The Eyes of God--Past installments

 

 

Pecan, our "Angel Cat"

by Fran Y.

Not entirely unexpectedly, my husband and I lost our sweet (and spoiled), 16.5-year-old cat, Pecan, today to declining health. Pecan was the 2ND of our original pets, who we always name after trees: Maple, Pecan, Willow, and now Chestnut.

Pecan, a stray, joined our pet household from a friend as a companion to our other cat, Maple. Pec was a little younger, but still under 1 year of age. Unlike Maple, Pecan had experienced a rough beginning on his own, bearing scars on each of his sides, very likely signs of abuse. Also unlike Maple, Pecan proved to be the most obedient, patient, well-mannered cat we'd seen. When he "spoke" to us, it was almost as if he was asking permission for do something. We soon referred to Pecan as "the angel cat," as the scars were what remained after where his wings had fallen off. (In time, and with proper care and nutrition [and extra weight!], the scars faded.

As affectionate us as he was, Pecan was a ruthless hunter in our back woods, often gorging himself on little woodland creatures, much to our displeasure. We often joked with our vet that he needn't take his hounds hunting; all he needed to bag a deer was for Pecan to accompany him.

But in the past few years, his health declined. At first gradually, we hardly noticed except for hearing and weight loss. But yesterday, Pecan started to exhibit signs of labored breathing and loss of appetite.

This morning's examination at the vet revealed he'd developed hyper-thyroidism, but also a suspicious mass in his chest that the vet belief that it probably was cancer. As with elderly humans, there were several health issues affecting little Pecan. He was down to a mere 7.5 pounds and lost 20% of his body weight since January.

As is our agreement, my husband and I believe in sustaining our pet family's health until a crisis permanently compromises their quality of life. We chose not to put Pecan through further testing.

My husband isn't comfortable attending to these things, so I went to help Pecan pass to the other side to join his former pet family, Maple and Willow. I told Pecan they'd be there to welcome him over (not sure if that was much of a consolation in retrospect since they were constantly vying for our attention when they were all here!). But he passed quickly and peacefully.

In the waiting room before the procedure, I struck up a conversation with a young Dad and his 2.5-year-old son, who were there with their new 9-week-old Sheltie pup. To be honest, I'm not sure who was more cute: the kid or the pup. The Dad told me that he wasn't exactly eager to get a new dog so soon after he'd had to put down their former dog. I said that was why I was there, and he expressed sympathy. Afterwards, on my way out, I breezed by the little "family" with a tear-stained face and he told me again how sorry he was. It's one of life's ironies how when you least expect it, total strangers can reach out and bring a little comfort in one's grief.

Oddly enough, while working at my desk at home, I glanced down and spotted one of Pecan's hairs. I'd like to think that was a little sign to me that he's still around us. Perhaps Pecan left us now for us to make room in our home and hearts for another feline family member.

Bill and I miss our Siberian tabby warrior, but know that he's now been restored to eternal health.
 

 

Abby

by Tammy L.

We lost our 17 year old son Alex suddenly just four days before Christmas in 2003 from Spinal Meningitis.  One minute he was with us, and the next he was gone.  He had no symptoms, not even a fever.  He saw the doctor on a Friday afternoon and by 1:30 AM Saturday morning we were calling 911.  By Sunday afternoon, we were taking him off life support.  Just like that, gone.  We didn't even get to say good-bye.  Our lives stopped in an instant.  Christmas would take place in just four short days, but who could celebrate.  We where in shock.  Friends and neighbors were flooding our house with food, flowers and prayers.  Alex was buried the day after Christmas.  One month later on January 22 we would celebrate his 18th birthday without him, by visiting his gravesite with flowers and balloons.  
 
Our beautiful Abby was born on January 2, 2005 in Florida.  A beautiful black and white parti colored Havanese with a perfect S down her back.  Half of her was white and the other was black.  Eight weeks later when she was ready to leave her mom and join her new family, we flew her out to Texas.  We instantly fell in love with her.  She had this stubborn, but funny personality.  Always into everything and very hyper.  She was a distraction from our grief.  It was almost as if she knew what to do to get us to focus on her and not on our loss.  She reminded us of Alex, always on the go, hyper and a clown to boot.


Not long after she arrived, I found her sitting in her crate staring at the wall, barking as if she were looking at something.  She did this for awhile and finally stopped and returned to her normal playful self.  A few days later we had been out to dinner with friends.  They brought their young son with them and when asked what he wanted to eat for dinner, he replied by singing, "I feel like chicken tonight, like chicken tonight".  That night I had a visit from Alex in a dream.  He was standing in Abby's room and I was holding Abby.  Suddenly I turned Abby around to look at her and she started singing, "I feel like chicken tonight, like chicken tonight".  I looked at Alex and said to him, Abby can talk, she can talk, to which he replied, did you ever doubt it?  From the time she arrived in our home I felt she had this connection with Alex.


Sometime in the beginning of 2007 we noticed that she wasn't herself.  She slept a lot and didn't drag her toys out to the middle of the living room to play with them.  She had all but stopped playing.  Our other dog Casey, a Sheltie would bring out toys and Abby would start to play, then stop suddenly and lie down.  She got picky with her food and stopped eating her morning breakfast.  We also started noticing a gradual weight loss.  We took her to the vet to be checked out.  He wanted to run blood work, which we agreed.  Something was just not right with her.


The blood work came back with an abnormal liver function and we were sent for more tests.  A sonogram was next and the diagnosis was portosystemic shunt.  The next step would be exploratory surgery and if possible repair of the shunt.  Her surgery was performed in April of 2007.  We got the call from the surgeon later that day with the news that Abby didn't have one shunt that could be repaired, but multiple shunts.  There was no hope for her, the surgeon closed her five inch incision and two days later we brought her home to heal.  All we could do for her was to put her on a number of medicines and start a low protein diet to try to prolong her life.  Our vet said that she could live as long as five years like this and we would have been happy to take that.


We babied her.  She became our sick child.  When she would have a bad night, we would stay up all hours of the night till she fell asleep.  There at the end, we were up each night, sometimes checking on her two or three times a night.  She spent most of her day sleeping.  How could a 2 1/2 year old dog get this sick?  She should be running around our house tearing up the place.


Then on September 2nd she got very sick and we rushed her to an emergency hospital.  They started IV fluids and ran blood work.  The lab work came back with horrible numbers, she was dying.  Just 4 1/2 months after diagnosis, on September 3rd, Labor Day, we went back to the hospital to visit her, hoping that she might be able to come home for just a day or two.  We took one look at her and my husband and I just started crying.  We knew that she would not be coming home to be with us just a little bit longer.  We made the brave decision to put her out of her misery and put her to sleep. 


My husband and I each held her for what seemed like an eternity.  Quietly talking to her, telling her to go to Alex, that he would take care of her.  When the vet came in I was holding her in my arms like you would hold a tiny baby.  I asked him where he wanted to do this.  His reply was that she was fine were she was, that I could hold my little girl in my arms as he finally put her gently to sleep.  In no time at all she was gone.  We held her body for a long time.  We didn't want to leave her.


We find comfort in knowing that she is with our beautiful son Alex and that he is taking care of her and that finally she is able to run and play once again.  She lived just 32 months and 1 day on this planet and we truly feel that she was sent here for a short time to help us grieve the loss of our son, which she most certainly did and when her job was done, God called her back, leaving us here to grieve once again


She was an added joy to our life and one beautiful gift from God that we will never forget.  We miss her terribly.


Since Alex died we have had two readings with George and I can't even begin to tell you how much it has helped our family cope with our loss and the grief we have felt.  I specifically have felt that as a mother, I should have known that Alex was in trouble and have carried that guilt.  Only after the readings and hearing from Alex, that there was nothing I could have done to prevent his going, was I able to let it go, so thank you George for everything.


We love you Abby with all of our hearts.


Love, Mom

 

 

Piggy

By Keon Robertson

Savannah Elaine Robertson was my beautiful, energetic, smart, funny 12 year old girl who I lost to cancer last year on November 16, 2007. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. The days, week and months following her death were utterly heart breaking. Savannah’s nickname was Piggy because she always secretly “supplemented” her diet. She loved to dig up pecans from the yard and munch on them while sunbathing. She was a very special fat little beagle and I jokingly told my friends that she was a “special” breed of beagle called a Barrel Beagle.

When you began reading this article, you most likely assumed I was writing about a 12 year old child rather than a dog. You see, my pets are my family – my sons and daughters. I’m single, 44, and can’t have kids. I do have other family members – parents, siblings, nieces and nephews. But my pets are my kids. When one is sick, I deal with it just like any mother would deal with a sick child. And when one passes on, I grieve the same way. I’m not making any statements about the value of animals versus people, but rather the value of anything you love, that loves you in return. There’s no breaking that bond, death here on earth certainly doesn’t break it. Since her death, I’ve had many dreams about Piggy. In each one I’m trying to protect her from some unseen force. I fully believe she’s come to me in my dreams to comfort me. I also fully believe that she’s knows how much I miss her and how much I love her.

Piggy was always a bit overweight. As I mentioned before, she loved her food. One thing I loved most about her was her attitude. She always had a “you’re not the boss of me” attitude which I found bratty at times and utterly charming other times. If I called her, she came at her own speed (and that was if she decided to at all). Last year, in mid November, I noticed she was limping on one of her back legs. I thought she had probably sprained her ankle and it would be better in a few days. She had done that many times before because of her weight and she always bounced right back very quickly. The next day or two, I noticed she was limping on her other back leg and really having problems getting around. She got worse very quickly – later that day she couldn’t even move both back legs. I had to lift her and take her outside to go to the bathroom. I bundled her up and rushed her to the vet.

They took Piggy out of the exam room to run tests - blood work, x-rays, etc. She was gone such a long time. The vet finally brought Piggy back into the exam room and gently placed her back on the floor at my feet on the towel I’d bundled her in. She said, “Well, all her tests were pretty normal but there’s something very important you should see.” She put the x-ray film on the lighted screen and as I looked at it, I stood there and quietly began sobbing. Piggy had a tumor in her lung about the size of a ping pong ball. It looked so huge on that x-ray, so menacing. So scary. I just stood there sobbing. I knew what it meant – there was no denying what it meant. The vet said even if Piggy survived surgery to remove the tumor (which the vet didn’t think she would), she had blown out both her back legs and surgery on each leg would be necessary. She thought that three surgeries – one very major - would be too much for Piggy to handle. I asked her what she would do if Piggy were her dog. She didn’t hesitate: “I’d put her down.”

After I returned from the vet, I just wanted to be alone with Piggy and hold her and kiss her. I gave her all the treats she wanted, and all my friends came over to say goodbye. I planned to bring her home and keep her over the weekend and then take her back to the vet Monday morning to be put down. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out that way. Although the vet had given me several different pain medications for her, later that night I knew she was in just too much pain. It would have been selfish to keep her with me over the weekend. Later that night I bundled her up again and took her back to the vet’s office, sobbing the entire time. I took a seat in the office and waited, rocking back and forth, just holding her and sobbing. A young couple who was there with their dog kept asking if I was okay. I just nodded, tears streaming down my face. The man asked, “do they know you’re waiting?” with a real look of concern on his face. Again, I just nodded. I must have been a pretty alarming site. When I cry, I don’t hold back. I cry.

Several of my friends came to be with Piggy, and me, while we waited for the vet. It took forever and I was growing more and more distressed and hysterical with each minute. Finally, the vet came in and explained the procedure. It all seemed like a blur. I wanted so badly to stop it – but I couldn’t. And I shouldn’t have. Piggy was in pain and she was ready to move on. I knew that Piggy would have hated not being able to be her own boss, and go where she wanted to go, when she wanted to go. They took her from the exam room to place the IV in her sweet little right paw. They brought her back in and put her on the table, explaining that they were giving her a drug to make her sleepy and she wouldn’t feel any pain. I bent over her, sobbing and stroking her fur and telling her how much I loved her. Once the drug got into her system, Piggy started snoring loudly. I laughed through my tears. The vet said, “Oh! She’s a snorer!” And I said, “oh yes … always.” Her snores always lulled me to sleep. Then the vet said, “Ok, now I’m going to administer the second shot which will stop her heart but she won’t feel anything because she’s already sleeping soundly. OK?” I nodded, sobbing, petting her, leaning over her. “I love you, Savannah. I love you, Savannah. I love you so much.” Over and over, like a mantra. Finally Piggy’s snoring stopped and I knew she had passed over. Suddenly I panicked. NO! NO! It all happened so fast, I wanted her back! Here with me, snoring while I petted her. Back! Now. It was time for me to leave the room.

While putting a beloved pet to sleep is never, ever easy, I have to remind myself that it was totally and utterly the right thing to do. I know that she wanted me there with her at the vet’s office. I know it. I also know that she knows very much how much I love her. I know she hears me when I talk to her out loud. And I know that we’ll be together again. And she knows that. One of the friends who went to the vet with me gave me George Anderson’s book, Lessons from the Light. After reading the book, and particularly the passages about animals in the hereafter, I felt better … I felt comforted. And I knew with even more certainty that I’d join Piggy one day, along with other loved ones who’ve passed to the hereafter. I know that she was pain free, happy, at peace.

One shelf in my den is devoted to Piggy. That shelf contains a picture of her I took in our backyard, her collar, and the urn containing her ashes. People have remarked, “Aren’t you going to take that down now?” Or, “isn’t that maudlin?” I always answer with a determined “No.” No, because having that stuff there makes me feel better and brings me comfort. And that’s what it is, stuff. It’s not Piggy – her soul. What I’ve realized is with all the wonderful joy you get (and give) from loved ones throughout your life (and after), it will be painful when they move on to the afterlife. For me, the pain I feel somehow reiterates how very much I loved her. And Piggy was very loved and always will be. I know I have a wonderful, happy, fat little beagle waiting for me when go to the hereafter. And that’s something that brings a smile to my face.

In Memory of Savannah Elaine Robertson

“Piggy”

August 15, 1994 - November 16, 2006

 

 

 

Cudsy

 

I wanted to tell you about our little angel - our beloved kitty, Cuddles, or as we usually called her "Cudsy".
 
Our kitty came to us about 17 years ago. Our youngest son, Allan had found a stray and after many days of pleading, we agreed to allow her into our home. When the cat's true owner was located, our son was heartbroken, so my husband and I agreed that he could get a pet of his own.
 
We took our son to the local RSPCA pound, thinking he would pick out a cute little kitten. But he picked up a mature black and white "tuxedo" cat. As he struggled to hold onto her, his eyes began to water and he started sneezing. The lady behind the counter advised that 2 people had already returned this particular cat due to allergies and strong suggested that our lad pick another. But our 7 year old boy was adamant - he wanted this cat and no other. Many years later Allan explained to us that he saw a sign on her cage saying that she was to be put to sleep in 2 days if not adopted. He believed it was his mission to rescue her. After treating her respiratory infection and ensuring that proper grooming and diet were given, the allergic reactions were tempered.
 
My husband and I have owned several pets over the years, but none ever touched our hearts quite the way that Cudsy did. It took her a long time to warm up to the family, in particular to me or any other females. I believe that she was abused by a woman before we got her, possibly with a broom and/or a vacuum cleaner. At first, she would hid for 3 days if you took the vacuum out of the cupboard. Near the end of her time with us, she would come over to the vacuum and give it a smack! It always tickled me to see how far she had come in conquering her fears.
 
Cudsy was a very gentle soul and was affectionate in her own quiet way. We could always hear her coming down the stairs as she would thump along the steps and emit a soft little grunt on each one. She loved to come to bed at night and would snuggle down at the end of the bed by our feet.
 
When we moved into our new home in 2005, we boarded Cudsy with the vet so that she would not get away and get lost with all the moving things in and out of the home. When I returned to pick her up 3 days later, our vet advised against boarding her again in the future. Apparently, Cudsy believed she had been abandoned yet again and was not taking it very well. He took me back to the kennels and there she was with her butt in the food dish, turned to the front of the cage. I will never forget the look of utter happiness and relief that washed over her little face when she heard my voice. She clung to me for dear life - until we got home, where she proceeded to give us the cold shoulder for several days ! We swore then that we would never take her away from her home again.
 
Our beloved girl developed cancer when we had had her about 10 years. She recovered completely from her initial treatment and went on to live another 5 years. But shortly after we moved into our new home, she started showing signs of illness again. When we took her to our vet, we were told that she was quite sick and her suffering was apparent. Although it broke our hearts to let her go, we knew it was the right thing to do. By that time, she could no longer eat and was spending her days in her little "pup tent" in front of the fireplace.
 
On the last night of her life, we took our girl into bed and cuddled her between us, reassuring her softly how very much we loved her and how we longed for the day when we would meet her again, only this time she would be pain-free. She "kissed" my cheek that night, something she had never done before and I knew in my heart she was thanking us and saying goodbye.
 
When we took her to the vet, we held her and stroked her while talking to her. As hard as it was to do, I held her until she was gone. I have never regretted this for a moment - I could not bear for her to spend the last moments of her earthly life believing that she had been abandoned yet again. Her passing was quick and peaceful.
 
We had our little angel cremated and have kept her ashes. My husband and I have made a pact - whoever goes first will be cremated, too and when we are both gone, our ashes are to be mingled with Cudsy's and scattered.
 
We often hear her little foot steps thumping down the stairs. In life, our Cudsy was also known as the "nurse kitty" because if you were ill or injured, she would stay by your bedside and watch over you. I recently had surgery and I felt her presence surrounding me with love. I often dream of her and see her playing in beautiful fields of flowers. I believe that these dreams are really visitations and that she wants us to know she is happy and waiting for us.
 
Thank you for allowing me to tell Cudsy's story.
 
Karen

 

My Baby and my Princess

 
I never thought in a million years that I could become so close to two of the most wonderful dogs.  My baby Coco Puff and her daughter Sasha.  I got Coco when she was 8 weeks old and she was just incredible. She was a brown toy poodle that fit in my coat. That is where I carried her most of the time. She was so precious. When she was a year old my other poodle and her mated and she had 4 puppies.  I was in parent heaven! It was the most incredible thing I have ever saw and she did a wonderful job.  We were concerned because she was young but she was great. She had 4 puppies and the vet advised me that since she is so small that some might not make it. Well, I was a wreck almost to the point of  boiling water. She was great. When her last baby came out she wasn’t breathing at all. I immediately thought oh no I lost one. But, my little Coco was not going to let that happen. She took her mouth and gave her mouth to mouth, cleaned her from top to bottom and then her eyes opened and she was fine. I was so happy! It was one of the best experiences in my life.

Coco (my baby) contracted a disease called SARDS and went blind in both eyes. The vet advised that we let her bump into everything because she needed to be independent (yeah right). I carried her everywhere. She slept on my head and on my forearm.  Well, one day she was not feeling well so we rushed her to the Vet hospital. We had to leave her there for awhile against my better judgment. The doctor assured us she will be fine while they ran test which broke my heart. When they called they said she had renal kidney failure.  The air was just sucked out of me. I cried, cried and cried. They said that they could keep her alive maybe for a few months with lots of needles
constantly. I just could not put her through that. One of the hardest decision we made was to let her go.  Her passing was a wonderful experience when she left. They were nice to let us stay with her for a few minutes before and then after.  I really thought that I had failed, how could I not know she was in trouble.  I felt like I was the worst parent in the world. My guilt was incredible.

We have her ashes and one day I will set them free but not now. She has been gone for 6 years and my pain is still too great.  I did find a lot of comfort around my other  poodles (I had 5.)  My other dogs were also crying it was just horrible. Sasha missed her mother and my boy Griggs missed is partner.
 

Her daughter Sasha (Sashapoo and my princess) was the same. The sweetest poodle you would ever want to meet. She was champagne color. When my Coco passed I thought I could never go through this again, but that is life. Sasha was sleeping with us and one night she woke me up. She was 12 years old. I knew something was wrong. I carried her down stairs loved and kissed her, but she was not  responding well. She was shivering so I placed her in a blanket wrapped her up and cried. She passed away in my arms while lying on my chest. I am very thankful that she did that for me because if she was alone I would have just been so much worse. So, thank you Sasha my princess! When my girls passed I truly felt like something inside me died. I saw her come into this world, leave and I was truly blessed. I have both of their ashes in a special box with their collars and cards from friends.

These were my children and the hole they have left still hurts even though I know they are with me. I see their pictures every day and smile. Sometimes a tear follows but I know they are in a much better place and waiting for me. I am writing this because I just finished George’s book for the 2nd time. I forgot there was a chapter on our pets.  It has helped me try and move on even after all this time. I found comfort in knowing that they will be there for me when it is my time to move on. I feel them here with me now, but nothing can replace the physical. They have left a hole in my heart and will always be there.

About a year later, I got a call about another poodle that the owner did not want any longer. She said he could not be trained. Well, Buttons came into our life and he has every quality of both my girls. His behavior is the same way as my girls.  Thank you again George for including that chapter in your book.  It has encouraged me to write this and to say to everyone the pain is great, but life has to go on. We need to finish our journey and get to the finish line. I am just so glad that they were apart of my life.

Jim G.

 

Naomi--My Great Angel

-anonymous

 I want so much to share the story of a dear, most loving friend and companion and I am not sure where to begin. Perhaps it is best to start with the first day I saw her at my sons school . He had gone to college and before long acquired this spectacular creature. I went to his school to visit him and this wonderful puppy jumped in my lap . Before long he returned home to attend a college closer to home and I was left with my soon to be, faithful companion.
 I was a single mother of three children that were now finishing their education and entering a phase of their life that I was not directly a part of .
In earlier times I would come home from work to a house filled with laughter and conversation, now dinners were alone except for this wonderful dog who soon learned to get up on the dining room chair and eat with me at the table. Initially one may think that this is not appropriate but she was so well mannered. Her food was in her dish and no matter how hungry she would wait for me to sit down or anyone else who happened to be there for the evening. Her manners were impeccable.
 As the years advanced she, her name was Naomi, and I were inseparable I rarely did very much with out her.
 I, later changed careers and started a business from home and now she took on a new role she had become my office manager. She would bark if a fax was coming in. I was never lonely when she was with me, and never afraid to be in the house alone. She was so sensitive.  Her ability to recognize if I were sad was amazing .She would come over and just sit with me and with her  beautiful eyes she would stare into myr soul as if to say it was OK. There were actually times that I felt she and I were joined together in a bond that transcends normal relationships.
As she grew older she developed a series of life threatening illnesses, from Addison's Disease to Myasthenia Gravis, but we always managed to medically handle the situation . Than she tore her ligament and could not walk. Surgery was out of the question because of her many illnesses, so we found a veterinarian who practiced Chinese medicine and  after the herbal treatment and physical therapy  she was walking again.
About 2 months ago I began noticing a change in her, she was not coming into the kitchen when I cooked or if a visitor came she was no longer at my side as a protector .
Then the inevitable happened .One night shortly after she had fallen a sleep, we slept together, she woke up throwing up and was hyperventilating. I rushed her to the emergency hospital. They told me after a series of tests that she was dying . I did not want her last moments to be in the hospital. I thought I could get her home to a place where she felt safe and loved. I was sitting in the back of the car with her on my lap , her breathing became more regular . We were  driving about 15 min and were about 10 min from home when I  realized she had stopped breathing. I felt as if my life had stopped.
This most wonderful friend of almost 14 years was no longer with me. It was 5:25 AM . I knew that  Bide A Wee cemetery did not open until 8:00 AM . I did not want to leave her alone in the car so we rode around for a few hours stopping at a near by church at 7:00 AM . She had received a blessing at this church a year ago when the animals were permitted to come . I called the emergency number on the rectory explaining to the priest what had happened. He told me he would come out to the car as soon as he was dressed. He delivered the most beautiful homily and read the special pray of St. Francis as he blessed her with Holy water.
We than brought her to the cemetery were she was buried at 11:00 AM .All my children and grand children came to her funeral . This was 5 weeks ago and I am still in  tremendous pain. The loss is almost unbearable.
I have read many stories that people have experienced little happenings that assure them that their beloved pet is OK . I have not been so fortunate.
Maybe  I am missing the signs 
When Naomi was alive I came to the realization that in heaven they are called angels and on earth they are called dogs.
Our beloved Naomi, who loved and gave of herself more than any human being I have ever met, certainly was a Great Angel.
I can only hope and pray that she is know rejoicing in a new dimension without pain and playing in the fields and that she will remember how much we all loved and cherished her.

 

 

Duey and the Golden Pennies
By Geri Hashimoto

At the age of about 7 months, Duey showed up at my home. Some of his whiskers on the left side were missing, a few teeth were out in what looked like some kind of trauma, and he was in obvious distress, likely due to some form of human intervention. He came right to me and purred the minute I picked him up. I took him to our vet immediately and confirmed that someone had likely kicked him in the face. Hard. She assured me he would recover with no help from anyone, gave him the necessary shots and told me he just needed some R&R. Boy, did he take that literally! I brought him home and introduced him to the other cats, fed him and let him find a place to sleep...right on the top of the couch.
He didn’t move from that spot for 2 full days! He slept like there was no tomorrow and was totally unconcerned about the other noses prodding his body. He was finally home and we all knew it.

For he and I, it was love at first sight. We were almost inseparable and  formed a bond that is hard to describe. He was my soulmate, my best friend and the thing I loved coming home to the most. I’d grown up with cats and continue to have them, but there were only a very few that touched me and like Duey. He’d entered my life during trying times. My husband Bill had been injured seriously and we were dealing with the financial crisis as well as the emotional times that come with long term recovery. Our marriage had had it’s problems long before the accident and it seemed the accident brought even more stress.  It was to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Bill eventually recovered - to a
point - but the damage had been done and we knew our days were numbered. We parted ways after 25 years but remain friends to this day.

Duey was my strength for countless struggles. He was always there with me as well as for me.  Sometimes we’d have long talks and his beautiful eyes would look at me and say everything was alright. He just seemed to know when I needed a “hug.”

He loved riding in the car and often ran errands with me, like going to the grocery or to one of his favorite places, PetSmart where he’d sit up straight in the cart and watch the birds, and fish and all the people with their dogs.  He especially loved long trips in the car. Unfortunately he also loved sitting in windows and checking out his surroundings - which wasn’t good in some motels! He even flew across country in first class with me because some woman complained she was not only allergic to cats but refused to sit in the same cabin with him. Instead of moving her, they moved us to first class where we were the only passengers and the cabin crew let him sit on the cushy leather seat instead of in his sherpa.  HE also knew he was first class material!

At 17 he was diagnosed with pancreatitis. I was devastated as years before I’d lost another cat to this deadly disease. His vet was positive and refused to let me think of losing him. Instead, he put Duey on special diets and for a while he did well. But the last 2 months of his life were difficult and it was easy to see Duey didn’t want to make the journey back home.  He wasn’t ready
and neither was I. By this time I’d remarried and Masa, a kind man of Japanese descent, loved Duey almost as much as I did and added the loving end to his name, Duey-chan, which meant something like an endearment, like a loved young child. Duey was doing his best to stay but eventually the battle was being lost.
He suffered a stroke and recovered but the pancreatitis was winning and I had  to give him fluids in his neck, first weekly, then more until it was daily.  He tolerated it but I know it must have been so hard for him.

Finally the night came where we had to rush him to the emergency room and it was time to say our final goodbyes. I was beside myself at the thought of losing him even though I’d had many months to prepare for it. I sobbed uncontrollably at his passing. Masa took me home but didn’t know what he could do to help me. “Duey was only 18,” I said, knowing in my heart he had lived not only a good life but a long one. Yet, how could he be gone so fast? How was I going to continue without him? I was so empty because he wasn’t in my arms any longer. But a miracle was about to begin that would change my life again.  It is one of those things that you at first question, then suddenly you know the answer.
And with it comes peace.

When we got home it was just after 5AM. I’d had no sleep but I knew I needed to get cleaned up and maybe, just maybe, I might find sleep. I took my clothes off and put them in the washer and as I did so, something hit the bottom of the tub and made a noise. I looked down and there was a penny. I thought it must have fallen out of my pocket although I didn’t remember putting any change there. I didn’t much care, I was still crying so hard it’s a wonder I even saw it.

Then I went into the bathroom to take a shower but first sat down on the toilet and laid my face into my hands. The wall on the left side is only about 6” away and is so close that you often rub your arm against it. As I sat there, still crying, something hit my left arm and bounced to the floor.  There, rolling to the tub, was another penny!  It had come out of nowhere and fell near my elbow! There is absolutely no way it could have come from my body, and there was  no one else in the room with me.  I looked up as a natural reaction to see where it could possibly have come from.  Of course I saw nothing.

I’d long known about the stories of pennies coming from your loved ones after they’d crossed over. I’ve personally known people who’ve experienced them in equally strange ways. “Pennies From Heaven,” just like the song.  Think about the words. Where did the song come from? A similar situation. But never had I experienced such a phenomenon. And yet, two pennies in less than 5 minutes?  I was stunned but instantly stopped my crying and went to the washer.   I picked up the penny and really looked at it. 1985. The year we thought Duey was probably born!

That day was one of the toughest days of my life. I’d lost something that had left a tremendous hole in my soul. A hole that would never be filled, only put into perspective as time went on. It was also the day I began to understand miracles can happen to me, too, not just to other people.  A part of me couldn’t comprehend that my beloved Duey was gone and yet another part of me knew I’d been given the most incredible gift of love I’d ever received.  Something inside me knew my Duey-chan was at peace and was whole again - and was watching over me just like he always did. He wanted me to know he was still with me, perhaps just in another dimension.

Since his passing in 2003. I have received several more pennies, all at times when I have needed them the most. I know in my heart they are my Duey-chan letting me know everything will be fine.  They always show up when things seem the darkest.  And so after, things DO look up again.

I have since become involved with cat adoptions and have found incredible fulfillment in placing homeless animals in what I call, ‘forever homes.’ One Super Bowl Sunday, the store cleared out in the afternoon and it was just my partner and I and the PetSmart staff. Everyone was probably home waiting for the kickoff. My partner and I had placed 7 cats that day, an  excellent day for us, and we were taking a breather. He was reading his paper and I’d just cleaned one of the kitten’s cages in front of us for the 4th time in an hour. Kittens, ever playful, would romp around and invariably step on the side of their kitty litter pan and tip it over. I was thinking to myself what a super day it had been for adoptions and how lucky I felt to be a part of finding these furry kids homes when one of the kittens got into the pan and started to dig - to China! Kitty litter was flying all over our feet again so I got  up to clean the cage for the 5th time!. There in front of the door I’d left only 5 minutes before was a shiny new penny staring up at me. It certainly hadn’t been there 5 minutes before or I’d have seen it! I picked it up and knew it was Duey telling me he was just as pleased as I was that 7 of his furry friends now had homes.


For me it is pennies.  I don’t find nickels or quarters. And the pennies show up in the oddest places, places you wouldn’t normally find a penny. I see them  often and it brings such peace to know our loved ones are still with us. I’ve since lost more family and more cats. But I always know when I find a penny
who it comes from. They know I understand this and for that I receive untold support and peace. For others it might be a smell, a wind that comes out of nowhere and jingles a favorite windchime.  Or a countless other things that might only be for you. Look for the signs. They are there if you look for them. And it will happen often, not just once or twice, and you’ll know exactly who sent them..... and why..

Geri Hashimoto


"Saving the life of one animal
won't change the world, but
the world will certainly change
for that one animal."

  My Girl   

by Mary Fitzgerald

Thank you so much for adding this new feature to your website. When I initially read the first story, I was overcome with emotion. One has to be a pet owner to understand, it's just that simple. The same goes for any loss; one has to experience it themselves in order to fully understand what it's like. I am no stranger to loss. Sometimes I feel as though I learned to suffer from loss at an early age just to help prepare me for what would later happen in my adulthood. Having lost my best friend at the age of 13 to a brain tumor, helped, in some way, to prepare me for losing my soul mate by the time I reached the age of 23. Today, at 45, I've lost both parents, having been a caregiver most recently to my mom who passed in 2004. But, NOTHING prepared me for the loss of my green-eyed calico cat, named "Girlie". She wasn't simply, "Girlie", but she answered to so many names: Girlie Girl, Pumpkin Girl, Green-eyed Girl, Snuggle Girl, Mirrr Girl (I told her that they named a Russian satellite after her) and most often, simply: "the Girl".
 
The Girl has been around longer than my current spouse. She has been there for me during the most trying times of my life, including job losses, painful break-ups, sickness, and the occasional and typical "bad day". There are no words that I know of that can fully describe what she meant to me. She was simply a part of my soul. I knew how lucky I was to have her and I treated her like a queen. She ate off of Grandma's antique china. I'd go to the fish market weekly for fresh tuna and salmon only to come home murmuring the word, "treats". And, she'd be all over me. As the years went by, I was the receiver of so many kinds of gifts. When we lived in the south, she'd bring me dragonflies, small turtles and mice; never able to catch those armadillo's who were just too big for her to catch. After we moved to our big old house in the midwest she became a master at catching mice. Sometimes, they were left lifeless at the door, other times, well, let's just say that we had some fun running around trying to catch them. She'd look up at me as if to say, "well, help me out here" and I'd say to her: "Hey, don't look at me, you're the one who brought it in!". One night, while I was home in bed reading, she startled me because she jumped so quickly off the bed and ran underneath it. There was a quick scuffle. And, minutes later, Girlie appeared with the catch safely secured in her mouth. Whew! I never even knew it was there!
 
Over the 17 years that I had Girlie in my life, I thought I'd lost her a few times. It always turned out that she'd be hiding in a new corner or sleeping in a drawer. My husband was known to drill large holes in the walls of the exterior of our house when I'd suspected that Girlie got caught under the porch. We had several holes like this around the house. We even had to saw a fence apart because Girlie slipped underneath it to gain a better view of some smaller animals roaming about. Most of the time, I'd just find her sleeping in some new spot. All I know for sure is that my heart would feel like it was breaking at just the mere thought of not being able to find her. On the night of 1/10/5 when I awoke to the smell of smoke, Girlie was firmly snuggled up beside me and I was able to grab her and get us out of the house (after breaking a window on the second floor) to crawl out onto the roof where we were rescued by firefighters. We lost our home, but we were ALIVE. In fact, when the firefighters hollered up to us to ask: "How many are there?"...I responded, "3 of us"..My husband had to correct me by saying, "Two people and one cat". Once inside the ambulance I went into shock and my husband was pretty sick. But, when the officers told me that Girlie couldn't go to the emergency department with us, I began to sob. "I'll crawl out of this ambulance now, but please don't take my Girl". A very compassionate Police Officer got right up in my face and said, "Mary, I have cats, I promise to take good care of her.". What could I do? The headlines read: "Couple and Cat survive fire", one of the local papers had some fun with it and wrote that "Girlie was brought to the Police station for questioning and later released". Needless to say, she's lived a few lives. Even surviving Hurricane Hugo in the 90's in Florida where she was found blocks from home underneath a boating dock. She is a true survivor.
 
When she became ill last summer. I truly did not think that I could endure it. I had, after all, buried my mom just one summer ago and was still mourning. So, when Girlie started to have trouble with her digestion system, I knew there was something wrong. I used to bargain with The Lord, asking for time. "Just one more year," I'd beg. But, when the Vet told me that her liver was failing, I knew that we didn't have much time. We stayed outside those last few weeks as much as possible. She just wanted to hide. I knew that I had to make a very difficult decision, especially since she stopped eating (only digesting a few spoonfuls of baby food). So, on Sunday July 31, 2005 we took her to the Vet. We were able to go outside under a tree and the Vet gave Girlie a sedative to relax. I her her in my arms. She had appeared to understand what was happening because she hated going to the Vet, but she didn't resist this trip. Even on the car ride to the Vet (we skipped the carrier and let her free inside the car), she appeared relaxed and seemingly at peace. My husband said that she knew she was going home. So, under that tree, her little heart was stopped. My life has not been the same since.
 
About a week after her death, my husband and I, who were still living in a hotel (due to our house fire), awoke at about 4:30 a.m. I got up to use the bathroom and then turned the TV off (he always falls asleep with it on). In the silence, we laid awake. About two minutes after I slipped back into bed, we heard a very familiar sound. The sound was a bounce bounce swish.....the same sound that Girlie would make when she jumped from one chair to the next chair to jump up onto the table to look out the window. I laid there frozen (thinking, I couldn't possibly have heard that, its just my imagination). Finally, one minute later, my husband said, "Did you hear that?"....Jumping up, I said, "yeah, I heard it and thought that it was my imagination!". "Nope", he said, Girlie came back to let you know that she's okay". And, indeed she had. We later looked for some kind of explanation for these sounds but couldn't find any. From that point on, I was able to let her go.
 
But, the story doesn't end here. As we continued to live in this hotel (on the second floor), about 2 months later, I spied a stray kitten sitting on the steps to my door. The kitten would run away when I'd approach. Soon, I was feeding her daily, waiting for her to come around. Day by day, the kitten would trust me a little more, coming closer, after eating a plateful of food. And, finally, last December, she came into our room. She is a female calico, just like my Girl. Although her temperament is different, she seems to be an old soul. We are convinced that she is Girlie reincarnated. We named her "Lady Girl Marriott" (in honor of the hotel). She has green eyes and loves jumping from chair to chair to look out the window!
 
Thank you for allowing me to tell my story, I admit, it took me awhile because I had to stop so many times to stop crying. Bless you for all that you do!!

Chang
by D.K.

In October of 1979, I brought up an 8-week-old blue point Siamese kitten. His small size, bright eyes and little exclamation point of a tail warmed even the heart of my not-so-fond-of-cats husband, who promptly named him Chang Lee.

Chang’s curiosity and playfulness quickly ruined our drapes, potted plants and even my husband’s new recliner, which we did not discover because it was covered with a loose-knit slipcover. When the plastic and wood frames started to poke out, we realized the extent of the damage but we loved him anyway.

Sure, everyone loves his or her furry companions but Chang was and will always be more than that to me. Until Chang, I didn’t know how to love or be loved. My parents divorced when I was young. I rarely saw my dad and my mother hated me (both her actions and words told me as much repeatedly). And she wasn’t afraid to tell others that fact either – friends, teachers, strangers, etc. So, of course, I ended up in a bad relationship. It humiliated and embarrassed me so much when I would be physically and verbally abused in front of him. Afterwards, I would cry and he would come running to me. Chang hated to be laughed at but, at times like this, he would do everything to make me laugh. In bed at night, if I cried he would lie on the pillow beside me or he would let me lay with my head on his bed.

When my husband’s health went bad, Chang became his protector. Once, when I had to call the ambulance for him, Chang sat on my husband’s pillow and watched everything the EMTs did with my husband, letting out an occasional low growl.

Chang taught me how to be loved and how to express love. He passed away in 2001, 21-1/2 years after he entered my heart. Five years later, my grief and longing for him are still as fresh as the day he left this earth. I miss you, my little friend. As long as God grants me memory, I will love you and be grateful for the gift He gave me. Your face will be the one I’ll be looking for on the other side.

Along came Oscar

by Andrew Barone

Anybody who says you cant teach an old dog new tricks never met my Oscar. All three of my Daschunds were rescue dogs--which makes me either a very good-hearted guy or a real sucker for a sob story.  I started with one, Max, who was one of only three dogs to survive a cross country truck ride from a puppy mill.  He was already a handful, but when I got a call about an 8 year old dog who nobody wanted and they would have to put to sleep because of a nasty disposition, something in me just wanted to have a look.

I was already prepared by the Rescue people for what I was going to meet--an "older" dog who frequently bit people, could not be around children or other pets, did not see or move well, non-affectionate, fussy eater and unreliable disposition.  And yet I went to see this dog anyway.  The woman who was caring for him had dogs of her own, but could not keep him because of his disposition--he did not get along with the others. She explained to me that his owner was dying and she could not find anybody to place the dog with, so his options were running out. As I talked to the woman about the long list of things "wrong" with Oscar, a little dog jumped in my lap and waved his paws for me to rub his belly. I laughed and asked the woman who this little guy was, and she stared at me, shocked, saying "That's Oscar."   I could hardly believe that this friendly little guy had such a bad rap sheet, so I made the decision to take him home, thinking that people inexperienced with dogs (like I was such a pro)  made much ado over nothing.

The fun started when I got Oscar home. Max, dog # 1, could not go near him without a fight.  He bit my friend twice in a 20 minute span.  He barked viciously at the neighbor's little girls, and growled constantly at  my niece and nephew.  He was a serious bite risk so he had to wear a muzzle for 3 months.  He suddenly did not like to be touched, and I found out the hard way that if I raised my voice even slightly near him, he would cower and pee.  What was worse is that I started to be scared of him too, and I was disappointed that I could not trust him.  I felt indifferent to him, and that bothered me a lot, since I lavished so much affection on Max, but was unable to reach out to this crazy little dog.  But with all bad behavior comes a tale of woe--after a routine exam with the vet, I had found that there were fractures and scars to his little body--he had been beaten and abused, and had become distrustful and fearful.  It was then that I decided we were going to have to take a chance on each other, and learn all over again how to relate.

I was afraid that I didnt have the experience to handle this, but time is very forgiving, and although it took a few years, Oscar soon relaxed enough to be petted and allow himself to be cleaned by the other dogs (by this time I adopted a third Dachshund--I'm still not sure why!).  But underneath all the fear and fangs there was a sweet little dog, I knew.  It was just a matter of finding him.

As the years passed, Oscar slowly changed from a frightened dog to a loving one, with only sporadic reminders of the past--you still could not raise your voice in anger or stoop over him--the fear of abuse never completely went away.  But he grew to love my niece and nephew and liked to play with the other dogs, and he felt safe and loved here.  He would now follow me everywhere, and as soon as I sat he wanted to be in my lap.  I started to call him  my "little boy."

As Oscar got older the effects years of beatings and abuse started to loom large--he didnt walk well, and was losing his sight and hearing, so I got used to walking the other dogs and taking him out for a "carry."  Because I knew he couldnt keep up with the other dogs I would walk him by himself sometimes, and I would just let him sit on the sidewalk  on the corner of the avenue so we could watch people pass by and look at interesting things.  When he had enough, we would go back and I would rub his belly--something  only I was allowed to do.

Oscar started having health troubles, but was already 15 years old, which is a bit of a miracle considering all he went through before.  We started calling him the "eighth natural wonder"  because in spite of his ailments he was very cheerful.  He had to be carried,  and sometimes hand fed because his eyesight was almost gone, but he was so much like a puppy that he became my "baby" and trust me, I treated him like one.  I started to really enjoy the time together--he grew fond of being cradled in my lap and bundled up in a blanket, and loved all the attention he got.

Just after he turned 16 he had collapsed one morning because of a cold, but the vets, who had been telling me periodically that his heart was getting weak, were able to make him good as new.  A few months later I was not as lucky.  I had come home to find he had collapsed again, and I ran him to the vet.  In spite of everything they did, his heart gave out, and I lost the dog everybody came to refer to as "my little boy."

You know in your mind that someday you will have to say goodbye to your precious pets, but in my heart it was a cruel shock.  Suddenly the little boy I took care of was gone, and it was a crushing heartache.  I tried to rationalize that he was frail, had many ailments, but lived an incredibly long life for a dog, but somehow those are such hollow thoughts when your heart is broken.  I went home from the vet in a daze, not knowing what to do, but the next day I decided to go and pick him up and bring him home--this was the place he felt safe and happy, and I wanted him to be here.  That was an awful day.  They warned me at the vet's office that he was frozen, and to leave him in the box and not handle him.  But when I got him home and prepared him for burial, I just wanted to hold him in my arms one more time.  So there I sat, on the sofa, holding my little boy until my arms went numb from the cold, and then brought him out to be buried.

Its amazing how souls direct the right people to wander into your path after loss.  I buried Oscar in the yard in the place he loved to sleep in the sun on a summer day, but I couldnt find a proper marker.  I am not religious, so a St. Francis statue didnt seem right.  On my way home from shopping unsuccessfully for some kind of marker, I passed a garden center I realized I had never been in, even though it was very near my home.  I went in and it was the first thing I saw--a statue of a little boy, with wings, sitting on a rock.  I was in such sad shape that day, but I asked for it, and was told it was not for sale, that it was just a display.  Then the woman turned around and asked me why I wanted it.  I told her the whole story, and she cried with me and sold it to me for what she paid for it.  It was such a gift of kindness.  A few days later, when the landscaper saw the mound of dirt and the little statue fenced off he asked me why, and I told him.  A few hours later I had gone out for a little while, but when I returned, I found a bouquet of flowers on Oscar's grave.  It was a gift from the landscaper who was just being thoughtful and kind, even though he had only seen Oscar every once in a while.

Even after two weeks I had found that the initial crushing pain had not yet subsided--I was having trouble dealing with this loss in spite of everything I know about the souls and the hereafter.  I knew in my head that Oscar was in the hereafter and happy and well, but in my heart I knew my arms were empty, and I missed him.  That night, however, I had a dream that really changed my outlook in a big way.  In my dream, I walked with a man dressed like a cleric down the streets of my town--it was very early in the morning and the sun was just rising, and he talked to me the entire way as we walked from my house to the animal hospital.  He seemed so kind and reassuring, but I did not consciously understand his words--only that what he was telling me made me feel better.  When we got to the animal hospital, he brought me to the room where Oscar had died, and Oscar's little body was still on the table.  I started to cry again, and he told me to stop and to really look at the body.  He said to me "Does that really look like Oscar to you?"  which was strange, because at the time he died I remembered thinking to myself that he almost didn't seem like the same dog.  This gentleman went on to say, "That is because the Oscar you love is not in that covering--look up."  As I looked up I saw a ball of light and energy bouncing around the room, and it made me smile and laugh.  It leaped and ran, and I followed it, enjoying the energy and fun.  The gentleman turned to me and said, "There is your little boy--he is a puppy and he lives again in happiness, without the broken down suit he wore on the earth.  Look how he runs!"  I felt so happy watching this, but in spite of myself I had to get a look at the gentleman who I was speaking to.  I did not recognize him, but I did note his features--he looked to be Latin, with dark, kind eyes and long hair, which I found unusual, considering he was wearing a cleric's robes.  At that point I woke up, but I felt wonderful, knowing I was given a very special gift for my years taking care of Oscar.  I wound up calling George Anderson to tell him about this magnificent dream, and from the description he knew exactly who the gentleman was--St. John Macias, somebody I had never known about, but also known for his kindness to animals.  It was a strange and beautiful experience, and I feel lucky to have had it.

Every once in a while I still feel that familiar nose in the back of my leg--Oscar's way of telling me it was time to be picked up and babied.  It makes me smile and remember all the good times we had, and that no matter what, he is doing fine.  To the world he may have only been "some dog,"  but in my heart he was and will always be my little boy.