First let me say how deeply sorry I am for your loss, and also how thankful I am for allowing other like me to tell you our stories of our lost friends.

I also had a friend named PEPSI; She was a mixed breed of Shepherd and Collie. She first met me when we were both new arrivals to my wife’s home. We some what grew up together. I lost my Mother when I was sixteen and then my father at eighteen. I married at nineteen to an older woman with two children.

As Pepsi and I developed a relationship with each other, I recall one incident. Being somewhat poor,
we could not afford a visit to the Veterinarian when she cut her paw on chicken wire, causing a gash that may have required stitches. Pepsi stayed still while I used a household first aid kit and box tape to bandage her foot. She trusted me.

But with all loved one’s they grow old. At the human age of eleven, she got arthritis in the hip, and also showed signs of tumors in her teats. She was unable to stand or walk to her food bowl without assistance.
I had dealt with the loss of my parents, but I did not know them as close as I did with Pepsi. Yes they were there for me, but it was not like the friendship I had with my dog.

As night came, I informed my wife of my intentions to put the dog down, so as not to be question about eating my dinner fast, and sneaking the dog out the front door as the children finessed eating, so they would not see. This being the hardest, because Pepsi did not know where we were going, and trusted I would take care of her. I drove to the S.P.C.A. with tears in my eyes, talking and begging to her to forgive me. I was unable to be with her at her last moment for some technical reason. So I said my good byes and hugged her one last time. We haven’t had a dog since her. I miss her!

As a Philadelphia Police Officer, I have seed the worst that man can do to each other and walk away not feeling hatred towards God. But one incident in which one of my fellow officers brought in a kitten who’s mother had just been hit by a car. I told her that if I look at it, it would be going home with me. The kitten was several days old, covered with fleas, but I took it. I called it YODA because of how tiny it was and she had a scrunched up face.

It happens to be Good Friday, when Yoda and I met. I could not find a Veterinarian open, and the S.P.C.A Veterinarians were all gone for the weekend. I tried my best to feed the kitten with milk, and soft cat food. She was sick, maybe from the West Philly streets she came from, or from being to young to be from her mother. She died in my hand as I was giving her milk.

Mark, I lost my stepson when he was Twenty-six in 1996, and I herd “ well God needed him”, and also “God works in mysterious ways”. But I tell you I have a Boxing match scheduled with GOD. Why create a kitten, to suffer with out a mother, to be tortured with fleas, to be given a chance with me on Good Friday. When there was no way to save her, only to die in my hand. I will fight him, I know I will lose, but he got it coming. And I hope it’s one on one. Not any Holy trinity, Father, son and Holy Ghost stuff!

Once again, thank you. Harold Snow

Harold from Florida