I know that this forum is mainly for dogs, and I’ve had the pleasure of having several in my life. Someday, I may write to tell you about some of them, but tonight I was so touched when you talked about Penny that I wanted to tell you about my cat, Moose.

He was born feral on some property owned by my sister’s former in-laws. For some reason, the mama cat would push him out of her little nest, and my sister would always gently put him back. One day I asked her if she thought he was old enough for me to take home, and she agreed that he was, so I did. For the next fourteen and a half years he was a constant companion and a dear friend. He would often amuse me with his antics.

At home, he was a very loving cat, and would try to cozy up to me as close as possible. When he was outside, he was very much the dominant Tom that ruled whatever neighborhood we lived in at the time. Some nights he would come home wounded from a fight, and he had a notched scar on one of his ears.
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Smokey first came into my life as a starving, anemic kitten. I answered a free kittens ad and when I arrived at the place, the people managed to catch this scawny kitten using scraps of white bread. He was scared and malnurished and I had to have him. I put him on the enclosed front porch so I could keep an eye on him and also get him used to human contact. Sitting still and moving the food closer and closer to me without pressuring him finally got him trusting me enough that I could pet him. That process took two long weeks. After that he was my buddy. He got big and fluffy with a long black coat and smoke colored undercoat and wanted nothing more than to cuddle. He would stretch up and could put his front paws on my waist. I would pick him up and he would lay his head on my shoulder and fall asleep. I would carry him around for hours and his trust was such that he would never awaken no matter what chores I was doing even making the bed. He would not even awaken when I picked him up from where he lay so as to take him bed. He knew the word ‘mouse’ and would hunt them down when we pointed out where we could hear them hiding. He did his job of getting the vermin out very well. He would curtail my all-nighters with the books by laying on top of them and not budging until I headed off to bed where he would lie full length on my stomach and tuck his head under my neck. He went on long walks with me and would jump up into my arms when he had had enough of walking. He loved playing in leaves and would make a big deal out of jumping in and out of big piles of them.

One night I had called him to come in for the night over and over. Suddenly, I got a feeling of squeezing pressure and I knew something was wrong. I announced out loud to no one in particular that I needed to find Smokey. I looked in the back and side yards finally going out front. I saw him laying in the road. It seems he had been trying to get back home from whatever happened to him and he just could not quite make it. A small hole in his side was his only obvious injury. I dropped to my knees screaming ‘NO!’ His eyes glazed over just as I picked him up so he knew I was there. I put him by my bed one last time and buried him under his favorite tree the next morning. Seven years was just too short a time. I still miss my very dear best friend.

Sheree from GA

In every life there is “the perfect dog” and Fido was mine. Why
“Fido”? I like the name, and I’ve never met anyone else who had a dog
by that name. People think it’s common – in fact, it’s quite a rare
name.

I had lost my first dog, a Rat Terrier/Chihuahua mix after 10 years.
At the time I worked at the local television station, and once a week
on our live noon show the Humane Society would bring a pet for
adoption. I started taking extended lunch breaks and a couple of
times a week I’d visit the animal shelter to find my new dog.

Based on my experience with the first dog I wanted a female Rat
Terrier, and that’s a pretty rare breed. I’d walk through the large
dog room, listening to the desperate sounds that dogs in a kennel will
make. I knew a big dog wasn’t for me, so I’d walk into the small dog
room. It was quieter there, but every dog seemed to understand how
important it was to be loved by the people walking by. There would be
poodles, cocker spaniels, but never a Rat Terrier.
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I thought you’d enjoy this. Simple truths…

Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog’s owners, Ron, his wife, Lisa, and their little boy, Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.

I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn’t do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
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We found Buddy in a parking lot and from day one, he was housetrained, Even though he was only about 3 months old and we made him sleep on the balcony porch that first night, he never whimpered or cried.

The second night Buddy slept in the living room and he had a bedroom pass by the third night.

A little yellow puppy – Golden Retriever and Sheltie mix I believe – who was so smart, intelligent and engaging that you just had to love him. “Buddy” seemed too common a name for such an uncommonly wonderful puppy dog but the name fit him well.

He lived a very long healthy life (18 yrs) for a dog his size (50 lbs).

I want to think it is because of the love and care Ishowered upon him.

Buddy was a man’s dog and I always knew that I (a human female) came in second place in his loyalties. Buddy bonded with the man of the house. I was just the beta female who had to do all the dirty work – feed, bathe, groom, give pills and take him to the vet.
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I recently moved to the Bay Area from the Chicago suburbs. I never realized how much I would miss my dogs until listening to you. They may be insane, but I miss them, and they miss me.

The attached picture is of my Dachshunds on my bed.

My grandma has a similar story to you with her poodle, Buddy. He too was older than she thought; but he still made her happy; in spite of being nearly blind, loosing hair, and being toothless by the end.

Buddy and Sprite are now in a better place where they can play and have fun without worrying about old age, reduced eyesight, and other problems.

Ton from CA