"Sam"

1987 - 2005

"A dog is not "almost human," and I know of no greater insult to the canine race than to describe it as such." - John Holmes

My family is smaller by one and today the house is still.

Bye Sam.
Dee Cee :(

sorry abt that dude , may sam's soul rest in peace ...

Sorry to hear that. A dog is the best companion one can ask for. Heck, better than human a lot of times too.

I lost my childhood dog towards the end of '01 and it sucked big time. Since then though, I've gotten two miniature daschunds and while they can't fill the void of the original, they do quite well. Fun lil things.

- N

R.i.p.
:(

"Sam"

1987 - 2005

"A dog is not "almost human," and I know of no greater insult to the canine race than to describe it as such." - John Holmes

My family is smaller by one and today the house is still.

Bye Sam.
Dee Cee :(

IF IT SHOULD BE

If it should be that I grow weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then you must do what must be done,
For this last battle cannot be won.

You will be sad, I understand.
Don't let your grief then stay your hand.
For this day, more than all the rest,
Your love for me must stand the test.

We've had so many happy years.
What is to come can hold no fears.
You'd not want me to suffer so;
The time has come -- please let me go.

Take me where my need they'll tend,
And please stay with me till the end.
Hold me firm and speak to me,
Until my eyes no longer see.

I know in time that you will see
The kindness that you did for me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I've been saved.

Please do not grieve -- it must be you
Who had this painful thing to do.
We've been so close, we two, these years;
Don't let your heart hold back its tears.

Reading your post made me cry. I've buried so many dogs (and other species, they all have their place in the universe of my heart) in my 61 years, yet I can remember each one as if they were in my lap or on my shoulder this morning.

All I can do to help is tell you something that many of my friends have thanked me for saying. If Sam could have talked, this is what he would have told you in his last days:

I know you love me as much as I love you, and I know how much pain my leaving will cause. I feel just as much pain knowing that I must leave you and disappoint you this way. I know you will always love me and nothing will diminish that love.

But I also know something that is one of the instincts I was born with. Being you dog is many things, and one of them is a job. I fill a very important position in this household, and soon it will be vacant. Please don't let it stay that way. Grieve, but don't let it go on for too long. It will not diminish what we've enjoyed for you to say, "There are important things around here for a dog to do, and I'm going to have to hire a new one."

This is no different than if the beloved gardener or cleaning lady you've had for the last ten or twenty years died. You'd mourn him or her. But you still need your gardening and cleaning done, so you'd go out and hire a new one without disrespecting your memories.

Well, you still need someone to greet you at the door, to sympathize with you when you're sad and to celebrate with you when you're happy. To ride shotgun in your car, to slow you down when you're moving too fast to savor your rich life, to watch the phone or the mailbox with you when someone you love is away. To make that too warm, too heavy lump in the middle of the bed, to make you walk through the snow on a winter morning, to get up during a football game because you have to feed the dog, to make you late for your first date with that sweet lady from the office.

If you truly want to honor my memory, then remember all these things that I've taught you, all the ways that I've changed your life. Don't let them fade away. Get a new dog soon. Every time you look into his loving eyes, you'll see me, I promise you. I will be there for you always.

Every dog-owner has or will share your pain.09/96 - My dog died today.

The vet said he thought it was a liver tumor. Me, I dont know what to think. He was my golden retriever. My friend. And dogs aren't supposed to get sick.

Two nights ago, I was partying at The Ranch, celebrating my life. That was while Jesse was at home, getting ready for the ending of his. I remember coming home around 3:30 AM and seeing him lying next to the sofa. (He preferred to sleep in our bedroom on the second floor, but could seldom follow us any more with of his 15 year-old hips.) His breathing was irregular; short and quick. I just thought he might have had dirt stuffed up in his nose from digging out in the yard, like he always did.

The next morning, he was still by the sofa. I came down the stairs and knew immediately that something was wrong. Jesse could not stand up. He had soiled himself during the night, and there was fear and embarrassment in his eyes. I called to him, but he made no attempt to come over. I quickly rushed him to the vet's office.

The doctor felt that Jesse's hip dysplasia had finally caught up to him, but recommended a regimine of steroids. He wanted to keep Jesse overnight for medication. A sleepless night finally ended with an interminable wait in the lobby of the vet's office. Finally the door opened. And my dog walked out on his own! A slight limp, but ecstatic to be leaving. The doctor cautioned that the results could be temporary, but I knew better. My dog was well!

During the day the limp got worse and Jesse returned to his place by the sofa. He was in pain.

What could I do? Nothing. I could love him. I could talk to him. I could hold him and brush his soft coat. He had a beautiful coat for a dog his age! When watching television, I sometimes used him as a pillow. Other times, I'd sleep downstairs using him as my personal living teddy bear. His fur was especially soft after he went wading or had a bath. He was a good friend.

Early the next day, I took him back to the vet. That was the day of tests. The doctor must have given Jesse every examination imaginable, trying to figure out why his health was deteriorating so rapidly. He was unsuccessful. There was a "mass" on his liver. Jesse was just getting old.

The next morning, I went to go say good-bye. Jesse looked so pitiful and helpless. Just seeing him was depressing. The unpleasant aroma of the examination room sent a chill up my spine. Everything was made of cold metal. An examination table, a desk and some cages were all present in the room. Jesse was on the table with an IV inserted in his front left paw. There was very little I could do.

It was painful to watch him in this state. I'd never seen him like this. I wanted to cry, but for some reason, felt that it wasn't the time. There would be plenty of time for that later. His IV was hooked up to a funny looking red box above him. It had a button and two switches on it. I figured out that the red box was the machine that would administer the chemicals that would put my dog to sleep. I couldnt believe how close he was to death: just the push of a button. I would have done anything in the world to save him from the inevitable. I couldn't say good-bye. I just wanted to take my dog back home and pretend that none of this ever happened. He didn't even have enough strength to get up. When he saw me, Jesse tried to stand. He probably thought I was there to take him home. But his, "Hey guys, I'm O.K." act didn't work. He just fell back down on his blanket. He looked so helpless.

It turns out, the vet told me, that dogs, even though domesticated, still have some of their wild instincts. In order to protect themselves in the wild, a sick animal tries not to act sick. They just act as if everything is fine when they really are injured.

Jesse's eyes were filled with uncertainty. I remember petting him; holding up his head. I kept saying in a soothing voice, fighting back the tears, "It's alright to go. It's alright." It was the worst moment of my life. I turned to the vet.

My mouth said, "Let him go."

My heart heard, "Kill my friend."

And I cried.

He came into our lives about six or so years ago. Just a middle-aged, overweight guy we found through a rescue league. Sure, there were other dogs. Proud, muscular youths who were fleet of foot. But Jesse had the confidence of maturity. He knew what he could bring to the right home. We gave him that home, and I just smiled when our friends poked fun about his girth. We had gotten a great dog.

He quickly slimmed down. He loved children. True to his breeding, he was cautious around our friends' toddlers. He could lay still for an hour or more while they pulled, prodded and crawled all over him. He loved to wrestle me in the snow or share a quiet Sunday morning, pondering the weekend paper. The simple pleasure of a rawhide could occupy him for a day.

Damn the time went by so fast!

Its hard to realize that I'll never be able to take him for another walk around the block or be able to go out in the truck to bark at the bikers we pass. I'll no longer get to pretend I'm angry with him for bolting to the school bus stop when the kids got home (while doing my best to hold back a laugh.) No more trips to the woods where he loved wading through a nearby creek. He'll never be able to go back to those Nags Head beaches where he would chase seagulls and play with the other dogs.

Maybe I'm being selfish, not wanting to let him go.
Maybe he's in a better place, running with new friends.
Maybe he's waiting for me.

I guess that it is alright to go.

:m: Peace.

Paul Harvey, the legendary voice of American radio, once told a story of a Skye terrier whose human passed away. The dog arrived at the funeral, refused to leave, won the sympathies of the cemetery custodians, and spent the rest of its life in the graveyard, staying near its human until the hardships of time sent it to the mystical hunting grounds. The custodians, of course, buried the dog with its beloved human, gratis.

Dogs are special creatures in the human world. I would say a good dog is hard to come by, but it seems a general part of their nature to be good. It is we humans who convince them otherwise.

Obviously, we're not finished learning from them.

I'll raise a pipe in honor.

:m:

I thank you all for your kind input.
Over the years I have been a regular witness to the far greater human tragedies of others and in the grand scheme of things I know this was but a small event. I just did not want this most personal of moments to pass unremarked.

My thanks to the community for making that possible.
Dee Cee

My "bestest buddy" Rex died last January. He was 17. I saw him born, I held him when he died. One week later to the day, his constant quadraped companion, Mamacat, age 20, whom I also saw born, went with him. I was crushed for months and gave serious thought to therapy. I still miss them both like crazy, and so often I wonder how such tiny little paws can leave such huge tracks across our hearts.

On a lighter note, about a year later Meatball and Itty Bitty came into my life. Rex was a Chihuahua and Mamacat was a solid black Bombay. Meatball is a Corgi mix who is the same color as Rex was, and Itty Bitty is all black with green eyes (Mamacat had copper eyes). While watching TV Meatball hopped up onto my lap and curled up to sleep while Itty Bitty took Mamacat's old spot on the arm of my easy chair. As I noted the familiar positions they had taken I asked "What's this? Second String?" (Sports name for back-up players in case some of you don't know.)

I'm sorry for your loss, Dee Cee. If you're interested, www.findagrave.com lets you put up online memorials for both people and pets.

Thats a shame Dee Cee.
I've been known to tolerate talk of heaven when people lose a dog.

What kind of dog was it?
It still eats me up that my first dog died the way he did. Of cancer/old age/put to sleep etc.
He was a performance bred boar dog. And he deserved to be killed in action by a wild boar.
I just feel like such a prick for keeping him "safe" and making him die such a drawn out unnatural death. Considering what a warrior he was. It was just wrong.

The only solace comes from the fact he at least he got to sink his teeth into alot of living flesh during his lifetime, got into alot of scraps and nailed a heap of douchebags.
I'll never forget the first time he torpedoed into a speeding cyclist.
He also fathered most of the litters in the 10 mile radius of my house. His powerful spirit found a way to express itself against all the odds of my family trying to keep him locked away from the world as a pet.
Which is more than I can say for most dogs. Still, his death was undignified and inappropriate :(

How do you want to go Doc?

Hungry and toothless, via a pack of hyenas.

I'm sorry to hear the news, DeeCee. At least Sam lived a long life. He was older than me, and that's gotta be old for a dog.

I hope things will pick up for you.

There is nothing anyone can say or do that will lift the shadow from your heart. Only time can do so - I know from personal experience.

But tonight - yes tonight! Grand Sam will be young and strong once more. Sam will enter the ancient nation of the dog - the Pack. Sam will run the vast fields with the giant hounds, swim the cool fair ponds with the tireless retrievers, and snooze in the sun with the fearless guard dogs. Peace. Search the heavens for that new star - listen to the wind for that familiar voice - alas, we are mere humans...

Sorry Dee. Losing a friend is never easy. But remember he's in better hands now.

Gaining a friend is far easier. Honour him by teaching a pup like you taught him, and care for him like he cared for you.

With hugs and kisses.
Blue