MOIRA'S DOG ART TODAY IS SPECIAL. IF YOU'VE EVER GRIEVED OVER THE LOSS OF YOUR DOG, YOU NEED TO READ HER STORY AND FOLLOW THE LINKS...

http://dreamdogsart.typepad.com/art/

Not too many months ago, Moira lost her little old dachshund, Darby, and if you subscribe to her blog, you know how difficult it's been. And then she found Tyler.

She has supplied a tender, touching story through a link to Joe Yonan, who writes that losing a dog is sometimes worse than losing a relative. Joe's dog was a red Doberman.

Among the many, my red Roxy, also a Doberman comes to mind. She was one of those dogs in my lifetime that was "ALL MINE". Totally devoted, totally willing to do anything I asked verbally or asked mentally of her. And maybe it was because she was an urgent rescue who knew I would take her out of the situation she was in.

Do you have a moment?

There was a guy three streets up who lived near friends. He was taking care of a Doberman (Roxy), for a friend, but she wouldn't stay in the unfenced yard with his Chows, and preferred the company of the neighborhood children. So he told my friend Sarah, he was going to shoot her. But he did this often. He would get dogs, and they wouldn't stay in the yard and there'd be a gunshot, and then no more dog the next day.

Sarah was beside herself. I told her I knew a couple looking for a dog who would have a few acres to run on and horses to care for. I called them and they told me they'd take her. I thought it would be a good match.

I went to Sarah's and the grandkids walked me down to the trailer. I walked up to the steps and from underneath came raging out - an open mouth and teeth. I did not sit down on the steps.
But I did think for a few seconds, and went home and made a ham and Swiss sandwich with lots of mayo on rye bread. That dog and I were going to have lunch. A bite at a time. And then I'd slip the leash on her and off we'd go.

I went back. I sat on the steps. Once again, teeth. So I opened the waxes paper and held a hunk of sandwich in my right hand. Nothing. I sat back and there was the Doberman, gently eating the remaining piece of sandwich in my left hand so quietly and daintily, she was as good as any pickpocket. I clipped the leash to her collar, and after she finished the sandwich, we got in the truck.

She was thin and dull-coated. We drove to her prospective owners' home, and no one was home.

So down the road to home we went. By the time I stopped in front of the gate, this dainty, elegant dog had won my heart. Never in the world did I think I'd fall for a Doberman, but by the time we reached the wellhouse, I knew she'd never call anyplace else home.

I took a careful look at her.

She was heavily peppered with a tiny flea that lives in crawl spaces. They bury their heads and you have to pull each one out. I got out an aerosol pesticide - the only thing I had on hand and sprayed her. Dear God, I thought. Maybe it'll kill her! Johnny down the street had shown me these "chicken fleas" once on a pit bull bitch he'd rescued from a fight. She was in terrible shape, covered in these fleas, which were the least of her reasons for misery. She'd been a bait dog. A few months later, she was a beauty.

She let us pick every one of those awful parasites off with a sharp eye tweezer; between her toes and pads of her feet, her belly, everywhere. They were packed tight together. The process took weeks. Not one complaint.

My Uncle Joe used to raise Dobermans. Fierce Nina, black and rust, was confined to a chain during the day, and threatened anyone in her territory. But Roxy had the heart of a cinnamon roll, sweet as could be. Because of Nina, I never wanted a Doberman.

Roxy had a bad ear job and her ears stood out and flopped at the end. She had a very small tail.

We learned that she loved children; loved cats, loved dogs, loved people, loved rattly paper like candy wrappers. We also learned that she could snatch the proverbial candy from a baby without them knowing, very quietly. So we had to pass by strollers and toddlers carefully, but only because of food.

She could be taken everywhere, anywhere. The one thing she despised were the orange heads, large orange barrels with orange blinkers on them for road hazards. If she could have jumped out of the moving vehicle, I think she would have torn them to shreds.

Her favorite toy was a clean cotton mop. She delighted in throwing the strings up over her head and eyes.

When she became incontinent, I fashioned a diaper out of towels for her with diaper pins for the house. She was miserable. She had always laid at the foot of the bed under my feet. But even with the diapers, she would leak. So I had a talk with her. We made a deal. A real talk...Really!

I said, "Roxy, I know you hate your diaper, so how about this. You can lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, and I will make you a soft bed of your own I can wash and dry every day and you won't have to wear the diaper." And that was that. She never complained, and I am sure she missed lying under my feet as much as I missed her there.

Something was wrong one day - remember, we never knew how hold she was. We'd had her 7 years I think. She was showing signs of cardiac distress and fluid buildup. I think her kidneys were failing as well. She was frightened and ill. She looked up with such trust and pain in her eyes, and we put her down. She had become frail and had stopped eating.

Her ashes were spread on the dog path and with her friends who had passed. She's here in the yard, part of the blueberries and the flowers, the grapevines, the trees; all that is beautiful in this part of the yard.

I miss her still. I miss her shining eyes, the love in them. All dogs love you in their own way.
She knew what I was thinking before I thought it, and anticipated what would come. She was always grateful for the smallest touch. She loved lying across my lap. I would smile into her face and she knew she was in good grace. Unconditional love. More important than anything in this world. Love without reservation. Loyalty. Courage if necessary. She'd take her nose and bump my hand to have it land on her head. A million times. I miss that. It was natural.

My red Roxy.

THANK YOU IF YOU SAID A PRAYER FOR OLD ROXY - AND OTHER THINGS

It's been a really horrible week, full of sadness and lots of pain.

Dear old Roxy didn't make it. I managed to quell a fever that spiked very high on Sunday night, and in the morning, she was taken to the vet, Dr. Bo Bergloff, who advised that at her advanced age, the battle with the kennel cough would be the same, and so very peacefully, she took her journey to the Rainbow Bridge. She was cremated, and her ashes will come home Friday.

Two of the oldest dogs are hacking badly. Dr. Bo has left a prescription for them at a pharmacy. I will pick it up tomorrow. Poor Sophie has a runny nose - it will go from one to another. Until it is gone, I will be giving meds, including yucky cough syrup. Sophie has been in hiding all day. She wants none of that gawdawful stuff.

The puppy has been renamed Ziggy, and she is very sweet. She couldn't help if it she was wormy and was carrying it. She has gained about 3 lbs already and is happy being a puppy. She has taken up with Maya, my German shepherd, who treats her like a puppy of her own.

Vern, my red tabby rescue did not come home last night. I didn't see his body on the road, and his sidekick, Dottie, is missing him. They were partners in any crime of squirrel, bird and lizard hunting that was discovered here in the yard. We had a lot of lizards without tails because of Dottie. He is another worry.

Monday night pictures arrived in my email. My son's legs. Burned. A grilling accident. From the knees down. Second and third degree burns, and I hope you will keep us all in your thoughts
for a little while.

I haven't slept for a week now. I listen for dogs coughing. Now my son is keeping me up but tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and we will gather with the children and friends and be thankful it wasn't worse.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Be careful drive and I'll see you here Friday, if not before.

TARRA THE ELEPHANT MOURNS BELLA, HER DOG COMPANION

http://www.care2.com/causes/elephant-tarra-mourns-bella-the-dog.html

In his book, "The Outermost House", Henry Beston wrote this beautiful paragraph - one which I treasure. I mention it in my own book, "Waltz on the Wild Side - An Animal Lover's Journal", which is now sadly, out-of-print.

No matter how much we learn about animals, their interaction with their own species and others, we will never begin to even scratch the surface. But we can respect and love them for the jewels that they are, so special and unique, and attempt to understand the niches in the chain of their lives and their importance to ours...

“We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals. In a world older and more complete than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.”
― Henry Beston

I hope Tarra will be gifted with another dog companion who will bring this loving and intelligent animal happiness after grief.

Pet Loss and Euthanasia

http://www.pet-loss.net/euthanasia.shtml

Considering the events of yesterday, I thought this was appropriate.

A bereft dog owner's prayer...

http://www.myspace.com/rememberingbubbadawg

The prayer below appears on the link above. My friend, Connie, knows the owner/author of Bubbadawg and his memorial site.

As a former Weimaraner owner of three, and someone who has lost many, many dogs over a lifetime, this is an exceptional tribute. I'm sure it will comfort anyone who has lost a pet.

A Parting Prayer

Dear Lord,

Please open your gates
and call St. Francis
to come escort Bubba Dawg
across the Rainbow Bridge.

Assign him to a place of honor,
for he has been a faithful friend
and has always been by my side.

Bless the hands that send him to you,
for they are doing so in love and compassion,
freeing him from pain and suffering.

Grant me the strength not to dwell on my loss.
Help me remember the details of his life
with the love he has shown me.
And grant me the courage to honor him
by sharing those memories with others.

Let him remember me as well
and let him know that I will always love him.
And when it's my time to enter into your paradise,
please allow him to accompany those
who will bring me home.

Thank you, Lord,
for the gift of his companionship
and for the time we've had together.

And thank you, Lord,
for granting me the strength
to give him to you now.

Amen.

For anyone who's lost a pet...

I hope this will be of comfort to you.

Sunday is Pet Memorial Day

I found out about it from Squidoo, and the site is here. Squidoo is a neat kind of, well, website, I guess. They call it a "lens", easy to make and share with the world. Short bits of info on whatever you want.

http://www.squidoo.com/national-pet-memorial-day

So, on Sunday, I'll walk out to the garden, where there is a collection of stones as I do each day, and think about all the love that is under my feet, and the ashes that were released there.

More joy has been given to me because of those wonderful souls that came into my life than I can tell you. The grief at losing them is the price you pay for the joy of them all. Most of them were rescues. Dogs and cats. Even Muriko, my Moluccan cockatoo was a rescue, as was Mrs. Ricky, a Blue-crowned conure, who came from the trees in the yard, a lost bird in the neighborhood, to come and join Ricky, another of her kind. They lived happily for many years. It wasn't too long after she died, that he died, too. I'm sure it was a combination of age and longing for her.
He had far outlived the norm of 15 years and was well up into his twenties.

And remember those precious ones on death rows in every shelter in the country. One of those innocent animals could fill your life with love and devotion and years of happiness and companionship. You don't need a puppy or a kitten. Adult dogs and cats who have been through the trauma of being placed in a shelter, their lives changed so suddenly, understand the gift they have been given - that second chance. They will pay you back for your kindness every day of their life.

Pictured above is Buffy. I found her on the internet years ago while trying to place two Anatolian Shephers, mother and daughter, in California from here. She was in a high kill shelter in Los Angeles. Two guardian angel rescuers there arranged for her adoption. Barbara had her spayed, and she recuperated with her. Then Buffy was shipped to me via Delta Dash to Panama City.
She's the sweetest girl. Here she is with a haircut.

A thoughtful piece of writing to pass along...

when someone loses a dog or another pet. It's very touching, and from my internet friend, Elise's tribute page to her Rottie named Jazz. I just sent it off to several friends, two of whom just suffered the loss of their Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

I am still missing Blade. I see him everywhere. He's in the house, out in the yard, next to me, on the sofa. Maya is more confident of her place now, and she has gained a lot of weight. She seems content, though she is still anxious about being left alone. I always tell her I'll be right back when I leave, and tell her again, "I came right back".

Since the author is unknown, feel free to pass along the following if a friend loses his or her best friend.

To my beloved owner, there's some things I'd like to say. But first of all, to let you know,that I arrived okay. I'm writing this from the Bridge. Here I dwell with God above. Here there's no more tears of sadness. Here is just eternal love. Please do not be unhappy just because I'm out of sight. Remember that I am with you every morning, noon and night. That day I had to leave you when my life on earth was through, God picked me up and hugged me and He said, "I welcome you. It's good to have you back again, you were missed while you were gone. As for your dearest family, They'll be here later on." God gave me a list of things, that he wished for me to do. And foremost on the list, was to watch and care for you. And when you lie in bed at night the day's chores put to flight, God and I are closest to you in the middle of the night. When you think of my life on earth, and all those loving years, because you are only human, they are bound to bring you tears. But do not be afraid to cry: it does relieve the pain. Remember there would be no flowers, unless there was some rain. I wish that I could tell you all that God has planned. If I were to tell you, you wouldn't understand. But one thing is for certain, though my life on earth is o'er. I'm closer to you now, than I ever was before. There are rocky roads ahead of you and many hills to climb; But together we can do it by taking one day at a time. It was always my philosophy and I'd like it for you too; That as you give unto the world, the world will give to you. If you can help somebody who's in sorrow and pain; Then you can say to God at night... "My day was not in vain." And now I am contented that my life was worthwhile. Knowing as I passed along I made somebody smile. God says: "If you meet somebody who is sad and feeling low; Just lend a hand to pick him up, as on your way you go. When you're walking down the street with me on your mind; I'm walking in your footsteps only half a step behind." "And when it's time for you to go, from that body to be free. Remember you're not going, you're coming here to me." -Author Unknown

Words of comfort from a friend...

at Blade's death. Today I am dealing with the "hole in the fabric".

Someone sent me this, this morning. Maybe it will comfort you as it has me:

Know all your obligations were kind.

Know all your obligations were kind.

                                ~ Seneca ~

A Blade progress report - Dr. Lowe was right...

The tumor is starting to wrap around to the front of his leg, just at the joint, and now is preventing full motion when he walks or trots. No more streaking around the yard, although he has chased a couple of squirrels, and Vern and Dottie (the cats) a couple of time this week. Today he was lying against the front door and couldn't get up. His bad leg was the one he needed to get up on, and he couldn't. After several attempts, he rolled over to the other side to where he could rise on the other rear leg. He hasn't wanted to go out today. It's very hot outside. It's ok with me.

When I saw that, I knew that it's probably time to say goodbye. I sauteed him chicken liver in butter, flavored with garlic and cajun seasoning. Very tasty to me, and obviously to Blade, too.
I sat in the bedroom with him with the air conditioning on, and fed him one by one.

He needs a bath; this year for the first time, his coat is coarse. This area has had a terrible time with fleas - nothing works - Advantage or Frontline. Both have lost their efficacy. Adams spray still works, but just for a little while. It does knock the fleas down immediately, though. Thank goodness I got rid of the carpets. I stopped feeding the squirrels and dust outside with Sevin where he lays. But it rained a couple of times, and now they're back in full force.

I'm not going to bathe him. I can't take the chance of fracturing that bony tumor. If I put him in the bathtub with nice warm water, and he slips, he'll break his leg in that spot. The cancer thins the bone.

The arrangements have been made with his vet, and we will say goodbye on Wednesday. I will bring chicken livers and feed him, if he wants them, so the last thing he'll know before he shuts his eyes for the last time, is that he was eating something yummy before he got so sleepy...

My beautiful, goofy boy. There's so much life left in him. Damn that tumor!

He'll be cremated and the ashes returned. I have a little jar in my dresser where the ashes of my dearly departed - the dogs and cats I've had cremated reside. I'm taking them with me when I go.