Jake was an intensely sweet, handsome and loving boxer boy with a heart the size of all out doors. Slept in the bed, ate when we ate and adopted my daughter at birth and never left her side. He loved his mom but I was his dad who took him for walks and hugged him in barrel chested front paw of the ground crushers at least three times a day and kissed him more than I can even imagine counting on his big block head. He would look at you with those boxer eyes and stair straight into your soul.

When he stopped eating we knew something was wrong, an ultrasound showed likely cancer in his stomach, and he then stopped taking drink right before Thanksgiving Day. His favorite day. The day before the bird was cooked the owner of our amazing vet gave me the news and some incredibly sage advice. Not just about Jake but about Emily and how her “brother, as she called him” would not be in pain. It was time to say goodbye to my best friend and I had to do it. I didn’t know how but I had to do it. I had to do it. He was always there for me. Always. Like breathing, He was always there. I had to do it, I did. I just didn’t know how I could.

Thanksgiving was bittersweet as everyone came from all around and held him and kissed him and while on amazing amounts of pain meds through injections he rose first to pull himself up with my camera and set out for the front door for the annual photo shoot with his favorite girl for the Christmas card and it was incredible. Later when wiped out from the short photo session he smelled my 80 year old mom when she took the floor next to him and he pulled himself off his dog bed in into my moms lap on the floor as he had since birth looked at me a cried a little and then went to sleep. He was handsome and brave and sweet and loving and amazing. We drank great wine to him for the rest of the afternoon and I knew I did not want the day to end and that I did not want to sleep.

The following morning we said our goodbyes, prayed over him the best we could and Jake and I were off to the clinic. I will forever remember the songs in the car and the smells in the air. The stops at the park and the ride through the neighborhood with the windows down to see all that he loved.

I will remember the horrible clinical talk and the small peep that he made when the needle went in and after jumping to him as I always do at each visit where shots or blood pulls were needed I said, ”that all right buddy that wasn’t that bad, your my good boy, good boy” realizing the words didn’t match the future as they were coming out of my mouth. As I held him, a hand on each side of his head, looking straight into his big beautiful eyes I cried I love you buddy, its going to be alright, I love you buddy, its ok. as he passed from our world so peacefully and with such dignity. The dignity he held for every second of every day of his life. I cried, no bellowed, in the car like I have never before.

I’m lost, my daughter is lost. My wife is lost and the house different. These Angles are life and if we are lucky enough to share one with them we are blessed beyond words. I wrote when he died and it helped. I’m not a writer but I pray I was a good dad.

We will miss him more than we can say and thank our God above
Who blessed us with this magic soul who only wanted Love
And envy him with every breath for he is at His side

http://www.timjoseph.com/WeLoveYouJake/
His life with usTim from TX

While I’ve never been an animal lover, inspired by friends, family and by Mark’s show, I decided to adopt my first dog or cat. With my schedule, I didn’t feel I could give the time to a dog that he/she would need, so I decided on a cat. This past Saturday, I adopted a 10-12 week old Russian Blue cat whom I’ve named Anastasia. She is the only survivor of her litter, all of whom were found starving and abandoned when they were brought to the cat rescue. While she is very shy and hides most of the time (she’s just getting used to her new home), but she still likes to come out to be petted and to play.

For a cat who has had such a hard life so far, she’s very lovable, gentle and playful and I look forward to 15-20 years of spoiling her. I used to listen to stories of the difficulty people had in losing a pet and thought it was ridiculous that grown adults should mourn over the loss of an animal. But after being a “daddy” to a little kitten for just a couple of days, I now understand. She’s already becoming an important part of my life and I know I would already miss her. I look forward to building a long friendship with her. Thank to everyone for your wonderful and moving stories. I know I’ve been touched by them.

Frank from MI

Mark – I am half way thru your book about Sprite and I can’t quit crying. I, too, rescued a dog from the SPCA in 1988, a week after my mom died. Bud, a Cocker Sheltie mix, was around 2 yrs old when he came to live with me. In the 17 yrs. that he was with me, I got married, got divorced and was forced to be on my own for the first time in my life. It would have been a lot harder if I had not had Bud to keep me going. At 10 yrs of age, he was diagnosed with a type of Lymphoma. The vet said he would need surgery to remove some tumors that if not removed, would eventually prohibit him from walking, as they were between his front legs and chest. I didn’t even think twice about it. 10 surgeries and a load of credit card debt later, a new tumor had formed on his groin area and the vet told me this one would be inoperable. He told me I could put him down at that time or wait until he got worse. I wasn’t ready to hear this news. Only a couple of days went by after that vet visit, and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. He was at the point where he didn’t want to be touched or held or even have his belly rubbed. I took him that day to be put to sleep and will never forget how peaceful he looked as he died. That was the hardest day of my life but I will never forget him as long as I live. He was the best friend a person could have asked for.

Diann from PA

Mark:

Listening to your show I feel a kinship with you philosophically. But now we share the loss of a beloved pet. This morning I had to make one of the toughest decisions of my life; to put down one of my cats that we have had for the last twelve years. Kelly, was a very sweet calico, over the weekend the condition which led to this decision took a dramatic turn for the worse. So this morning we lost our beloved “little girl” , at my wife’s request I buried her in our front yard under our bedroom window, Shew was mcuh loved and will be gratly missed.

Skip from MD

Hey Mark,
Got through to you twice. Big listener/fan. The third time ,was to respond to “Rescuing Sprite”. They wouldn’t put me through, because I said I didn’t know if I could read your book.
My heartache, isn’t about an “older” dog.

This was my first dog, a Japanese Chin, name Sake. (we may have something in common here, with names). Anyway, she never made it to her 2nd birthday. I could go on with details, trips doctors, vets, medicines etc….
She was beautiful, ( as all animals are), 17 lbs, long hair and the cutest face. I will never forgot her and my heart breaks to this day. The minute I started reading your book,the tears started.
I couldn’t let her go. You DID the right thing. I believe I was selfish, because how could this be happening.I was Sake mother and had to do everything possible for her.Like any mother, right?. Sake was so young, she was a baby.Even when the doctors said “let her go”. I couldn’t accept it.
Until, Sake finally said so.
So I did………………..

I guess, no matter, how old or how young, (2 years, either way) the pain, grief, sorry, will be there.
It’s been three years, I’m crying now, but you know what. My boyfriend and daughter, (probably like Kandell) introduced me to Roxie. part Puggle and Beaggle. Love her!!!!
Thank you Mark, for your book. It’s helped me.
Still crying, sniffing, but I don’t feel alone.
love your book and Sprite. hope they’re playing “tug-o-war”

Katherine from NY

We rescued a female mini schanuzer named Courtney. When we first met her, she was the only female mini out of half a dozen rambunctious males all jumping up on us, trying to get attention. She sat quietly in the corner, looking a little sad, as if to say “please take me away from here.” Her original owners got divorced and where each of them went they weren’t allowed to have a dog. So we adopted her. She was a quiet, stately dog. We called her our little Librarian, because she was quiet – except when something wasn’t right. For a small dog, she had a big, deep bark and for our safety, she could put a little snarl in with the bark. She backed-up a few strangers with it, but otherwise, was a joy. In her second year with us, she developed diabetes and we had to give her daily shots. She lasted another 2 years and 3 months and died on Dec. 1, 2006 in the morning. She had lost a lot of weight, but was happy to the end. The last night before she died, we were all together and she sat on our laps and gave us a little lick. She was a quiet and lovely little dog. Reserved her affection for only her pack members, and watched over us as we slept. We miss her very much. This phot deosn’t really do her justice but she knew her picture was bing taken and there’s a glint in her eye.

Pam from OR