PORTLAND, Tenn. (WTVF) — A little girl’s kind gesture is inspiring dozens of people to give back to an animal rescue in Portland, Tennessee, called A Place to Bark.

The 21-year-old nonprofit is a no-kill foster and adoption rescue dedicated to the welfare of dogs.

"I take them in; I get them well. I work with any behavioral issues, and we get them ready for adoption," said A Place to Bark founder Bernie Berlin.

Berlin said in recent years, volunteers haven’t been showing up to help; it’s been difficult hiring new employees, and donations have gone down.

Berlin started the new year off a little sad until 7-year-old Lila Stephens decided to take all the money in her piggy bank and donate it: a total of $27.25.

The two met for the first time in Franklin, Tennessee, for a pet adoption event. Her mom, Samantha Stephens, posted her daughter’s kind gesture to social media, and now other people are matching Lila’s donation to give to the rescue.

“We had a family friend who lives in Texas just messaged me and said, 'I would really like to match that because that’s so sweet she’s doing that.' We didn’t know Bernie’s need. We didn’t know she was going to get the donations. Everything came together at a time that made a big difference for Bernie," Stephens said.

Berlin said Lila is such a big inspiration.

"Like, right now, I have a bill over $1,000, and we spend $5,000 to $7,000 a month to spay and neuter. This month, we had over a thousand, and Lila’s little gift turned into a big gift that pays that bill off," Berlin said.

Donations for A Place to Bark are still coming in.

If you would like to match Lila’s $27.25 and give to A Place to Bark, here are some ways to do so: PayPal, Venmo (@aplacetobark), or mail: A Place To Bark PO Box 649 Portland, TN 37148.

This article was written by Aaron Cantrell for WTVF.

Alaska State Troopers found a newborn baby in a cardboard box on Dec. 31, according to the Alaska Department of Public Safety.

The child was discovered at an intersection, and "seemed to have been abandoned at the location recently."

The agency said a note was left with the child that indicated the parent could not take care of the baby.

The letter, which is documented in the New York Post, says, "My mom is so sad to do this. Please take me and find me a LOVING FAMILY. My parents are begging whoever finds me. My name is Teshawn.”

The note says the child was born premature. It also says the child's biological family did not have food or the resources to care for the newborn.

The Alaska Department of Public Safety said the baby was taken to a hospital in "good health."

The agency is asking for anyone with information about the child's family to come forward.

SPRING HILL, Tenn. — A family in Spring Hill, Tennessee, adopted a set of four siblings in 2021, making them a family of 12 in time for the holidays.

"When they're in foster care, it's a roller coaster ride. It's a roller coaster ride, so you don't know what the result is. And I love my children. I love my children. And I'm happy that it's permanent," said Lisa Parra.

After fostering them for nearly three years, she and her husband Diego adopted four children ages 17, 14, 12, and 6.

"When they when they first came to live with us, they were temporary," explained Lisa Parra. "We had made an obligation for another sibling group, so they were going to be with us for three weeks. And that other sibling group, fortunately, unfortunately, went to their grandma, and so we got to keep the set of 4 we have now, you know, permanently, and we're thrilled."

Claire Kopsky

The Parras already had six children of their own, most already living outside their house.

They explained once the four foster children moved in temporarily during the fostering period, they knew they wanted to adopt them and expand their family.

"They're part of our family. And I think people expressed to us what a big deal that was or what a sacrifice that was, and we didn't look at it like that," recalled Lisa Parra. "It was a smooth transition."

Thanks to open adoption, the Parras helped their four adopted children keep in contact with the healthy members of their biological family and traveled to the children's home state in December for a Christmas party.

"We want the best for them. And then the holiday season brings kind of all of that out when we can incorporate their bios with us and have one big family, you know?" said Lisa Parra. "That's what it is because everybody loves them. Everybody loves them. And they want the best for them... It's a good feeling when everybody comes together."

Claire Kopsky

In 2021 in Tennessee, more than 1,600 children in foster care joined families forever through adoptions or subsidized permanent guardianship finalizations.

"Over the past year, we have given even more children the hope they deserve," said Jennifer Nichols, commissioner of Tennessee Department of Children's Services. "I’m so happy for these children and proud of the work the DCS family does every day. Even in the pandemic, our staff has continued to work tirelessly with families and the courts to make these adoptions possible. And we intend to keep building on these heartwarming successes.”

Tennessee's number of adoptions and subsidized permanent guardianship finalizations increased 8% between 2017 and 2021.

As of December 16, the Tennessee Department of Children's Services said about 400 children in the state's guardianship are still looking for a home to call their own, with a majority being teenagers.

Claire Kopsky

The Parras became foster parents in 2018.

"A lot of people are I think are in fear of, ‘Oh, I can't get attached, I can't get attached and then give them back.' Do you know? What would happen if I got attached, and I would have to give them back," said Lisa Parra. "That's the whole part of the process. It is. You take on the burden of their sadness, the things they go through, and they're supposed to get attached. They're—you're supposed to get attached. They're supposed to show that loving attachment and is difficult. It is not for the weak-hearted it is difficult, but it is so fulfilling."

One of their new daughters, Kristina is grateful the Perras became attached and helped keep her and her siblings together.

"[Separation] was fear because I remember them [DCS] telling us that they've called a lot of homes and they can't get us together. And they'll try one more place, and if they didn't want to take us all, then we would be split apart," said Kristina Parra. "It was scary because you've lived your whole life with them, and then you would have been split apart."

Claire Kopsky

"Don't be afraid to open up your heart. We found the perfect fit, and they are our perfect fit for our family and, yeah, we love them with all our hearts," said Lisa Parra.

Claire Kopsky

Her new daughter Kristina said she will always be grateful the Parras welcomed her siblings with open arms.

"They just like did the right thing," stated Kristina Parra. "They wanted us. They made us feel loved even when we came here not knowing us. They didn't know our story, but they still felt for us and just loved us even when they didn't even know us."

For those interested in learning more about the adoption process, click here.

Claire Kopsky at WTVF first reported this story.

NEW YORK —

A New York family who came together by chance 21 years ago has now shared their remarkable story in a children's book.

Pete Mercurio was walking out the door to meet his then-partner (now husband) Danny Stewart for dinner in August 2000 when his phone rang. It was Stewart, calling to tell him he'd be late. He'd found an abandoned baby in the subway and had called 911 from a payphone.

Stewart, a social worker, had spotted a tiny bundle wrapped in a sweatshirt while walking through an eerily empty station. At first, he thought it was a doll, perhaps left behind by a child, until he saw a tiny leg move. He quickly discovered it was a newborn baby, the umbilical cord still attached.

Mercurio, who authored a book about this chance encounter, spoke to CNN about that night, and about how he and Stewart ended up raising the baby as their own.

The baby boy was just hours old when Stewart found him

"He had actually tried to get on an express train and couldn't get on one," Mercurio recalls of Stewart's path that fateful day. "The fact that he even got on a local was kind of miraculous because who knows if he had gotten on an express if he'd even he even had found the baby."

Mercurio says something made Stewart glance back at the bundle and see the newborn's small motion. The baby, a boy, was alive and breathing. Authorities said he was just hours old when they arrived.

Mercurio ran to the station, a block away from his apartment, and found Stewart there with two police officers.

"One of them was carrying the baby in his arms," he says. "Just a chill raced up my spine. Like, it's an unbelievable thing."

The baby boy was transported to a nearby hospital, and the men were overcome with emotion at what had just occurred.

"At one point I just turned to Danny and I said, 'You're going to be -- we're going to be -- connected to this baby in some way or another for the rest of your life.' I said, 'Maybe not tomorrow or next week or a year or five years from now, but eventually he's gonna learn about this night and he might want to try to find you and maybe we can send a gift or be in touch with him on this day, every year.'"

The couple had no idea what was about to unfold.

A stroke of good luck smoothed the adoption process

The baby, who was named Daniel Ace Doe after Stewart and the A/C/E subway line, was in the state's care while a citywide search was underway for the boy's parents.

Three months later, Stewart was asked to testify at a hearing about the day the baby was found. The judge asked him an unexpected question.

"In December of 2000, at that hearing, the judge asked him, 'Would you be interested in adopting?' He said, 'Yes, but I know it's not that easy.' She said, 'Well, it can be.' We didn't know what she meant by that," Mercurio says.

The two became foster parents to the baby, who they named Kevin, and adopted him two years later in December of 2002.

"And then that was it. We never saw the judge again. And in 2012, when we were deciding to get married, Kevin on a walk to school said he knew that there was a judge involved in creating our family," Mercurio says.

"We shared everything with him, so he knew everything. He said, 'Don't judges marry people?' So, I said, 'Do you want to meet the judge that finalized your adoption?' And he nodded his head. And so that's how I got in touch with the judge again, ten years later."

When the couple spoke with the judge, they asked her how she was able to help facilitate Kevin's adoption so quickly.

In one of many small miracles that brought Kevin to them, the judge said that at the time Kevin was found there was a pilot program in New York that gave her the authority to expedite the adoption process in specific cases of abandonment to place a baby in a loving home.

"She was able to make quick decisions to place that baby in a pre-adoptive home as quickly as possible," Mercurio says. "So he didn't languish in the system."

That pilot program lasted only six months and was then discontinued, according to Mercurio.

"So many little things like that added up without our knowledge," Mercurio says.

Kevin is now a senior in college. He's not sure about trying to find his birth parents

At the time Kevin arrived, the couple didn't have a lot of money. They were in student-loan debt, but they made it work. Family and friends got them everything they needed for Kevin, and they figured it out along the way.

Kevin, now 21, is a student at Swarthmore College. Mercurio is sharing their family's story with Kevin and Stewart's encouragement, but they declined to be interviewed.

"We still can't believe it. I mean, we believe it because we have a 21-year-old kid that's graduating from college this spring," Mercurio says. "I love this kid more than anything in the world, I really didn't know this kind of love existed in this world until my son came into our life. And Danny feels the same way."

As Kevin grew up, the two discussed their family story with him.

"We talked about how our family became a family openly in front of him. When he went in social gatherings, [if] anybody would ask, we didn't shield him from hearing it from a very young age," Mercurio says.

They wanted Kevin to feel positive about their family origin story, so Mercurio wrote a book about it that they read to him every night. When he was five, Kevin realized it was about him.

"I pasted together a book of his story, which tells the whole thing about Danny being on the subway and the baby being found," Mercurio says.

Last year, that very personal story was published with the title "Our Subway Baby," which Mercurio calls a "love letter to our son."

While Kevin's biological parents are still unknown, Mercurio says they feel only compassion for them.

"One way or another, that's a desperate measure to take. And I can only imagine the anguish that was leaving your child," he says. "We've always told Kevin from a very young age that he was left out of love, so that he could be found and cared for. We never used the word abandonment or abandoned. We said she left you where you could be found by us."

DENVER, Co. — Taking children away from parents is a heartbreaking situation. Now, a federal law just put into effect Oct. 1 is hoping to prevent those moments.

The Families First Prevention Services Act aims to move away from placing children into residential facilities or group homes, and instead, keeps them in either a foster home or, preferably, their own home. In order to do that, federal dollars will be put towards services that can be accessed at the home, something that couldn't be done before.

National data says the most common reasons children end up in the foster care system are neglect and drug abuse. By providing treatment in the home, the hope is that it will heal the family unit from within.

"That could be for substance use. That could be for mental health issues that could be for really strengthening families and making more resources available to families to utilize while they're together in their home, rather than having to remove a child before you can access that funding for those support services," said Yolanda Arredondo, a child welfare professional.

She says the new law makes it so children will only be taken out of the home and into a group setting if it is absolutely necessary.

"Because that need is there not just a reaction to this family circumstance, that it really is a need to protect the safety and well-being of a child," said Arredondo, "and hopefully that's temporary and we can provide treatment-focused services to reunify the family as quickly as possible."

In Colorado, where Arredondo works, the state has already been implementing these new federal rules over the last few years. Right now, they serve 70% of children and families in their own home, 30% are with foster families. However, some advocates are concerned that since more foster homes will be needed, there won’t be enough places for children to go.

Arrendondo says she hasn’t necessarily seen that, but anyone interested in becoming a foster parent should seek out resources near them.

Hopefully, this new law means more families getting the help they need to stay together through the tough times in hopes of a brighter future.

DETROIT (WXYZ) — Being outdoors, around horses, in the garden, or in the country – those are some of Jacob’s favorite things. He hopes whomever adopts him likes being outside, too.

The 15-year-old, who is currently in foster care in Michigan, sometimes goes by Jake.

He describes himself a good kid.

“My friends would describe me as cheerful, happy, respectful,” Jacob said.

“I like sports. I like football, soccer, baseball. I play with Legos. I build cars, Lego cars, and then I usually just play video games, like racing games,” he said.

“I usually like to go to sporting events, like basketball games, and then just have fun with my friends. I enjoy playing sports with my brother. Me and him both like the Lions,” he added.

Traveling and being outside make him happy.

“I like to go to the beach. I like to go on the beach, play in the water. I like horses. I would just like to live in the country because I like to play in the woods and spend time in the garden and stuff."

He’s in tenth grade, and he enjoys his classes.

“In school, I like science. I like history. In history, I like the Civil War. I also like government, too, because [of] the three branches of government. In science, I like the study of plants -- how plants grow and how they get food in the sun,” Jacob explained.

What does he want to be when he grows up? A couple of jobs come to mind.

“Working at Legoland and as a firefighter,” said Jacob.

When it comes to being adopted, he is hopeful.

“I'd like to live with a family that likes going places, going to different parts of the country and stuff, like going to Hawaii or Disneyland. The home environment I would like to have is have older brothers and sisters, a big family,” Jacob explained.

Jacob has been waiting to be adopted since September of 2012.

If you’d like to learn more about Jacob, click here.

If you’d like to adopt Jacob, call the Michigan Adoption Resource Exchange at (800)589-6273.

If you’re not able to adopt, you can still help!

Please SHARE this Grant Me Hope story on social media. Thank you!

This article was written by Alicia Smith for WXYZ.

Related video: Vets backlogged, weary from COVID pet boom

Madison Vollbracht says she burned out after five years working as a veterinary technician.

Her work was already grueling before the COVID-19 pandemic.

But the pandemic sparked a dramatic increase in pet adoptions, "COVID puppies and kittens," as Vollbracht calls them, as well as a rise in inquiries about pet care, which greatly increased the workload.

Also, the mandatory lockdowns forced many people out of work, which meant some owners could no longer afford care for their pets, and in some cases, had to surrender or euthanize them.

The effects of the pandemic took a toll on Vollbracht. The vet tech says she "had more anxiety and depression than joy from the job," even after changing clinics.

"There were a couple of days where everything was dying," she says. "And it was around Christmastime. It was my first Christmas working emergency and it also happened (during) the pandemic and I had only discharged one patient that day. Everything else had been euthanized. And that was my, 'I'm kind of done with this' day. I euthanized 16 patients that day."

That holiday season in 2020, she realized she'd had enough, and is now a veterinary assistant instructor at the Pima Medical Institute.

Approximately half of all vet techs burn out of the profession within their first five years and 35% of them burn out altogether.

Rise in adoptions strain veterinary clinics

Inquiries about pet adoptions increased 70% between March 2020 and March 2021, according to Petfinder.com spokeswoman Lorie Westhoff. And an ASPCA survey released in May 2021 shows that 90% of dogs and 85% of cats adopted during the pandemic were kept by their owners.

Millennials and Gen Zers are also adopting pets at higher rates than their predecessors, says Mark Cushing, a founding partner and the CEO of the Animal Policy Group. Because baby boomers are adopting fewer pets as they grow older, millennials and Gen Z adults now make up half of all pet owners, he says.

"Millennials, last year where they had or got one dog, they got two or had one dog and thought a cat might be fun," he says. "People who are into it, they know how much fun it is and want to have a playmate for their pet when they go back to work."

While an increase in pet adoptions is generally a good thing, it also means that veterinarians and vet techs have to see more patients, field more calls from pet owners, which sometimes result in delayed visits and care. Dr. Douglas Kratt, president of the American Veterinary Medical Association, tells CNN that a recent AVMA survey found that the average number of patients a veterinarian saw per hour was 25% lower in 2020 than in prior years, which means clients are waiting longer before their animals can be seen.

"This has also resulted in an increase in client wait times — our current data indicate an average 20-minute wait in 2020, up from 11 minutes in 2019," Kratt says. "While the amount of time it takes to see each patient has increased, total veterinary visits in the United States do not appear to have gone up — according to national data compiled by the AVMA and VetSuccess, the number of veterinary visits in the United States was about the same in 2020 as compared with 2019."

That number has remained about the same not because fewer people are trying to see their veterinarians; rather, it's because there aren't enough veterinarians to meet client demand. Dr. Karl Jandrey, associate dean for Admissions and Student Programs at the University of California, Davis, who also practices as an emergency critical care specialist, says that people working from home means they're seeing problems with their pets that they wouldn't have normally noticed, leading to more calls with concern. It also means the shortage of veterinarians and vet techs has led to a need to stop taking new clients and squeezing others in.

"(You go from) not having enough prior — veterinarians and technicians — to even worse during the pandemic, where everyone else has to work harder and more," he says. "Instead of having your average emergency shift, one patient every half-hour, you now have four every hour you're trying to deliver care to. Something's gotta give, right?"

Where are all the vet techs?

Andrew Maccabe, CEO of the American Association of Veterinary Medical Colleges, says that applications to graduate veterinary medicine programs increased by 19% this past cycle compared to the previous year. But for veterinary technicians, the promise of an enriching career is not as apparent, despite only requiring two years of schooling, and even less in some states.

Jennifer Serling, president-elect of the Association of Veterinary Technician Educators, tells CNN that 35% of all vet techs eventually "burn out," while Cushing says that half of them leave the profession within five years. Vet tech educational retention is also down about five to 10%, Serling says, which she believes is "directly related to the pandemic."

Cushing says that inadequate pay often leads vet techs to leave the profession. On average, he says, veterinary technicians are paid $32,000 a year, which is "close to the poverty level" in some parts of the country. That can be as much as half the starting salary of a registered nurse in human medicine, Serling adds.

Vollbracht tells CNN her highest pay as a vet tech "started with a $16" per hour and there were times when there were more veterinarians in her clinic's emergency room floor than vet techs themselves.

"What started my burnout was really the money aspect and always being constrained with what we can do treatment-wise based on owners' financial situations," she says. "(I would go over) treatment plans and estimates with owners but (was) being constantly told 'no' or being belittled and berated for requiring such costs, in advance or at all, for certain things to be done and then not being able to do those things because they couldn't be afforded."

In addition to being underpaid, vet techs are also underutilized. Cushing says that half of vet technicians' learned skills are often ignored, leading to decreased morale as veterinarians' working dynamics with vet techs can be less delegated and collaborative than those in human hospitals and clinics.

"I'll say publicly, if you chronically underpay someone, they'll be looking to leave," he says.

"If you're trained to do it all and only do half, and you're told by a veterinarian, 'I'll do the rest,' you create a morale issue that is systemic across the profession."

Serling points out that vet techs, unlike RNs and physician assistants, are responsible for providing care to "multiple species that can't talk and tell us what's wrong." Unlike a hospital or a doctor's office, which has specialty nurses and assistants for everything, veterinary technicians are required to do it all, and then some.

"We have the same training as an RN," she says. "It's not just the same things as them but anesthesia, radiology, (etc.). We do a lot of the human components of medicine combined into multiple species, so utilizing us fully is a huge plus to the practice (of veterinary medicine)."

That ubiquitous involvement in end-of-life care, which is more specialized in human medicine, also takes its toll.

"It's both a blessing and a curse in that we can end our patients' suffering with euthanasia but that does weigh heavily on the individuals and can be incredibly mentally taxing," Serling says. "Early on, we get into this because it is a labor of love, not one we'll get rich at doing. You love your patients, love animals and want to help them. When you get that emotionally attached and driven into this field, that can also be mentally taxing as well."

Serling also points out that pet insurance is often not used, meaning that the expenses that hospitals and health care practices can largely bill to insurance companies have to be absorbed by the veterinary clinics, if not billed to the clients themselves.

"Until we're able to charge appropriately for the services we're providing, it's going to be difficult for clinics and some vets (to afford their expenses)," she says. "Veterinarian salaries and the cost of all that, even that is significantly less than their MD counterparts. There's a lot of catch-up to do so we're earning what we deserve."

How the field is trying to adapt

Maccabe says that one of the biggest causes for the perception, or reality, of a workforce shortage, is the inefficiencies caused by the pandemic. COVID-19 infection control procedures have slowed the ability of veterinarians and their health care teams to handle caseloads, and in a field that has long relied on direct, in-person care, it has caused extended waits on top of the added influx of pets.

On the educational side, Maccabe says that many virtual programs offering models and simulations for students to practice on have eased the burden the pandemic has placed on training future veterinarians. So, what are veterinary clinics doing? Some of them have adopted telehealth policies for visits in order to alleviate the burden caused by waiting for in-person care.

"With video conferencing available, even when people were taking their animals to clinics, they oftentimes had to drop the animal off, get a phone call or video call to see what the vet saw, right?" he says. "(For) how much of that did the animal need to be transported, whereas some could have been done at home? So that's where I think every crisis like (the pandemic) drives innovation."

Cushing says that veterinary medicine is a conservative field and that, on the whole, vets "don't welcome change." He says the field is about 25 years behind human medicine in terms of delegation of tasks and proper use of staff.

Some schools, such as Lincoln Memorial University, are starting to institute a middle ground master's degree, akin to a nurse practitioner, that would allow for positive movement up the ladder. Cushing says it would help vet techs who may still not want to attend or can't afford the schooling required to obtain a veterinary medicine degree to advance their careers.

The rewards aren't just financial for veterinary professionals. Private equity firms are investing more money into veterinary clinics, Cushing says, after seeing how lucrative the field is. In order for them to feel like they can get a proper return on their investments, they want to see additional outlets to prevent the staff they're invested in from burning out.

Serling says some of the improvements can take place in how clients approach their visits with veterinary staff.

"I think that owners do need to understand there are some incredible wait times right now," she says. "It can be difficult to get appointments. Usually, surgeries can be scheduled within a couple of weeks, so two months out is very unusual."

Generally speaking, though, Serling says revenue remains high enough that there should be enough money to go around to pay vet techs a higher salary.

"I think an increase in pay is the number one thing and I think technician utilization is the other," she says. "I think training veterinarians to utilize us and our education (is key). There's an AVMA study that says for every credentialed technician, they bring about a $90,000 to $100,000 increase in revenue per year. So utilizing us to the best of our ability (would change things)."

Maccabe says that despite the stresses of the pandemic, he believes necessary changes and progress in the field are on the horizon.

"I'm very optimistic about the future," he says. "I think that as challenging as this last year and a half has been, not just for our community but society in general, ... it has driven some changes to have a long-lasting impact to improve quality of teaching, care, and access in a way that might have been delayed or postponed for many years if not for this pandemic."