Mark, My wife and I both love dogs. Our “Bo” just loves my wife Tina. Since her second bout with Cancer Bo has provided such comfort even more than I can.

Love, Jim from MI

What wonderful, heartfelt tributes to the animal members of our families…. I just lost my buddy, a Lab/Border Collie mix who earned his unusual name, The Bad Puppy, as a small pup (it was the only name he would “answer” to) but grew up to become a loyal loving extremely intelligent companion. This dog was with me for some very significant times in my life, and just passed last Friday at the age of almost 3, due to illness. Obviously it’s still a fresh hurt, and I miss my friend terribly. The Bad Puppy’s gone where the good doggies go, free to roam and play in the fields of heaven, and climb all the trees he wants (yes, The Bad Puppy really did climb trees). Bad Puppy, good dog good friend, we love you and miss you, thanks for always being such a good boy

Casey from AL

My first rescue dog, Kaiyu, came with the first house I bought. It was her home, and the prior owner could not keep her as she was going to a climate not suitable for a husky mix. In fact, the reason she selected us to buy her house, over the numerous others that wanted it at a higher price than we could pay, was that we were the only ones willing to take care of her beloved dog. We thought it was a good idea, we had a young dog that really needed a playmate to burn off some energy.

In time, Kaiyu accepted us into her home, and stopped looking for her prior owner. At the time we moved in Kaiyu was eight years old, so we did not expect she would be with us for more than 3 to 5 years. Well almost eight years later, Kaiyu showed the first signs of getting old. She became deaf. Not really a problem, as long as she knew you were around. If you surprised her, she could be dangerous, a first for a dog that was nothing but loving. We figured it was due to her loss of hearing, and fear had now entered into her life because she did not understand what had happened to her.

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Mark – I am not going to take up time and space sharing my personal stories of joy and anguish, but instead I just want to thank you for sharing yours. I’ve been listening to you tonight, and that alone has brought me to tears. When I was three years old my parents took me to a zoo in Kansas City. There, while holding me up at a fence to pet a deer, they panicked and then endured, and I reveled in, the deer swallowing my little arm up to the shoulder. They proceeded to pull me out, I know, because here I am. I loved that deer, and was entirely calm through it all. That is my earliest memory, and the beginning of a life spent in love and communion with animals. I weep with you for Sprite, and rejoice with you for Sprite. When I can bear it I will read your wonderful tribute to him, which arrived from Amazon just a couple of days ago. God bless you, Mark, and thank you so much. You are a gift.
Anne from VA

I have always owned a dog. When I was 10 yrs old my parents for Christmas that year bought me a dog, a beagle, that they named Bourbon. Bourbon was just a wonderful dog. He was playful, loving and just brought a sense of happiness to our home. When he was about a year old he developed a breathing problem that we just thought was allergies. He wouldn’t get the “hack” as we called it unless it got warm and the flowers were in bloom. My mom would go to the butcher shop and boil down the scraps that they sold for his food. He also loved table scraps. He would eat beef stew but not the peas. He would like every single pea clean of the stew gravy while leaving them in the bowl. He also ate Chinese food, but his favorite without a doubt was Italian. My mom would make spagetti sauce and he would get a small bowl with spagetti and sauce in it. He never begged at the table nor bothered anyone while they were eating. When my grandparents would come for Christmas my grandfather would bring ravioli and keilbasa. The minute he would walk through the door, there was Bourbon following him and the bag with all the “goodies” in it. He got some of each.
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I was standing outside my photo studio and heard a noise from above, and a cat fell into my arms. He had fallen off a seven-story roof of an office building fighting every inch of the way down.

The blood from his paws stained my shirt and I took care of him until his owners saw him and reclaimed him.

He was so loyal to me, at my feet every minute of the day, that it convinced me to to own my own cats.

I found two kittens from a litter of Manx and took them in. But, one of the fraternal twins was not long for the world. He was the most ‘spritely’ spirit . . . one of those rare cats who loved to play fetch. He died in my arms of kidney failure.

I am 6’6″ and 300 lbs, but the tears came like a broken faucet.

To this day, I take extraordinary care of his brother, Bubbah . . . and a photo of Boo-Boo hangs framed on the wall in my studio.

Christ came upon the mourners crying for Lazarus, but Jesus cried not for Lazarus, but the grieving friends and family. There is a lesson there.

Leonard from NM