Miss Abigail came to us from an acquaintance in Pueblo, CO who had been visiting a friend in Cheyenne, WY who happened to work in the animal shelter there.  Because Abigail had such an unusual background she asked our friend to take the dog with her to Pueblo and try and find a suitable home for “Abbey”.  When Lucille brought her to us at our place of employment she asked us if we would try the little dog for a week and if we didn’t want her to let her know and would pick Abbey up.  I was hesitant because Abigail happened to be a Miniature Poodle which I considered a lady’s dog and  because she  was registered and had all her records of the past 27 months with her, I thought what is wrong with this dog.  But my wife pleaded so I relented and said okay.  We brought her home and after reading the papers I became somewhat disillusioned because Abbey had 5 previous owners (this must be the dog from hell).  She spent one night with us and we became aware of the fact that we would not be her sixth owner – she would own us!  Obviously no one had tried to bond with this dog – thus became a 14 and ½  year odyssey of devotion and joy unparalleled by anything else in our home.  Little did I know at the time that 1 year later I would be told that because of my progressive physical  disability and age It would be best for me to retire.  I had worked all my life and was not ready to quit and for the next few years Abbey became a precious gift from God.  She never left my side and went everywhere with me at home or away.  Abigail lived far beyond the 12 to 14 years predicted for a Miniature Poodle but about a year ago we noticed a change in her as she was getting slow and wanting to sleep more.  We realized that time was becoming limited and tried to brace for the inevitable.  However nothing could have prepared us for the pain we had to endure last Friday when at the age of 16 years and 10 months, we had to say good-bye to our beloved Abigail and watch her gently put to sleep.  She passed as she lived, very quietly and with dignity.  Now we grieve.  As Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy so aptly wrote:  “Dogs are miracles with paws”.

— Terry from Wilber, NE

I have been wonderfully blessed with almost 13 loving years with my best buddy, my basset hound, Rebel. He was born in my home on August 5, 2000 and has been my best friend since. Tomorrow will be one of the saddest days in my life because of many illnesses I cannot list I will have to put him down. I have agonized over the decision and after many vet visits in the last week I have exhausted all other options and I know it will be best for him. His master (my late spouse) will be there to greet him along with my dad who passed away in January. My heart is heavy and my soul will have another empty spot when he departs this earth but I know we will be reunited once again. The decision to have him euthanized was the hardest decision to make since I had to make the decision to take my spouse off of life support. The pain and emptiness will always remain but  must remember that I was blessed with having him in my life and for that I am a better person for it. Thank you God for giving him to me and watch over him till our reunion.

— Mary from Fayetteville, AR

My dog Mina passed away 9/28/12 and still miss her dearly.She was very loyal and loved to romp around when I would get home from work.I have decided to get another dog in the fall.Can’t wait to walk him around the neighborhood!

— John from Ithaca, NY

My yellow Labrador retriever, Luke, ( Luke the Lab) was found, as was Mark’s Sprite, wondering around the city, very thin, lost. He was an English type Lab, with strong heavy bones, beautiful golden yellow coat, and gorgeous, soulful, pleading brown eyes.  We found each other at our local animal shelter. He was at least 3 they said, probably older. That was in 2006.

Luke, like so many wonderful dogs, was joyous, faithful, loyal, kind, fun loving, intelligent, full of love, and comforting to us all.  He had his own cat that he shared his dog bed with, and other dogs to be with, but he was very close to me.

All was wonderful until May 2013. One day he just couldn’t walk. I thought it was his hips. The vet said it was a collapsed disc in his neck, which prevented him from being able to look up or move his legs. They put him on prednisone. He suffered a terrible and rare reaction to it, which the vet said only some 1 % of dogs do. His fur and skin in huge patches, became loose and were falling off. It was so horrible to see! Despite the pain in the neck, which virtually immobilized him, he wagged his tail!

Despite the prednisone and its terrible side effects, Luke still could not walk much.  I began to fear the outcome.

My kids live in other states, and there was no one to help me make any decisions. I suffered and cried. I scheduled an appointment with the vet, and that day, he walked around, ate a whole plate of food, drank water, wagged his tail, and seemed to smile!

The vet said that the prednisone was the best drug, and if he couldn’t tolerate it, and it didn’t allow him to walk, that the prognosis was poor.

I looked into his eyes and he into mine. I saw pain and love.  I made the decision on June 4th, 2013, to “raise Luke up” to dog heaven. I am crying as I type. I feel so guilty, so empty, so sad.

My son in law gave me your book, “Rescuing Sprite” a couple of years ago. It was in a rack with other unread books, until  I picked it up on Saturday, June 22, 2013. Your words, your emotions, your descriptions of guilt and loss, your unembarrassed tears and obvious gut wrenching grief, and your hope that your book would help others, who are suffering as you did, with their loss, helped me more than anything else! Unlike you, I was alone with my precious Luke. The family could not be there, I had to bear it on my own. My guilt and pain seemed to be increasing, until I read your book in one sitting.

I truly believe animals have souls, or energy forces, critical masses, or whatever phrase or description is most applicable, and that we will be together again.

My Luke joins my wonderful Siamese cat, who died in my arms, and my childhood horse, Laddie, who was shot by a stray bullet, in the great Animal Kingdom.

Thank you Mark, for having the courage to share your feelings and grief. Something about animals, and especially dogs, is more like innocent babies.Their loss cuts like a scalpel.  Thank you for helping me start the healing process in a positive way.

— Diane from Maryville, TN

I wanted to share Trooper with everyone. He has been my pal since 2003…a Flame point Siamese.. he adopted us via the great people of the Dayton Humane Society (not affiliated with the natl)…I came home from the war injured in 2005 and best rest for the better part of a year…he would be on the bed a long with another who is now gone..Blue in 06. Quick with his charm….caring and always licking my face…he has made our lives so much better. He is now 12..perhaps older since he was a rescue and the doctor guessed 2. Sadly Trooper may be in the last days of life…lost weight eating has slowed and doc thinks the end is near.Still…while my wife and I are torn up at times..he comes to us as weak as he is…..he refuses to give up and who am I to deny him that. Whoever named him Trooper…did indeed name him right…a fighter to the very end….

— Tad from Ansonia, OH

Just over a week ago, something devastating happened to me. I lost my best friend, my long-haired love Sweet pea. Three weeks before that, another devastation, I lost my other beautiful best friend, Lacey. They were litter-mates, sisters, and best friends.

In March we found out Lacey had a very large liver mass, with the only defining time of how much time I had left with her was that “…every day that she eats, is a good day.”  Around that time, I noticed that Sweet pea was acting bit depressed, but I thought that was because I was spending so much extra time with Lacey and she was getting jealous. After a week she wasn’t acting herself still, so I took her into the vet the following weekend. The blood work left no questions – she was in renal failure.  This is truly the only time in my life I have ever wished for wealth, for money would have been the means by which time could have been bought for them.

I still can’t believe they are gone.  For days I cried nonstop. I cried when I woke up. I cried in the shower. I cried when I was drinking my coffee, on the way to work, at work, driving home, and in bed before I went to sleep. Last night I cried as I sat on the sidewalk watching our town’s firework display. You see, fireworks would scare my babies so I never went to them; I always stayed home comforting my puppies during the bangs and booms of the 4th of July celebrations. I would have given anything to have been able to be home with them instead of where I was.

My days are lonely; there is no one spinning in circles and jumping for absolute joy when I walk in the door. No one is by my side when I watch TV, or waiting by the shower door when I step out of the tub, or begging for a morsel of my breakfast. The place in the bed where my dogs once lied is empty and cold. My grief has not subsided and I know that as the months pass life will become more “usual” for time will force this change on me, but I will never get over this loss.  I will never get another dog, for I can’t even thing of replacing my lovelies. I will go to work, pay my bills and act normal because I have to, all the while hiding the grief and (mostly) waiting for private moment s to let down the barrier that holds my tears. Most of the time I am able to, although while at the mall a few days ago returning something I couldn’t stop the flood of tears and the poor girl waiting on me didn’t even know how to act (can’t say that I blame her).

So, I wait out until the time when God calls me home. While I am not suicidal, truly I hope it is sooner rather than later. My joy is gone. Sleep is a relief, and when I dream about my babies it feels so good to “see” them again. I have had them both since they were seven weeks old, and for 14 years they have loved me like no other. At the same time I feel guilty, wrapped up in my own feelings and so mad at God for not giving me more time with them and taking them both at almost the same time, that it’s hard for me to feel the pain of those around me. I have a co-worker who lost her husband last month and I am so busy grieving for myself that I can’t share her grief like I think I should.

I wanted to put this down into words for there is a strange consolation in sharing my loss.

— Pam from Felton, PA