My Misty
I read your book yesterday whilst on a train journey – I couldn’t put it down even though I could feel my own heart breaking whilst I read it. I lost my precious collie cross Misty in May – she was thirteen and was diagnosed with a tumour in her chest last December, and the vet – a wonderful man with the greatest heart for animals – reckoned she would only have a few weeks, but Misty had other ideas!.With weekly steroid injections and all the food she wanted (which was always a passion with her) she, and I enjoyed the months through winter and Spring into the start of a lovely warm summer. She enjoyed walks, runs in the car and being lavished with more love than up until then I ever knew I was capable of feeling.
I had always loved her, from when I adopted her at eighteen months old after she had had a bad start in life – she wrecked my house, sent my other dog Briagh round the bend with unwanted displays of affection and stole my heart (and that of Braigh’s too, eventually) and then after I lost Briagh she gradually became so scared of everything that made noises that I had to engage a behaviourist to help me and her get over her fears. By then I had aquired my present dog – a collie called Floss and Misty manged to teach her afew bad habits like chasing cats, barking when I put my walking jacket on and scrounging food from anyone foolish enough to sit down anywhere in the house with the idea of enjoying a biscuit!
I now look at Floss when she does certain things and thank Misty for being her role model during her youth,I feel that a part of Misty lives on through Floss.
One habit Misty had aquired from when she was first diagnosed was wanting to sleep outside at night – I eventually had to leave the back door open overnight to let her come and go as she pleased – we were often cold -and the kitchen floor was often wet if the rain was coming in the wrong direction – but I never minded too much, but the night of the day when I said goodbye to her I sat up till 3am because I couldn’t bear to close that door and put off the outside light. It still hurts each night when I shut that door.
Taking misty to the vet for the final time was so awful,like Mark I counted every minute of the hours up until the appointment – i had no worries about taking her there – at that time the Vets surgery was in a portacabin whilst waiting for his new surgery to be completed, and Misty loved going in there – she knew every inch of the cabin, and the vetinary nurse – Karen – used to keep part of her sandwich for her on the days when she was due to go in, and Alistair, the vet fed her biscuits or other treats and Misty loved and trusted him. It broke my heart saying goodbye – I held her so close, and bless her – the last thing she ever did was eat a couple of biscuits even as she was getting the injection – that’s how much she trusted us – and even now I have to remember that if I hadn’t let her go then she would have suffered – she was weak and her balance was not good, her heart rate was erratic, and in her last day she lay flat out with a glazed look in her eyes, and for the first time ever in her life she was refusing to eat anything but an odd little biscuit – not even chicken, which was her favourite thing in the whole world to eat. It was several months before I could even look at chicken myself – so poor Floss must have wondered why she wasn’t getting a regular treat of chicken herself.
I had never heard of Mark Levin before someone gave me his book as a gift, and I know nothing of his profession or career, but to read the story of his family and their love for Pepsi and Sprite without glamorising or dramatising events made me think, that perhaps I could write a little bit about my Misty, and place her memory in a place where others who understand what our precious four legged friends mean to us.
I would like to have put in a picture of this wonderful dog – but I can’t get the technology to work for me.
Someday we’ll meet again “over the rainbow bridge”

Ann from Scotland