Chappy is a Rottweiler who survived a tragedy no dog should ever have to endure.
After his beloved owners were killed in a fatal boating accident on Lake Tahoe on June 21, 2025, Chappy was left confused, grieving, and without the family he had always known. Those closest to them—still in shock—entrusted Chappy to me. In my care, he began the long, emotional journey of healing from loss and trauma.
He adjusted quickly. He bonded deeply. He played, rested, and leaned into the rhythm of a new life. For nearly two weeks, he slept peacefully at the foot of my bed, followed me around the house, and curled up on the couch like he had always been home. I had every intention of making that home permanent.
But amid the grief and legal logistics, Renee Lancaster—the operator of Rotts of Friends Rescue in Woodland, California—began calling and pressuring me to return Chappy to her facility, citing a clause in her original rescue contract. On those early calls, she brought up her connections to law enforcement and animal control repeatedly—thinly veiled threats meant to intimidate.
Despite the emotional toll and the fragile situation, I tried to work in good faith. I offered reasonable accommodations, including in-home site visits, and emphasized that Chappy was safe, loved, and decompressing well in my care. I even addressed the many poor reviews we had found online about her rescue, and brought them up with Renee directly. She dismissed those concerns, insisting they were false or written by people she had denied adoptions to. She promised us this situation would be different—that I should trust her.
And against my instincts, I did. Reluctantly.
From the moment I arrived, she was openly hostile. She asked if there was anything written in the deceased’s will about Chappy—a cold, inappropriate question that revealed her true intent: to benefit from this high-profile loss. It was deeply off-putting.
Even then, I held up my end of the agreement.
We agreed to bring Chappy to her on July 3, under a verbal agreement: she would take him for a vet appointment on July 4, and we would return on Saturday, July 5 to finalize the paperwork I had already begun in good faith and bring him home.
This was not a surrender.
This was not meant to be goodbye.
But Renee broke her word.
After taking possession of Chappy, she became evasive. She stopped responding to my calls and messages. On July 7, she sent a vague text saying her board was “still deciding” Chappy’s future. Then, without ever contacting me directly again, she informed others—not me—that Chappy would remain with her.
I was blindsided. Silenced. And most devastatingly—Chappy was used as leverage in a situation that had nothing to do with his well-being.
I have since learned I’m not alone. Other families have come forward with nearly identical stories:
- Promises broken
- Communication severed
- Dogs never returned
- Power used instead of compassion
Chappy became part of a pattern. It broke my heart.
This page exists to tell Chappy’s story fully and truthfully. To honor the love I gave him—and the love he gave me. I didn’t want this to be goodbye. I didn’t want him to be another story like this.
I loved Chappy.
I still do.
He deserved comfort, not confusion.
Love—not limbo.