This is my dog Poppy,she’s about 17 years old and is probably in the same shape as Griffin ie. her back and her rear legs are weak, lucky shes light in the rear. She spins around like your dog before she lays down,shes also blind and pretty much deaf but shes still kicking.She was a stray that my wife found in Queens NY, we’ve had her for most of her 17 years. In her day she was one tough cookie, she would show her teeth to other dogs and they would just back away, she actually did that to me as well when I met her but then she came to love me and I her, she definately had trust issues with people and with other dogs, but after a couple of days she’d usually warm up to people. She would never bite any one, she would just show her teeth if you tried to touch her and she did’nt know you; but if you let her be she would stand by you and not bother you. now shes pretty mellow and she lets any one touch her. Even though she is missing about 9 teeth, has bad breath ,can only see shadows, can barely hear shes still my” special angel’.

— Thomas in Malverne, NY

I was a bachelor in the early 90’s when I decided to get a pet. I did not have the time to care for a dog, so I decided to adopt a cat. Coincidentally, one of my employees had adopted a pregnant stray and she had just given birth. The day of the Kentucky Derby, my employee and his wife held a party and I was invited to come over, with the dual purpose of possibly selecting one of the kittens. There were four in the litter and I had my eye on one of the female tabbies. Then, the runt of the litter came over to me and plopped himself in my lap and stayed. I decided that I had been selected instead and decided to adopt him — I named him Jesse (after the then professional wrestling announcer Jesse Ventura — who would guess he would go on to become governor of MN?). My mother told me, “You’ll never keep that cat”. Jesse was very “dog like”. He would play fetch, follow me around the house, wait by the door until I came home from work, and even made sure he would be in the room when he heard someone praying! He would give head butts and sit on my chest at night when I was in bed. He adjusted to me getting married and then to the big change that occurred when we had our first and only child. He was just always a big (17 pounds at his largest), loyal and beloved friend. He developed a skin cancer, had surgery and pulled through it. At the end, I called the vet’s office to have him assessed for letting him go, but he went out on his own terms in my arms on January 21, 2009. I will never forget it — he looked at my wife, my son, and me. He put his paw on my chin, looked straight up and died seconds later. We buried him in the yard the next day and he probably had the best cat funeral ever. It is a wonderful thing to love one of God’s special creatures and they take the love you give them and magnify it many times over. I will always love and remember my special and beloved friend and hope to see him on the Rainbow Bridge. He was the best pet I ever had – he was special.

– Donald from Bethesda, MD

My husband and I were taking a walk one summer night in our former hometown of City Island, NY. We were passing by a person’s yard when we spotted 2 German Shepherds. Their owner happened to be outside in the yard. At the same time, my husband and I happened to be discussing the possibility of getting a dog. Being fond of Shepherds, my husband struck up a conversation with the owner who told us that he had some 9 week-old pups in the garage. We took a female home and named her Lana (italian for “wool”).

Lana turned out to be one of the greatest companions I ever had. She went with us wherever we went. She was such a good canine citizen because she had such a calm and regal disposition, and she was welcomed everywhere we went. She was great with children and was an excellent babysitter. There was a house across the street that had been vacated by some tenants who owned two cats and a dog. They took the dog and left the cats. I grabbed a ladder and pried a window open to let the cats out. I put Lana in the yard where she kept a watchful eye on them until the ASPCA could get them. When one would wander, she’d shepherd it back to the patch of grass she was laying on. Luckily, the cats were used to a dog. She accepted their purring and petting with calm aloofness.

My favorite time with her was walking in the woods or on the beach. She never needed a leash. I would just keep walking and she’d either run ahead or lag behind to later catch up with me…I got a ticket from the Dept of Parks because of not having her leashed on the beach on a cold, blustery February morning. Mind you, we were the only beings there. Fun Times.

March 19th this year will mark the 2nd year since we had to put her down. My husband came home to find her lying on the floor unable to get up. Her gums were white: a sign of internal bleeding. He rushed her to the vet where they fluid-resuscitated her, but she collapsed as soon as they brought her out. Since they didn’t have the means to treat her, my husband rushed her to an emergency clinic in Bedford, NY. I was at work at the time in NYC. I dropped everything and left. She hung on until I got there. Their differential diagnosis was hemangiosarcoma. She was bleeding from her liver. I knew it was hopeless, and the vet confirmed my feelings.

We have since adopted another shepherd whom we love very much, but the pain of losing Lana is still fresh. Each one is so very special in their unique way. Thanks for the chance to express my feelings. It is such a catharsis for me. And thanks for “Rescuing Sprite.” It is such a comfort to know that we do not suffer alone.

– Marisa from Ridgefield, CT

I’ve had dogs all my life. All breeds, mutts, mixes, and everything in-between. A few of those dogs were a little closer to me than most of them. However, when Riley came into our lives, him and I had a special sort of “connection.” It was like he knew what I was thinking and vice versa. He was always by my side but never in the road. Constant little companion who was always eager to please his owners and those who lived in his domain. Intensely loyal, loved everybody, and didn’t have a mean bone in his body. One day at the age of 6 he started losing strength with his hind legs. About the same time he started making little potty messes in the house, which was totally out of character for him. Long story short was he developed a tumor near the lower part of his spine and it was putting pressure on nerves causing him to lose feeling in his hind quarters and control of his bladder. We took him to Kansas State Vet school where he began treatment and it immediately shrunk the tumor. We agreed to continue treatment with the caveat he has a good quality of life and was not suffering. We were able to spend another 7 months with Riley before the chemo protocols were exhausted. Putting Riley down was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through-bar none! He is like my canine soul mate and though we put him down over 5 years ago, I still miss him dearly. I know he’s okay now and in a better place but when we put him down, a part of me died as well. It took me two years before I could talk about this in public because I always got emotional. To this day I visit his grave and thank God for letting me have Riley for almost 7 years. I’m a better person for having Riley in my life and so thankful for the days we had together. I only hope that when it’s my time to leave this earth, Riley and I will be reunited.

– Bob from Stanton, NE

On a “snow day” in the winter of ’69, me and Skipper went to “get the mail.” Getting the mail was an almost herculean event, even without the snow, because our mailbox wasn’t at the end of our driveway; it was “down the road” about a half mile along with the rest of the mailboxes for everyone in the development. So, it was a mile there and back even in summer. If the weather was nice, I’d either ride my bike or skateboard and Skipper, a stunning “black & tan” Gordon Setter, would shadow me (or me him…)… but not that day—it was winter; and the only way to make the journey was on foot (and paw).

The weather was bad enough for them to close school that morning but I seem to recall that by the time we headed out it had stopped snowing and the sun had turned the neighborhood into a wonderland—where every tree was bejeweled in what looked like shimmering diamonds and gems. But, the mail had to be gotten, and I was the one who’s responsibility it was to get it.

I was eight. Skipper was just about a year old and still “gangly”… and the ice and snow made him even more so, if it were possible. So we made our way to the “bank” of a couple dozen mailboxes and grabbed the mail. For reasons that defy explanation (besides the fact that I was disobeying a DIRECT ORDER from my Father), rather than simply turnaround and go back home the way we came, I decided to return home via “the pond”. Now the pond was a long natural body of water behind our house that ran parallel with the road that led to the mail boxes… There was a dirt path along side the pond that you could walk on but well, being “8 and all-wise”, and it being winter and all, I surmised that the lake was frozen—or so I thought. Mail in one hand, leash in another, we came to the edge of the pond… There was about as much snow ON the pond as on the ground, so as far as I was concerned, it was frozen solid, and we ventured out onto the ice.

So far so good. Beside the occasional “echo” that is produced and magnified across the entire mass—a sound you have to hear to truly appreciate, but it sort of sounds like a single heartbeat; we trekked across the “field” of untouched snow in complete silence. There’s a certain realization that occurs when you’re under the water, under the ice…and I was having that realization. I don’t remember exactly how long it was that we were walking before the ice simply gave way but a boy and his dog were in the pond. And it was cold… very cold… very, very cold; and there was not another soul in sight.

My dad was at work, my mom and three-year old brother were home, and me and Skipper were doing what we did every day… getting the mail—except today’s delivery was looking like it wasn’t going to get made. I do remember that I didn’t panic… I think the shock of the icy water made it impossible to think clearly because if I could think clearly, I would have been MUCH MORE scared… but Skipper WAS freaking out… he knew exactly how much trouble we were in.

The two of us in were in what might as well have been The Arctic Ocean… I’ll never forget the sound of Skipper yelping… it was otherworldly, but maybe that was because my head was going in and
out the water… He was thrashing around wildly, trying to get his paws on the ice… and at the same time, I’m trying to “scoot” myself up, onto my elbows—but no matter what I did, the ice kept breaking
every time I tried to pull myself up… we were on thin ice, literally, and it kept shattering as soon as any weight was put on it. And beside the ice, there was all the snow on top of it.

There’s no way to describe the feeling you feel when, in spite of your best efforts, you’re not making any progress…But then something strange happened… and every time I think about, I don’t know exactly what to think about it… but Skipper sort of climbed “up” my back onto my shoulders, and went right over my head and made his way onto the ice. He actually used me as “plank” and “jumped”. And I guess he knew what he was doing because whatever he did, worked, and he landed on solid ice. Then, the very next thing I remember is the pain. He bit me… and I mean “bit” me HARD—my shoulder bears the mark to this day… and RIPPED me out of the water… it was almost “angelic” if I could describe it that way… and in an instant, I was laying on the snow on the ice… I remember that Skipper wouldn’t stop licking my face… it was as if he were trying to “dry me off”… it was kind of gross… but I didn’t mind.

I knew I had almost died… and I was glad to be alive… but there wasn’t any time for celebrating… we were soaked to the bone and ice cold and still pretty far from home. There was no choice but to continue marching forward… and thankfully, the ice was strong enough to support us.

Later, I was to learn that the spot we broke through was closest to the “inlet”, so the constant flow “in” didn’t allow the water to freeze as fast there as elsewhere… Who knew? But, don’t think the “stay away from the pond” speech wasn’t playing loud and clear in my head every step of the way home… The thin ice was behind us and we ran the rest of the way to where our property began. It was easy to spot, even from the “waterside”, because it’d be impossible to miss the orange boundary line tape on the trees that my dad had diligently measured and marked—I’m pretty sure the Apollo astronauts could’ve seen all that tape from space. As soon as we were on “dry land”, we raced up the hill, scaled the ancient rock wall behind my house, and fled though the woods as if we were being chased by ghosts. We were freezing and Skipper looked like a giant version of a man’s iced beard— like on one of those explorers or climbers on an expedition… but it didn’t matter… we were alive and well and we were together. Not only that, but I had somehow managed to hold on to the mail… at least some of it. It turns out, that I had put the “letters” in my zipper pocket inside my ski jacket. But whatever I was holding in my hand at the time was gone.

The expression on my mom’s face was definitely one for the books. Suffice it to say she broke down when she saw us and no explanation was necessary. And the hot bath Skipper and I took together that afternoon was something I always wish I had a picture of—but I’m sure my mother would have done anything to “cover up” the incident and photographs certainly wouldn’t have helped in that endeavour. But there was no hiding anything from my father. The conversation that night around the dinner table started with the question “Why the hell’s the mail all wet?” and ended with me being grounded for 6 months. And I served EVERY day of that sentence; but I wasn’t alone—not for one minute…

Skipper saved my life that day and I knew it. What was weird though, and I can’t be absolutely certain about this, but it had always seemed to me that Skipper thought that I had saved his life that day… at least that’s what I think he wanted me to believe. Sometimes, I honestly wonder if Skipper was really an angel in dog’s “clothing”. Regardless, all dogs go to Heaven and Skipper will be the one wearing a golden crown.

– David from Hamlin, PA

I adopted Brandi from the Saint Bernard Rescue in the fall of 2001. She came from a home that fed her but otherwise left her in the back yard on her own. Saints really love their people. They want to be with you all the time. We spend Sunday’s on the couch watching sports together. She is always ready to go for a car ride or for a walk around the block. She greets me at the end of my work day with the excitement of a small child. Last year she was diagnosed with laryngeal paralysis. I almost lost her! This is a hardening of the larynx. With out proper function a dog can suffocate. She nearly did! After several phone calls and visits to veterinarians we found one that was in our area that was confident that their staff could perform the surgery. It wasn’t cheap. I couldn’t let my best friend suffer nor could I let her go. I knew from the time I first met her that she would always count on me to take care of her. She is doing well now and fully recovered from the surgery. I went to visit her after the surgery. She was so happy to see me. She made such a fuss that a few hours later the vet called for me to take her home. Brandi’s fur has grown back. She looks as she did before with small catch. She has only half a bark. One side of her larynx is permanently tied back which lets her breath normally. Now instead of a collar we use a halter which she thinks is just fine. Someday I know that it will be her time, but not for now. I cherish each day that I have with her as my best friend.

– Cary from Medford, OR