Mark, I just finished reading Sprite. Thanks for that sweet tribute to a good dog. I too have been a lifelong dog lover and owner. I’ve had to put down 2 of my beloved poodles, one at the ripe age of 16, the other at the tender age of 20 months due to a severe and rapidly moving neurological disorder that took her from a dog of whom the vert said “I don’t see anything wrong” on Friday, to a dog paralysed from the neck down and in severe pain Sunday night. We also lost a dog to theft.

Blessings to you and your family, -Rick
PS attached photo is of our current poodle Aravis, “Airee” for short.

Rick from TX

Dear Mark,

As I open your book, “Rescuing Sprite”, I am greeted with the words “Merry Christmas Tompa”, signed Deker and Checker (two cats). “We love you. 2007”.

I am Tompa – an affectionate name “affixed” to this “Geezer” of 92 years. I respond to either name, the former of which originated many years ago when my two grandchildren were learning the language. The latter came years later when my grandson, Jeremy, grew up and we became “buddies”.

Jeremy is now a 30-year-old bachelor in his own home – with good prospects of soon gaining a “Blonde Assistant” to help care for his 3 cats, 2 of which came from a shelter a few years ago, and the third, another “unwanted”, recently joining the family. As an aside, my daughter, Linda, (High School Teacher of the Year in 2006) has two cats and two horses. Additionally, she enjoys the 27 barn cats, nearly 50 ducks, dogs, goats and miniature donkeys who live at the boarding facility where she keeps her horses. My granddaughter, Lindsay and her husband, Zak, have two rescued cats as well.

Your book reminded me of our “Duchess”, whom we had to put to rest after 17 years of loving companionship. Born next door – mother a golden retriever and father unknown – Duchess had 8 brothers and sisters, mostly black and brown. However, our 45 lb. baby was white, curly and intelligent. She seemed to be born fully trained.

Our yard, no fences, in a subdivision of “young folks” (where I am the self-appointed Patriarch), without any formal training, Duchess would go no further than the sidewalk, and smile and wag her tail at passers by.

I am in the process of writing my life story – my “Journal” as I call it. The title at this moment is “Living, Dying & Return”. In the last chapter of my life story, I take my last breath in my comfortable bed in my own home, from which I embark on a journey through the “Magical Great Beyond”, bypassing the planets and the stars, and beholding my destination — beauty beyond description. My first vision of movement – like a whirling colorful dust cloud coming toward me – suddenly takes shape. Three dogs, led by my beloved Duchess, along with the two other dogs in my growing-up years, Curly and Ginger. I have a rough outline of my experience in my Heavenly Father’s domain, but I don’t mind telling you I get all choked up and teary when I even contemplate meeting my beloved furry friends in Dog Heaven.

I especially want you to know that you have two loyal fans in daughter Linda and me. You know your airtime here on WJR conflicts with my hero, O’Reilly, but from now on I’ll vow to do better. Old Rush is my idol and I catch him almost everyday. I have another “dog book” that I haven’t even touched yet – “A Good Dog”, by Jon Katz. I am on page 128 of “Sprite”, and I know I am in for more weeping and sniffling. I know that your Heavenly Father has a special niche in His heart for you – no one survives what you’ve endured without help from above.

Have a great day,

“Tompa”, the Geezer from MI

Hi Mark I am Jared and I have a story for you. My dog brandy
is 15 years old. Yes she isn’t
in good shape. She has
arthritis and hip dysplasia.
What can I do when I’m only 11.

Jared  from KS

I penned the following in the days after I had to put my pal to sleep in July 2006. Having heard about your book, I thought I’d share Beezer’s story with you. (The form doesn’t seem to want to accept a picture, however).

Farewell my faithful friend.
It was a warm, late summer day in early September, 1993 when I first saw him. Standing on the sidewalk, waiting for my carpool partner to come down from her apartment, I looked to my right and was startled to see a dog standing there. He had appeared as if out of nowhere, this large, furry golden dog with pointy ears.

He looked at me and I at him. “Hello buddy,” I said. “Where did you come from?” I must have startled him, because he tried to cross busy Springfield Avenue in Maplewood, New Jersey. “No!”, I called out – then watched in horror as a big black sedan swerved, just missing him. He turned and ran back to the sidewalk. I rushed over to him, knelt down and wrapped my arms around him so he wouldn’t run into traffic again. “You okay, buddy?” I asked. He looked up at me and wagged his tail as a two girls spilled out of the grooming salon next door to where I had been standing.

“Is he your dog?”, one asked excitedly, probably ready to pounce on my for letting him run into the street. “No,” I replied. “I don’t know who he belongs to, he appeared out of nowhere.”

“Well, we’ll take him and call the local shelter, to see if anyone is missing a dog.”, she said. I was relieved that someone had him, so he wouldn’t wander into traffic again. As the girls put a lead on him and brought him back to their shop, my co-worker came down and asked what was going on. I told her, and she said she’d check to see what happened to the dog.

The days moved on, as they always do, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the golden yellow dog. My co-worker told me that the dog had gone from the groomers to a local vet and then onto a shelter in town. “You know”, she said, “you should adopt him.” I laughed – my lease specifically said no pets. Besides, he was a beautiful animal; someone would give him a good home.

The next week, I found out that there had been an adoption day at the shelter. The dog that had appeared out of nowhere was the only dog not to be adopted. If a home couldn’t be found for him, he would have to be destroyed. ‘The heck with my lease’, I thought. ‘I can’t let this dog be killed.’

So, on a warm autumn day in late September of 1993, I went to the shelter in Maplewood to see him. I knelt in front of his cage, wondering if he’d remember me. When ‘Butterscotch’, as they had named him, saw me, he jumped up, tail wagging feverishly. He came over to me almost shyly, jumped up and put a paw on the gate and started to whimper, tail still wagging a thousand miles a minute. I slipped my fingers through the fencing. He sniffed my fingers, then started licking them furiously.

I smiled and knew that I had to take him home. Looking up at the woman from the shelter, I said, still smiling, “I’ll take him”. Upon the suggestion of another co-worker, I named him “Beezer”, which was the nickname for John Vanbiesbrouck, the goalie for hockey’s New York Rangers.

I signed all the paperwork, paid the adoption fee and walked him outside. He jumped around, biting at the leash and wagging his tail At that moment a friendship was born that was a deep and loving as one could have with an animal – a friendship that endured for almost 13 years. That friendship was interrupted on July 19, 2006, when I had to put my beloved friend to sleep.

Beezer loved me and I loved him. He seemed to know that I saved him and I knew that he had saved me from the deep depression I had been in since my father had passed away 10 months before he walked into my life.

I brought Beezer home to an unsuspecting wife and landlord. Not a real animal lover, my wife tolerated the dog and was good to him. At first, we kept him in a dog crate next to the bed, not knowing how he’d react to being in our apartment.

Shortly after bringing him home, I woke up one morning and barely had my eyes open when I heard the sound of his tail thumping. I looked down to see him wagging his tail – he had been watching me and was excited to see me awake. Another day I woke up and saw him laying on his back sound asleep, legs in the air and tongue hanging out of his mouth. He slept the sleep of a creature that was content, happy and safe. I knew I had made the right choice. Read the rest of this entry »

Hi Mark, I’ve never written to the author of a book I have read, but I feel compelled to write to you. Although I haven’t finished “Rescuing Sprite”, I have just finished the sad chapter about putting down Sprite. To say I cried buckets is an understatement. Victoria, Australia is currently in the throes of a mean drought and I think my tears would have filled the dams several times over. The reason I write is I too will one day have to make the same hard decision as you and Kendall did. My husband Michael and I are proudly owned by a purebred tri-coloured Australian Cattle Dog called Digger and a beautiful sheltie/red heeler cross (an exotic breed, we say) called Lucy. Digger is nearing his 18th birthday this year. Yep – 18, we are truly blessed to have him in our lives for this long. We are hoping he achieves this. He is slowly going blind and is deaf (or has selective hearing), however it doesn’t stop him getting up to mischief. He has had several tumours removed and as a consequence of one of these tumours had a toe removed from his front left paw, which has left him with a limp. He has arthritis but can still bound around when he has the energy. We treat Digger’s arthritis with medication, physiotherapy and acupuncture, which he thoroughly enjoys. We call him our ‘metro sexual dog’ because he is a sucker for a massage, a warm bath and a blow wave… I have had Digger since he was 8 weeks old. Lucy will be 12 this year and is yet to show any health problems. I have also had her since she was 8 weeks old. Read the rest of this entry »

I just finished “Rescuing Sprite,” and I must say, thank you for writing it. Your story touched me and broke my heart at the same time. We currently have a shelter dog and I could not imagine our lives without him. Buddy is our other ‘son.’ After reading your story, you helped me decide that it is indeed time to add another shelter pup to our household. Thank you for sharing your personal journey and struggle with the world. If only everyone could share your realization of how special not only shelter dogs are, but all pets that have blessed our lives.

Amy from IL