Aurora was my first American Mastiff She and I loved swimming together, especially doing water rescue with me.. She loved making bubbles, while swimming in large circles in the lake and playing with the huge waves in Lake Erie. As most giant breeds, Aurora was extremely gentle, highly intelligent and humorous. Since she was an 9 week old, she would by the handle swirl a large bucket above her head and throw it above her and ketch it, never dropping it. Others laughed at this self taught trick and her humorous style the funny ways she bounced a large  ball  on  a rope. She loved children, other animals and seemed almost human to everyone. From the numerous stories of love and joy two stand out  to be the most memorable. A flock of geese were beckoning Aurora to follow them from the shoreline to nearly the middle of  the lake. She happily followed them not knowing they were leading her away from there nest eggs along the shore. The other story happened at our pioneer festival, when he was 6 month old. A local deer park exhibited a dozen baby animals comprised of rams, a camel and large turtle surrounded by  a wire fence. As Aurora and I approached the baby animals, they left the children feeding them and came to greet her out of curiosity. Aurora came close to the large baby turtle and drew her long tongue through the wire fence and licked the turtle. The turtle so enjoyed my doghter’s kisses that it came closer to her and just remained still allowing Aurora to continue with her luscious doggie kisses. Sadly,wan unknown criminal gave her a bones saturated with antifreeze,which was confirmed by the dog warden and vet. This was one of the worst experiences of my life. She is the first dog I had cremated.

— Maryanne from Youngstown, OH

I am beyond heart broken, once again because of loving one of God’s precious furry creations. I received a phone call this morning. It was a woman who had spent all day yesterday making phone calls and posting on the internet in an attempt to locate me. Finally, this morning, she received a return phone call from the TN Dept of Health with my name and contact information.

This good Samaritan had news for me about our foster baby, Angel. She had found Angel on the side of the road. Angel had been hit by a car. This woman tried to get the local SPCA to pick her up and help locate the owner. She was told that they didn’t do that. They leave the disposal of animals to the prisoner trash duty. So, this woman went back to where she found Angel and because she was too upset to take Angel’s collar off, her son did. She wanted the owner to know what had happened and return the collar and tag.
This in and of itself tore me to pieces. The turmoil was intensified, though, due to a couple of omissions of information that I received – or didn’t receive – from both the animal rescue that provided the transport Angel and her siblings were on and the shelter that they were taken to.

You see, the next day after transport, I called the shelter to be sure they all arrived safely. I was assured that they had. I reminded them that the three were litter mates and if possible, be sure they were kept near each other, as they had never been apart. I was told that they would. That weekend, the shelter posted to their facebook page, photos of the dogs that were on the transport from TN. I saw Scout and Houndini, but no Angel. I was hopeful that she had already been adopted. I waited until after the weekend to call the shelter again to check on each of the pup’s adoption status. I was told Angel had been adopted.

We had found out the evening we took them to the transport that they would be switching vehicles somewhere near the KY/OH state line. Obviously, Angel got away from the transport and the rescue never notified us that she did. So, between the rescue and the shelter, we were deceived and thus, Angel was killed by a car.

I will be eternally grateful to this Samaritan woman who went above and beyond to find me. Because of her diligence, I was able to locate a pet memory center who went and picked up Angel’s body and is taking care of her for us. Angel will be back home with us early next week.

Here is Angel’s life story. This was the letter I had written to her new adopted family:

Hi … my name is Angel. I got that name for two reasons: first, the markings on my shoulder blades and second, because I survived the odds and lived. I can be very verbal, but it is usually when I want my Mom or Dad. I’ve been told I’m part Lab/part Pointer. I am a lovely beige color with caramel color ears, and angel wing-shaped markings on my shoulder blades. I have brown eyes. I was rescued by my foster parents from a kill shelter in a rural community. Had they not stepped in at the last moment, I wouldn’t be here today. They drove 2 hours to pick me up along with 5 other siblings and another stray puppy for a Rescue.

We were about a month old. I remember riding home in a really big box and that first bath. Living in an overcrowded shelter is not the best place to stay fresh and clean. We all enjoyed the sunshine of that fall day and played in the green grass. Something wasn’t right, though. A couple of my sisters weren’t very playful and didn’t want to eat or drink very much. Our foster mom noticed this and the next morning, there was a Dr. who came to visit us. He gave us all some medicine, but Mom separated one of our sisters from us so she could rest. I never saw her again. Whatever happened, Mom was very sad and held us all even closer.

Over the next weeks, we saw the Dr. several times again and during that time, different ones would once again be separated. I was one of the ones separated, but I was able to return to my brother and sister. I knew I was loved so much because every evening, Mom and Dad would take the time to hold each of us and tell us we were loved before they tucked us into bed.

You see, we were to have just been with our foster parents for two weeks. But, once the sponsoring Rescue discovered how sick we were, they couldn’t take us. Ten months and three of us later, we have the hope of a forever home.

During this time, I have enjoyed playing with my brother and sister, both indoors and out. We love tug of war! We eat Iams Proactive Health Mini Chunks twice a day and enjoy our rawhide bones. We also get Milkbone treats!

I have been spayed, am fully vetted and up to date on shots. I take Comfortis for flea prevention and Iverhart for heartworm prevention. I go to the vet to have my nails trimmed and when my folks have to be out of town, I get the full spa treatment at the pet resort.
I’m not fully housetrained, but I am pad trained. With some one on one attention, I should catch on pretty quickly because my foster parents know how smart I am. I enjoy routine and can always anticipate what’s next. When things don’t go quite like I’m used to, I get excited, but, with direction I can figure it out.

I love to gives ‘kisses’ and enjoy spending time with my people. I am used to being indoors and like something soft to sleep on. I am still learning to walk with a lead. Because I do love to jump, a harness works best with the lead. I don’t like getting into it, but, with more experience, it should be a piece of cake!

I’m going to miss the only home I’ve ever known. But, my foster parents have assured me that I am going to be in another home where I can get even more loving attention than they have given to me. Please be patient with me as I make this adjustment and love me as much as I will love you.

— Jill from Cookeville, TN

We had to put our beloved Shayna to sleep on 2/29/12 after a brief but valiant fight with cancer. The night Shayna’s vet came to the house to end her suffering, she had 12 of her friends and family with her to say good-bye. We have never felt such pain and loss in our 60 years of living. Shayna was a rescued three-legged Pit Bull who was special to us and many friends. She taught us and so many folks just how special Pit Bulls are, in spite of the bad press they get.

After TWO lonely days and not knowing what she’d say, I asked Susan if she wanted to adopt another “Pitty”. She quickly found a site called Pet-a-Bulls that rescue “bully” type dogs here in New Mexico. Then Susan say a picture of a Pitty that looked similar the Shayna so she sent off an e-mail. Long story short, we adopted Ginger two days later and she has becoming the joy of our hearts. Ginger takes her place with Shayna and we’ve found that as our love for Ginny-Gin-Gin has grown, so has our love for Shayna. We readily admit to a certain prejudice, but we honestly believe our lives have been enhanced beyond words because our “babies” were Pit Bulls.

— Bob, Susan and Ginger from Rio Rancho, NM

I am writing this with a lump in my throat. I have so many thoughts racing through my head. This is about a loss my family has suffered. Which many families suffer. And it helps to write about it. My sweet little doggie is gone.

16 months after I was married, and was eight months into my new job a box of puppies was brought to CT. I saw this little black pomapoo with white feet. I called my wife and told her we needed a dog. I hadn’t had a pet for years. Hello Macy! Well. That was March 1994. The little thing was flea bitten and had parasites. Great. Vet bills. And it wailed at night. So it slept in the bed with us. My wife is an amazaing mom. She would take it outside. Can’t walk a dog like this though. Mostly its a “carry.” It got Science Diet “crinkles.” And loved grilled chicken. My wife trained the dog to use a cat sandbox for her business. One night it wandered off the bed. Broke front leg. Matchstick leg. The cast didn’t help. Had to go to Athens for a plate and screw. That worked. And cost a bunch. But that dog was amazing. It was always underfoot like little dogs are. It could bound up the stairs two at a time. Hilarious. Sat in the chair with me and watched TV. Gave me tons of “hoosies”, my word for kisses. It got to know our personalities. That the wife didn’t like being licked in the face. That I did.

Fast forward to 1997. Birth of our only son. And a new house. The dog never really took to the boy. Maybe felt he was competition. And the dog was a little nipper. Liked to bite. And bold attitude for being six pounds. This dog traveled with us to visit our families down South. Hardly spent time at the vet.

Moved to my current practice. Dog with us. Apartment to new house. Dog took to the new house. Couldn’t climb the stairs though. It was 11 then. Getting a little grey around the face. Years go by. We all get older but it seems that time stands still. You know what I mean? You get in a routine. School. Vacations. Restaurants. Favorite TV shows. Work. One of my lines is “it”s SO much the same.” Well, Father Time is grinning. He marches on and fools you into thinking that this current situation will go on forever.

Well. The last two years haven’t been kind to Macy. All white in the face. Losing muscle mass. Wobbly legs. We had to devise a system to keep her comfortable. She spent most of the day in a little doggie bed on the sofa in the family room. Her “bathroom” was in the back. When she went to the edge of the sofa, we knew to take her to her sandbox. At night, she slept upstairs in a dark bathroom with her nightlight because if she heard us, she would want to sleep in the bed with us, which we couldn’t let her do anymore for fear of her wandering off the edge.

It was Tuesday night.My wife said the dog had been crying all day.  I was in my usual position on the sofa. Dog at my feet. It suddenly tumbled out of the bed and had a twenty second grand mal seizure. I called my wife. As a physician, I recognized the post ictal state it was now in. Labored breathing. Listless. We thought it was going to die. We knew it was time. My wife, god bless her strength, tried to make her last night comfortable. The dog was too confused to eat, but could lick water out of her hand. She took it outside “one last time.” Our mostly feral cat nuzzled the dog, sensing something. My wife sat with the dog on the floor. It made constant circles around her. My guess is the dog had a bleed, stroke or tumor. A tiny part of me hoped the dog would recover. That this was a one time thing. But we both knew this was likely it’s last night. I had work the next day. Couldn’t stay up with it. I was upset about that. I felt I owed Macy my time. I awoke the next morning. Went upstairs. My wife had been up all night. Said Macy had two more seizures and on the last one, the poor dog was dragging it’s legs. She was going to the vet to “see what he thinks.” I knew. I took a last look at the dog. It was breathing hard but looked the same. I couldn’t bring myself to kiss it. I had the night before. It had given me one last “hoosie.”  I knew that was the last time I’d see her. I went to work. Angry. I felt I owed her that time. My wife relates that she took the dog in the car to the vet. Isn’t it wonderful that animals don’t know whats going on. She was leaving HER house, never to return. God bless the strength of my wife. My son, learner’s permit in hand, drove her. The dog was wimpering some. She said at the vet, the dog stopped crying. She usually shakes at the vet but not today. Did she know? The dog was given a pain killer and went limp, according to my wife. Back at the hospital, my son sent a text. “She just got the shot.” You are looking at a man who never cries. Over anything or anyone. I closed out the film I was reading, bowed my head, and cried for my dog. My sweet liitle hoosie. My wife snapped a picture of it after it’s breathing stopped. It looked so old and frail. The vet took her away.

My wife then went to visit her mom down South, which had been planned for a week. That was good for her. For me, the misery began.

I arrived home. My wife had thoughtfully removed all vestiges of the dog. I frantically ran to the back. No baby gates. No sandbox. No water bowl. No crinkles in the bowl. Just an empty dog treat container. I ran down the hall. Her little squeaky toy. I ran upstairs. No sandbox. No bowl. No nightlight. Nothing. I ran to the bedroom. My wife had left a teddy bear in the bed so I wouldn’t feel so alone. You have to imagine this: A 50 year old 200 hundred pound man sobbing uncontrollably over a four pound dog. Deep sobs. The kind that gives you a headache. I don’t know what exactly I was crying about. Mostly the finality of death. For 18 years I’d gotten wet sticky “hoosies” off this dog. It laid in the bed with me through my numerous medical procedures and yearly flu. It kept me company when I watched TV. Or maybe I was crying because I always feel such anguish when a living creature’s journey has ended. I know it was 18. But I somehow felt it could keep going a bit longer. Or maybe that this was the rude way Father Time shows you that life is moving forward even though you think it is static.

I didn’t sleep well that night. I thought I heard it crying. Kept waking up. The next day, there was no Macy wimpering to come downstairs for her jerky treat. Dead silence. I went to work. Was tough. Shared with people. I had such bizarre thoughts. I wanted the world to stop. This dog was my life. I wanted Macy somehow to know that her life mattered. She made me a better person. She taught me to care for another living creature prior to our son’s birth. I never felt alone with her around. I was wondering: If there is a heaven, is she with loved ones or alone, looking for us?

My wife is devastated. And she’s the strong one. We texted all day. We are the only two who understand the loss. My son is sad, but never really got to bond with Macy. It’s gonna be hard on her when school starts back, and I’m at work because she hasn’t been alone in the house for 18 years. Our little buddy has always been there.

We decided to cremate her. Have an urn with a picture that they can put on the urn. And I’ll keep her in the family room where she spent most of her life. That is actually bringing me some comfort. Knowing she will be “watching” TV with me again. Maybe that sounds bizarre to you non pet people. But you pet people understand.

Our family dog, a 13 1/2 year old Golden Retriever named Callie (alias: Psycho Dog, Callie Monster, Callie Girl and various others) sadly had to be put to sleep last month.  Contrary to what you might conclude from her nick-names she was a remarkable dog/companion. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t hear her subtle nuances…sounds of Her quiet sighs, her nudging the kitchen screen door, the jingle of her tags, the quiet thumping of her tail on the kitchen floor when I’d walk in.  These sweet memories will fondly linger in my memory sadly eliciting sometimes just a tear but more often an overwhelming  rush of grief.  Callie was the “Constant” of our typically busy family.  She was always there with her unconditional love…Our Soft Place to land.

— Joely from Sherwood, OR

Our beautiful Basset Beagle Maggie May  was with us from 5/98 to12/15/12.She had cancer3 years ago & went thru chemo treatments 17 times. Thought that would be enough to keep her as long as our 1’st dog Ziggy who was 17 y.o. This past December, she developed cancer in the neck & then had diabetes. She no longer had a good quality of life so we new it was time to join Ziggy. My wife & I had them both cremated & I can at least say hi every day to them.

— Steve from Tampa, FL