My dog is named Trip and I adopted him when he was six weeks old. He was the cutest little furball I had ever seen and it was almost like I had a child to raise. I was twenty one years old and he was the first dog I had that I was completely responsible for. When I was twenty two I bought a house and had to keep him on a tie down for the first year and a half until I fenced in my property, during which time he got loose on two separate occasions and arrested on one. I picked up Trip from animal control on my lunch break, within hours of his arrest; Outside of his incarceration it seemed like he had great joyride in the neighborhood, minus the hundred sticker burrs I brushed out of him later that afternoon. I paid $100.00 to bail him out of doggie prison that day and incurred another $150.00 fine along with a tongue lashing from a municipal judge insinuating that I didn’t take good care of my pet because my property wasn’t fenced in at the time. While I admit, it wasn’t ideal for a dog with his spirit, we had to work with the choices I made and we persevered all the stronger.

Not long after that, with the help of friends I fenced in my entire property (approx 1/2 acre) and Trip was set free. I had previously been broken into twice and it now seemed that Trip was taking just as good care of me as I was him. Living in a lower income neighborhood houses are broken into frequently and lawn tools (mowers & weed eaters) are a dime a dozen, but my problems like that quickly dissapated with his freedom (as the judge would phrase it). Years later Trip communicated to me it was time to install a doggy door, because after all he was potty trained and a big boy that should be allowed to come and go inside the house as he pleases. After all it would save me the time of touch up painting and trim repair from him trying to figure out how to operate the doors & windows himself.

I am twenty eight years old now and single, so Trip and I share a cozy 944 sq ft bachlor pad on a 1/2 acre all to ourselves and couldn’t be any happier with the daily routine. I pay the bills and he takes care of the house pending payment in at least, one pig ear a day (all dogs love em’). I believe trip is a border collie/lab mix and shares similar features with Mark’s dog Pepsi. Trip has been a blessing in my life, is a faithful friend and always seems to do something quite funny when I’m feeling down. I encourage anyone who doesn’t already have a dog to go out & get one. With a little personal responsibility and love they can be potty trained and provide years of companionship. Trip can shake on command w/left and right paw, sit, lay down, and roll over. Also, when he feels like it he do absolutely nothing I’m asking him to do, but I still love him.

— Ben from Ft. Worth, TX

Bing, a beautiful grey tabby appeared on our back patio one day in 2004. I thought he was rather cute, definitely looked hungry, so I fed him. When I told my husband that he was awfully cute, he said, “don’t feed him.” I said, “too late.” That was the beginning of our relationship. I contacted animal control and found out the correct procedure to follow in order to adopt him. He continued to come to the back patio where he was fed and played with our other two cats (Mel and Bud). One day he showed up with an infected scratch on his nose. With much trepidation, I called animal control and had him picked up. Just before he was taken by the officer we said, Bing, do not worry, we will come to adopt you.” I think he understood because as soon as we were allowed to visit him we did so. We were taken to a room and allowed to see him. Upon seeing us, he meowed. The attendant said, “that is the first sound that cat has made since he arrived.” We played with him, arranged for neutering and shots and told him we would be back to bring him home. The first day with us he purred loudly and drooled as we petted him and told him he would have a good life. His fur was matted, he had lots of scars on his head and played roughly. Soon his scars disappeared, his fur became sleek and beautiful and he began to be more gentle. He communicated by looking us right in the eyes. He fit right into the family and brought us so much joy. In December 2009, my husband and I went out to dinner for my birthday. We returned home, played with Bing and Mel (Bud was diagnosed with Lymphoma, had chemotherapy for a year and died in July of 2009–I really miss him) and got ready for bed. We noticed Bing had vomited so I went to clean it up. As I began to clean it up I noticed Bing was having difficulty breathing. I scooped him up, called the vet, and we took him to the emergency hospital. Once there we were told he was in serious trouble. They administered oxygen but he remained in distress. After two hours they recommended he be put to sleep as he was suffering and could not breathe on his own. I agreed. Once he was gone, I picked him up, held him for a very long time, stroked his silky fur, cried and cried. I spoke to his vet the next day. He told me Bing had cardiomyopathy. It was so hard to accept . As each day goes by I am able to do so a little bit more. We miss him terribly. He was one great cat! He was very large (18 pounds) and had a way of showing his appreciation for having been adopted (actually, he adopted us!). Bing was cremated. On December 31st we spread his ashes in the places in the garden he favored.

— Victoria from Anaheim, CA

FOUND A PEANUT…12 years ago my husband pulled into a convenience store and noticed a skinny, sad-looking Beagle sitting just outside the door as he entered the store. He asked the clerk about the dog and the clerk said she’s been sitting there for hours. He said a car came through, opened it’s doors and pulled-off, leaving her behind. Being a dog-lover anyway, my husband walked out and petted this little thing. Her doleful eyes and long floppy ears were just too much to ignore so he put her in his truck and brought her home, where we already had 2 dogs and a cat. We instantly fell in love with this Beagle, who we named “Peanut” because she was little compared to our 2 big dogs, and from the song “Found a Peanut”. The vet said she was a pure-bread Beagle, about 4 years old and had obviously been used for breeding. We got her healthy again and she has been a source of love and pure sweetness in our lives ever since. She doesn’t do tricks, or anything funny or silly – she is just an angel. She has live safely and happily in our home and has outlived our other beloved pets. Currently we have one other dog and a cat. Peanut is now 16 years old and is finally starting to show signs of quality of life issues. Our grateful hearts ache when we think of losing her, and we don’t talk about it. We just show her even more love than ever before. She now has frequent accidents in the house, and this is hard to deal with but we just clean it up and forget about it. We have lost 2 other beloved dogs that we resuced, but Peanut has been with us the longest. She is a gift from God and we will never stop thanking Him for bringing her into our lives.

— Trish from Atlanta, GA

While working in Minneapolis at the beginning of this year, 2010, I had to leave my two dogs at my house in Little Rock with some friends. Last month on February 20th, Dollie, my ten-year old lab-shepherd mix, accidentally got out and ran off. The following Friday, a lady came to the door of my house in Little Rock and my friend was there. She said she saw Dollie the previous Saturday. She said she stopped by the side of the freeway to try to save a dog in the middle of traffic. Unfortunately, she was unable to do so and the dog was run over and killed by a truck. She said she saw the missing dog flyer that my friends had posted all over the neighborhood. She recognized the dog from the picture, and she came by the house to tell us what had happened.

Dollie was a faithful friend to me and my Mom for 10 years. She is greatly loved. I want to thank all my friends who helped look for her last week and prayed for me and her. Because of all my friends’ efforts, we now know what happened to Dollie and why she did not come back to the house.

Dollie has been with me through some troubling times and many good times, and I will miss her. I had been away from her for two months. Since my mom’s passing last year, I had to leave her to take advantage of a good job out of town. I was planning on going back to Arkansas in a couple of weeks to bring her and Penny, my other dog, back with me to Minneapolis. My short contract here has been extended for six more months. I am so sad for her passing.

I do believe God blesses us with special friends in our lives who unconditionally love us no matter what. Dollie was that kind of special friend to me and my Mom during her life on earth. I honestly believe on the day she was killed my Mom turned around in Heaven and said, “Well, looks who’s here! Dollie, welcome home!”

To all my friends who have lost missing loved ones, if we believe there is a Heaven to gain and a Hell to shun, we will see them soon. Life on this earth is a short journey. We do not always understand why things happen the way they do. We also sometimes do not understand the timing of those events in our lives. Our faith and trust has to be in the creator of all things. No matter what happens we must trust God through all the heartaches in life. Through good times and bad times we must continue with our mission and purpose here to love one another. We are put here to help each other along the way. We must believe there is a time coming when sorrow, sadness, pain, suffering and death will be things in the past. For those us who put our faith and trust in God, we will overcome death and live in peace and joy in Heaven with our family and friends forever.

Dollie was an example for me of God’s unconditional love. She was his special gift to me in my life. I remember working in my home office many times and Dollie would come back and bring a tennis ball and drop it at my feet. I remember always seeing several balls there on the floor around my feet. When I would finally give in and say, “All right let’s go play ball!” I would pick up one of the balls and she would get so excited. She would bark and start jumping up and down and then run outside. I would follow her to our back yard and throw the ball for her. She would chase after it as fast as she could. Then she would run back with it and drop it at my feet, wag her tail and stare intently at me until I threw it again. I remember she would want to play for hours if I would let her. It did not matter to her if it was rainy or sunny. She seemed to say to me, “This is what is important to me, this is why God made me who I am, this is the true meaning of fun – being with someone you love, doing something you love to do and enjoying every moment of it while you can!”

I will miss you Dollie. Good bye best friend. I will see you and Mom again someday.

— James from Little Rock, AR

We have a wonderful orange cat. We named her “Die Hard”. Why? Well, because she was the only one of a litter of six kittens who survived. She was born in 1994, two years after I met my wife, one year before we were married. The cat’s mother, named “Surf”, abandoned her litter for some reason and they all died except for “Die Hard”. She was always kind of a “runt” meaning she was always tiny.

I’m a modelmaker by trade and profession (Yes, I actually make a living doing it! So, enough with the model-glue-sniffing jokes, Mark! LOL!) , and she couldn’t resist getting up on my work table and climbing into a box of plastic model parts! Cats love carboard boxes, but for some reason she likes cardboard boxes with model parts in them even more!

She’s travelled twice across Canada with us. Once when we moved to Manitoba from Nova Scotia in 1997, and once more, ten years later, when we moved back.

The poor thing seemed to use up most of her nine lives within the first few years. In fact, I think she actually carries a deficit of a dozen lives or so now…

One time, a few years ago, she’d been gone a long time. Unusually long. Several days. I thought we’d lost her. Then she finally returned. I was happy to see her but when I picked her up I noticed something terribly wrong… I turned her over and noticed the had a huge gash across her midsection from one side to the other, exposing her insides. She’d cleaned it up so the bleeding had stopped, but she was seriously wounded. The cut was a very clean and straight slice which went across 90% of her belly. We quickly took her to the vet and had her sewn up again. But it was clear, looking at the wound, that it was no accident. Someone had captured her and cut her with a knife, and then let her go, presumably to die. I’d love to get hold of the piece of filth who had done that to her, but I’d be thrown in jail myself then, I suppose. It’s disgusting that there are so many cruel people out there.

That was just one example. I won’t bore you with the others. But there were many others.

Now, at about 16 years old, her health is failing. She won’t eat, my wife thinks she’s in pain. She’s not able to get up on the table and climb into that box of model kit parts anymore. She can barely go up and down stairs.

I’m afraid we’ll have to put her down. Now, I’m torn.

I don’t feel it right that I should make that decision. Should I let nature take it’s course or should I have her put to death? I am going through some of what you, Mark, went through as you talked about in “Rescuing Sprite”. The thought is something I don’t want to deal with, to be honest. When I hold and cuddle her she purrs and purrs and purrs and seems to really enjoy the contact with me. Although she’s “our” cat, she’s actually more “my” cat, as she gets most of the love and affection from me. My wife is more of a dog person but she loves all animals. I love cats so much more. And Die Hard is my all time favourite, and she’s kind of been like a best friend. She’s always with me in my shop, and is like my alarm clock every morning too… Wakes me up at the same time every day!

She is the last in a line of cats that my wife started breeding when she moved to Nova Scotia years before. This wasn’t a cat we found and knew for part of her life. We had this cat since she was first born. When this cat is gone, it’s the end of a kind of a “cat legacy”, and can never be replaced.

The cat’s as much a part of my life as our kids are. My oldest daughter (we have two) is three years younger than Die hard.

At this moment, reality has not set in.

I am not looking forward to the next few days, weeks or months when some kind of action will have to be taken, or until nature runs it’s course.

I could use a few prayers for our poor little cat. When that little precious ball of orange fur goes to Heaven, I hope she’ll remember us as fondly as we remember her. Whatever happens, I just hope I do the right thing, and Right now, I’m not certain what that right thing is.

— E. James from Nova Scotia, Canada

I want to thank you for pouring so much of your heart and soul into your book about Sprite. My sister found it at our local library and thought it might help me as I faced a similiar crisis with one of my beagles called Peanut. It was difficult to read at one sitting and I found myself relating to the love and anguish you and your family went through with your beloved Sprite. I’d read a chapter and have to stop because of the tears as I found myself in the same position with Peanut.

May I tell you about her? I first saw her about six and a half years ago tied up in a neighbor’s front yard. I was walking my beagle mix, Smokie, and I walked up to this little runt of a dog to pet her. She was so excited to have some attention and she climbed up in my lap. I was shocked to realize how thin she was. It was like holding a bag of feathers! The next door neighbor came out and said the girls who owned Peanut left her tied up in the sun without food, water, or shelter. The neighbor reported it to the police, humane society, and dog warden but all they did was leave notes for the owner. (Needless to say, the animal cruelty/neglect laws in Ohio are archaic.) I can’t explain it but in those first few minutes I developed a deep love for that little dog and told the neighbor that if the owners wanted to give her up, I’d take her. That night the neighbor called me and said the owner didn’t want Peanut because she was too much trouble and I could come get her. I picked her up and, in the short time she was with me, I developed a bond with her I had never experienced with any of my other animals, although I loved them all.

Then, on September 2, 2009, after Peanut and Smokie came in from their morning ritual, Peanut collapsed without warning and went into cardiac arrest. Thank God I knew CPR and was able to revive her. I called my vet and he said they’d meet at their office ASAP. I rushed Peanut there and they immediately put her on an oxygen mask. Her lungs had filled with fluid and she was in congestive heart failure. I was stunned because I took my dogs to the vet regularly and Peanut had just been there 2 days ago. I felt so guilty. Had I done something wrong? Had I missed important signs? The important thing now was to pull her through this. My vet said her best chance would be an emergency animal hospital with a vet on duty 24 hours and an oxygen tent, but he didn’t know if Peanut would survive the trip. It was over an hour away in Toledo. I rushed her to the Toledo hospital and parayed she’d make it; she was struggling so hard to breathe. They kept her for 4 days and that time was a roller coaster ride. They told me to prepare to have her put down if necessary. She’d make slight progress and then have a relapse but Peanut is a fighter and I was finally able to take her home, along with lots of medications. I was told she could go at any time but she rebounded and I had high hopes that that her remaining time with me would be comfortable. It wasn’t to be. Even though I took her to the vet once or twice a week for check ups, and she was doing fine, Peanut became very depressed and lost her appetite the week after Thanksgiving. I took her to my vet and tests showed she was in acute renal failure. The vet said her levels were so high, the machines couldn’t even register them. She had a very slim chance so I told the vet that as long as there was a chance, to do what he could for her. I visited Peanut every day she was at the vets and again that feisty little dog fought back until her kidney levels were normal and I could once again take her home. But she was never to be the same. She went for a short walk one time after that and never again. She ate very little and eventually quit eating altogether. I had to force feed her medications, she got lasix injections 3x a day, and had to be put on IV fluids once a day. Even though the IV was extremely uncomfortable, Peanut never fought me on them. It was as if she knew I was trying to help her. As soon as she’d see me setting the IV up, she’d go sit in her spot by the IV bag and wait. Peanut did have some good days but her bad days were coming closer together. She was dropping weight and seldom slept because lying down made it difficult to breathe. I kept asking the vet if I was doing the right thing. He said Peanut would let me know when it was time.

The weekend of January 22nd, I was torn back and forth. Was it time or should I give the new medication she was for her nausea more of a chance to work? Was I giving up on her to soon? Was I prolonging her suffering because I didn’t want to let her go? Was I being selfish? I was so tortured with questions and doubts about what to do but that Sunday I noticed Peanut had seemed to drop a large amount of weight overnight and she was so tired but she couldn’t lay down. She would sit up and then her head would droop, her eyes would shut and she’d practically fall over in sleep only to jerk awake again and sit back up. Her eyes had lost their sparkle and she looked so sad. That night, Peanut tried to get up in bed with me which she hadn’t done before. I lifted her up and knew it was time. I stayed up with her all night, petting her and talking to her and crying. Finally, about 4 am, she fell over asleep onto the pillows I had placed by her. They helped prop up her head and shoulders to ease her breathing, although it was labored. I kept thinking about you and Sprite on you last days together and knew what you went through. It’s like your heart is being torn out. On that Monday, January 25th, after spending my last hours with Peanut, I took her to the vet. At 4 pm, our time together was ended. I thought I’d never stop crying. Peanut’s ashes are on my dresser and, like you did with Sprite, I’m going to plant a lovely tree in her memory. I’m also making a memory album about her.

It’s been 6 weeks and I still find myself missing her terribly and having bouts of tears. But I also have wonderful memories of a feisty bundle of energy, love, and companionship packaged into a small runt of a dog who God allowed to share her life with me, even for a short time. Thank you for letting me tell about Peanut and thank you again for writing Rescuing Sprite. I doubt I could have handled Peanut’s illness, battle, and finally letting her go if you had not shared your story.

— Sharon from Port Clinton, OH