains undefeated.
Hannah is being fostered in Bella Vista, Arkansas, and her adopter must travel there to pick her up in person. She cannot be shipped, teleported, launched from a fluffy cannon, delivered through Amazon Prime, or placed on a Roomba programmed with your home address. You must personally make the journey to Bella Vista to collect your new 85-pound cloud—which seems like a very small inconvenience considering you will be returning home with a gentle, loyal, affectionate best friend and enough cream-colored fluff to redecorate your entire wardrobe.
Apply for Hannah. Give this sweet senior girl the peaceful forever home she deserves—and give yourself the rare opportunity to say, with complete sincerity, “I drove to Arkansas and came home with a weighted blanket.”
DIANELYS MARIA "DEE" VALLADARES
Great Pyrenees
🇺🇸
Kiowa, Oklahoma
female, large, baby
Great Pyrenees
Kiowa, Oklahoma
