Our dog Tummy Bear, is a 3 year old English Mastiff. He is a lap dog, or tries to be, without realizing he weighs 185 pounds. He’s always ready to great me at the door with sloppy wet kisses, and he makes sure I am never alone. He’s my shadow. This past summer, my husband and I were up very late, around 2 in the morning. I noticed him panting strangely. I thought, because our summers here are brutally hot, that he might have been dehydrated. I got him into the bathroom and surrounded him with towels, then hosed him down with the shower head. I tried to get him to drink water, but he wouldn’t even lift his head.
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Although I’ve had many pets my dog Martini (my dad owned a cocktail lounge) was special because she was the dog I grew up with. We were told that Martini was a German Shepard-Collie mix but we never really cared enough to find out. All we knew was that she was the greatest dog ever. My brothers and I ranged in age from 10 to 15 years old and we loved that dog and showered her with affection. So did our neighbors and all the neighborhood kids who would flock in and out of our house all day long. Even my grandparents loved her-especially my grandfather whom Martini decided to love most of all. She would howl with joy when he would come over and take her for a walk.

After all these years I can’t even remember how we found her. I guess she was just wandering the streets as a lost puppy. I do remember that when we got her she was quaking and scared and it took weeks for her to stop shivering and yelping. She must have chewed half our furniture before we got her to calm down. Eventually, though, she began to settle down. There were so many of us kids around giving her non-stop attention and she loved every minute of it. Within weeks, she was a constant companion to all of us.

At the time, my brothers and I were all playing Little League or Babe Ruth baseball and my dad was a coach so we spent many a day at our local park. On weekends we would spend morning to night at the ball field and Martini was there with us all day long. Laws were different back then and we were able to just let her roam free and she would play with anyone or everyone-but she always had the common courtesy to “check in” with us every now and then to let us know she was okay. She was smart and well behaved and everyone loved her. One weekend my father returned from the baseball park without her. An hour or two went by before it dawned on us that no one had brought Martini home from the park. Anxiously, we hurried back to the baseball diamond to look for her. My dad pulled our T-Bird into his usual spot and honked the horn for her just as he always did and out of nowhere came a very tired looking dog jogging toward us from some distant area of the park. We opened the door and she hopped in and gave us a look as if to say, “Thanks dummy, it’s about time but I knew you’d finally figure it out.”

The years passed quickly and Martini was an integral part of all our lives. She loved car rides and we took her everywhere. She even went hiking with us on occasion and I remember we actually brought ropes with us that we used to raise and lower Martini when portions of the rocky trails were too dicey for her to traverse. By the age of 12 or 13 she was pretty much worn out both physically and mentally. Arthritis made it difficult for her to get up and around and we had to carry her down our stairs and back up so she could go on her daily walks. It wasn’t long before she no longer wanted to go out at all. Soon she became afraid of every little noise in our now empty family home. On one of Martini’s last days I was home for a visit and I realized she wasn’t herself anymore and it brought tears to my eyes because she had gotten old so quickly that it seemed to happen overnight. Just yesterday it seemed she was that beautiful energetic little puppy that we took everywhere and now she was an old empty shell of herself. It was too painful for me to deal with at the time and I left her that day and I never saw her again–and I tried not to think about her again either. All of us kids had since moved out and we left it to my poor mom to make the horrible one-way ride. An overwhelming sadness fell over me that Martini was gone and my childhood was now officially over. I wasn’t ready for her to go. Now it’s been almost 30 years since she died and I’ve never actually dealt with her death or how important she was to me. That is, until now.

Brian from CA

God brought us Lucy in His way. An ad appeared in the paper for a found cocker Spaniel. My wife left an answering machine message and we received no reply. She asked me to call, “Ron from San Pedro” was all I left.
The gentleman was out of town when everyone called. Mine was the first, and only message he listened to.
We met Lucy at his house. She was a beautiful curly red haired puppy, the vet would say was 9 months old.
We had her 12 years. As she grew older, I’d sit o porch rocker and hold her in my lap and talk to her. Everyone thought I was crazy to talk to her, but I know she enjoyed it.
We lost her the day President Reagan died, June 5, 2004.
My wife and I were beside ourselves with grief.

She was cremated and is in an urn in our bookcase along with her leather collar and leash.
I sat many nights on the back porch with her urn in my lap, talking to her as if she were still with us. She was.
I waited for your Book, Mark, and bought one for us and one for our best friend who shares our love of cocker Spaniels.
I finished our copy this morning and was compelled to write you.
In August 2004 we acquired Ricki. She’s got the soul of Lucy and was born May 30 of that year. We found Charlie in Jan 2005, a boy born Oct 27 the same year. Both are black cocker Spaniels. Ricki is my girl friend and Charlie my best buddy. Like Pepsi, Charlie was a slight white beard and a white blaze on his chest, put there no doubt by God so I’d know where he likes to be scratched.

We got Phoebe, a Kairn terrier when our daughter and her family moved into a condo that did not permit pets.
Thank you for your book, and thank you for being who and what you are.
(In 2000 I had a double bypass and know exactly what you went through.)
God bless you, Mark, and your lovely family. Pepsi and Griffen are in good hands.

Ronald from CA

Their names were Rocky and Rambo; they were dashunds.

Rocky weighed 20 pounds. Rocky lived to eat and sleep. Rambo weighed 15 pounds. Rambo ate his dog food one kernel at a time. He chewed his food and did not “inhale” his food as Rocky appeared to do.

Rocky was the family dog. He knew he was a dog and he loved being a dog. Rocky loved to sleep. He would roll around on his back and within a couple of seconds would fall asleep. Rocky would fall asleep in the middle of the room with his chubby little legs pointing toward the ceiling with his head tilted backward as he snored softly. It was quite a sight to behold.
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i adopted snuffy in 96 in northern va. i had just moved there and a coworker had complained of her husband abusing the precious thing. ive always had an eye for cockers so i agreed to take him in. the day i imet him in the parking lot of work i thought he was the ugliest thing id ever seen. he was mid-puppydom you know, lost his puppy innocence but not yet full grown but i took him nonetheless. after two weeks of trying to housebreak this monster i offered him to a kid outside my apt in woodbridge, va. the kid took him home and i was rid of snuffy forever! i wouldnt have to clean the carpet anymore as if that were a huge challenge anyway. well my joy suddenly turned to dismay as the kid brought snuffy back and described the urinefest that occurred in his apt and his mother demanded he be returned.

i cleaned a lot of carpets for a while but snuffy was there for me through a bout with depression/alcoholism. no matter how bad things were he was right there with me sleeping every night next to me. i dont think i would have recovered if not for him. in 2000 i moved to san francisco. i left snuffy with my father who had just recently lost a cocker. not long after that my father had an aneuryism and several strokes. he was given a 5% chance to live. in the hospital he would whistle and call snuffy all the time. thank god hes home now and functioning normally. i am re adopting snuffy from him as i have settled down. mr snuffy is deaf and 90% blind now thanks to cataracts. i want to make his last days as comfortable as possible. he has guided not only me but my father in times of need. i thank god every day that kid in nova didnt keep him. i dont agree with your political views very often mr levin but you have my complete respect for your heart. i look forward to reading about the beauty that is sprite.

Kevin from NC

Mark, I want to thank you for such a touching story that so many of us can, in different ways , relate to. I knew much of the story, being a daily listener of your program. I had expected that when I read the book, I would certainly break down and cry somehwere near the end, however, I found myself tearing up on page 11 or 12. It was the part where you first met Sprite and it so reminded me of the first time I met my beloved “Buster”. Buster is the most joyful and gentle rottweiler I have ever known, and is truly a most loyal member of my family. He is 7 now and is slowing down some. I have long had anticipitory greif, having lost two dogs before, Kelly and Griz. This book honors your friend in the way he deserves and I am so glad you wrote it. Many of my friends will be recieving it for Christmas!

Thank You,

David from Idaho