When my wife and I got married, we bought our Cassie, a beautiful, loving chocolate lab. Seven years later, our second child reacted to a vaccine and developed a severe seizure disorder called Infantile Spasms. The stress on our family and the focus on our ill child took our attention away from our beloved dog. She developed a rare skin disorder similar to mange that the vet blamed on stress. The treatments for my son’s disorder were very expensive, as were the treatments for our lab, and we had to make a choice- my son. The dog was in such agony, we had to put her down, and when I took her to the vet and left her, she looked me right in the eyes, as if saying, “What did I do wrong…why me?” and it tore me up. But my son came first…God healed him of the seizures, but he now has Autism. Two years ago we got a new dog, an Australian Cattle Dog we rescued from a no-kill shelter. She is now a part of our family, and some day, my wife and I will get another chocolate lab…

Doug from TX

Here is my story. I got a Dalmatian puppy about seven years ago from my neighbor. Her husband would not let her keep it, because the puppy was digging up the tomato plants. We had a wonderful time together ever since, but this spring he was diagnosed with a congestive heart failure. He is on four medications right now which will prolong his life, but the only way he can survive is to have a heart transplant. I was told by veterinarian that those procedures are only performed on people, but I am just mortified thinking about those days ahead when his belly will start to fill-up with fluids, he will have to be treated more and more often at pet emergency rooms for shorthness of breath, lack of oxygen and will finaly die of a heart attack.

I can imagine what Mr. Levin went through with Sprite, because I am facing the same agony. I heve four other dogs that were unwanted or rescued from different shelters. They all are my friends that are loving and smart, but KUBA is the most wonderful one. I am desperatly searching for someone to change current way of looking at that problem and for someone who would perform the surgery on him. I feel like I am dying along with him and I do not know how I will survive his death. Knowing that there is something that could be done to prevent it and that with the surgery he could still live for several years makes me feel so hopeless. Please, let me know if there are any chances of having this procedure done on my beloved friend? I can not stop tears as I write this letter because this pain is so overwhelming. Is there ANY help for him? Please, I feel like you are my last hope, because you know what I am going through. And I hope that by talking about it on the radio, TV, and spreading the word you may be able to find people who could help us.

Thank you,

Kinga from AZ

Mark, I am a scientist, and I write and publish, but it is all scientific writing. I had never written a poem. When my dog Grendel (named for the character in Beowulf) died, I was heartbroken, and the next day something led me to sit at the computer and write the following as a way to express my grief. I’ve never shared it with anyone other than my wife, but hearing your recent interviews encouraged me to share it here. I’ve never tried writing a poem again, and likely never will.

In Honor of a Dog Called Grendel Upon the Occasion of Her Death
October 7, 1999

When I alone, despondent, ponder the fate
Of those departed creatures whose lives I was
Privileged to share, I can but hope
That their lives were equally enriched.
 
I know that dogs can love.
 
My companion of 19 years yesterday I laid to rest.
In a hole beneath a towering pine swept by the breeze,
She returned to the Earth from which she came.
A cairn of rocks fixes her remains in place.
 
I know she is now at peace.
 
We shared walks in the desert, camped in Mexico
And found whale skulls on the beach.
She walked always by my side, contented.
 
That dog was my friend.
 
One year ago, she lost her freedom
To wander wherever she would.
Her will was not bent and her spirit stayed sharp.
Her eyes still held love for us, and for food.

I know that dogs can smile.

But then the shine was gone;
She endured each day with an infinite sadness.
She knew she was ready to leave,
Waiting only for us to accept the inevitable.
 
I know that dogs understand.
 
We talked often those last few months.
I thought I was telling her it was ok to leave;
But all the while she was telling me it was time to go.
 
She taught me how to say goodbye.
 
I held her in my arms when the time came,
As she drifted off to sleep, never to awake.
Her peaceful face told me we had done the right thing.
 
I know that dog was loved.
 
When I alone, despondent, ponder the fate
Of those departed creatures whose lives I was
Privileged to share, I can but hope
That their lives were equally enriched.
 
I am honored to have known her.

Richard from AZ

In the fall of 1996, someone had dumped a black dog on the side of the road. I can’t put pen to paper to describe what I think of dog dumpers. The dogt stayed at a stop sign and everytime someone stopped, it would stand up and look to see if it’s owner had come back for it. Which they never did. My husband said, if I go by there and that dog is still there, I’m going to take it home.” To my relief, It was gone. The end of the story so I thought.

It was very cold In February of 1997, when a black dog, which we are certain was the dog at the stop sign, wandered up to our house. It was very frightened and wouldn’t eat as long as we were around. If we tried to approach, it would run away. It lived in the shadows, so we named her Shadow. She finally began to trust us and we were able to approach her and pet her. At that time, we discovered she was pregnant. We took care of her and shortly she gave birth to six puppies.
(more…)

My dog Weezee was my best friend when I was little. We got her when I was 5, and to be truthful, I didn’t want her, because that meant we had to get rid of my rabbit, Skip.
We went to pick her up at the house of my mother’s friend-she was a short little black weenie dog-and from that moment on, my life changed. I loved Weezee so much. At the end of the day, when I would get made fun of at school, she was always there to greet me with a wagging tail, then she’d lick my face.
When I was about 15, she started getting sick. She was blind, and starting to lose her hearing.
I wasn’t awake when she died, but my parents buried her in our back yard in her favorite blanket. My mom said that she went to pet her, then she took one more breathe, and she was gone. When I got home, I couldn’t find her. I got nervousand started shaking. I finally went up to my mom, who had walked outside when I got home from school, and asked her where my dog was, and she told me that she had died that morning. I cried for a week straight. Heck, I’m crying now. I just miss her so much. We were puppies together. I would go lay down where they buried her and just cry and cry.
I now have a new dog. My dad didn’t want to get another dog, because he said he couldn’t go through that again, but I hated not having one. His name is Mikey, and he is nothing like Weezee. He’s a hyper little black Min-Pin/Chihuahua, and he gets on my nerves so bad sometimes, but I love him a lot. I know one day I’ll have to say bood-bye to him to, and I dread that day with all my heart, so I am giving and getting as much love from him as I can.
Thanks for letting me share my story.

Kristen from LA

When I was young, my father brought home a dalmatian we named Sparky. He was a full grown dog that had escaped from the Dallas Police. In those days (back in the ’60s), the Dallas Police would bring shelter dogs that were slated for destruction out to the firing range for moving target practice. Sparky had managed to elude the police and was hiding in my father’s car in a nearby gravel pit. Dad had left the car windows open and Sparky had taken advantage of the opportunity. I remember Dad calling home and telling my mom that he had found a dog “for the kids”. Dad got Sparky a tag and the vet said he was probably a purebred. When I was nine, Sparky came down with distemper. Usually a dog would be put to sleep because there was no treatment for it. Dad didn’t accept this and called the family doctor. He said that there was something we could try and he called in a prescription for “Sparky Beeson”. He swore that if my father told anyone, he would deny it. Sparky recovered. He was the kind of dog that took protecting the family seriously and was good with the little kids. Both of my sisters grew up with Sparky. He allowed rides on his back and childish play with his ears. He kept a watchful eye on the baby to keep her from wandering off the yard. One time, my younger sister wandered away from Mom when she was down the street at a neighbor’s house. Sparky heard my mother’s voice and realized something was wrong. He went in search of her and found her in an empty lot. he stayed with her and barked until the adults came to take her home. Sparky died when I was a senoir in high school. He had become old and slowed down, but he was ever faithful to his job. We found him dead at the patio dorr, where he kept watch at night. Even after all these years, I still miss him.

Debra from TX