The Eyes of God--Past installments

Lloyd

I was never able to share with her about Lloyd's passing, as she was already too sick to comprehend.  In fact no one in the family knew, as I hadn't mentioned it due to not wishing to add to their stress and out of fear for "not being taken seriously due to only a "dog's" death.  Coming in and out of consciousness one of the last things Aunt Ida asked me was this: "Did I know that a little white dog keeps walking past her hospital room, making her smile and waiting to take her someplace?"  With my heart soaring I said, "No. I didn't know that.  But I was sure glad to hear it.  Now save your strength, you don't need to say anything else to me nor do you owe me anymore."  She opened her eyes and in a moment of pure strength as if not sick at all said, "I do have something to do though, I do owe you something.  I owe you to love you.  I have only to show you how much I love you.  And I really do."  "I love you so much too.  And thank you."   She then turned her head towards the door and the floor - smiled and I knew who it was she was seeing.  Two days later, she was with Lloyd. 

THIS is my special reason why I MUST share this work.  Death isn't the end - it's only the beginning... 

 --Ren

Samson

My dog Samson came at a time when I was grieving over the loss of another dog (Caesar).  My dog Caesar had been brutally murdered – gunshot.  The breeder, whom was a colleague at work, offered me a puppy in his next litter, to ease my pain.  I felt that I was betraying the memory of Caesar by getting a puppy so soon after his death, about 6 weeks.  Samson was born on November 26, 1991, the day after Thanksgiving.  I went to see the litter and noticed his unusual markings – it was almost a white flower on his black back.  It caught my attention.  Later, as I visited the puppies, I saw that he was the puniest of the 12 pit bull puppies.  I wondered if he would live.  When I sat down on the ground, the other puppies would play with my shoe laces and crawl all over me, wanting to play.  Samson merely climbed into my lap, happy to be warm, and went to sleep.  I fell in love with him and had to have him. 

At 5 ½ weeks, I brought him home.  I had to give him baby cereal and mashed up dog chow for him to eat because he had little teeth.  One and a half week later, he was house trained.  He was amazing.  He went with me everywhere.  I had a little sports car with two seats and he was my constant passenger.  He was my best friend. I was having a hard time at work, was very depressed and was suicidal.  Had it not been for his love and knowing I had to take care of him, I may have ended my life.  He was my constant companion and slept on the foot of my bed for 15 ½ years.  He was protective of me, but very loving.  He spoke to me with his eyes.  I knew when he was mischievous, sad, worried, or happy.  I knew when he needed something.  We communicated like no other pet and human could understand. 

Even after my sports  car was broken down, we would climb in the dead car and just sit and listen to the radio- Samson by my side like so many years before.  When it was bedtime, even after he lost his hearing, he knew when I went to bed and he would wake up and come to bed with me.  Even as he was decrepit, he would struggle to wake up and make the journey to our bed.  I always said he had an invisible string tied to me; he knew where I was always.  He aged and became increasingly difficult for him to walk.  He knew I begged him not to go, I couldn’t stand the pain. He wouldn’t go on his own; he didn’t want to hurt me.  I tried everything in my power to make him comfortable and keep him with me.  He told me it was time; he was tired and embarrassed that he could no longer hold his bowels.  I had to pick him up to take him outside to use the bathroom.  He was asking me to help him.  I made arrangements to have him euthanized in our bed at home, to honor what an amazing friend he was to me. 

The last week we spent the time together like we did in the old days before I was married, before my son was born– going to fast food restaurants, driving everywhere together – him by my side.  On Friday evening, September 20, my vet came to free his weak body to the heavens.  I had to be tranquilized myself because I lost part of myself that night.  I felt like I would die with him.  I am so grateful for this special relationship that it was the closest I’ve ever gotten to an angel.  I always called him my baby angel, and he really is that now.  Even in his death, he gave me a gift – grieving for him helped me lose weight, weight that I’d needed to lose for some time, but had no will power.  I cried every day, for almost a year for him.  When I die, I hope he is one of the first faces I see.  My best friend, my baby angel.



Benita Padilla-Kirkland

Logy

As a young girl I was in love with Lassie. Lassie the TV star, books about Lassie, anything with a collie as the subject. I saw a stuffed collie, standing three feet high, that I saved my money until I had the thirty dollars to buy it (a lot of money for an eight year old girl in 1964). When I was 21 I bought my first real collie. I named her Logy, short for Kenny Loggins (one of my favorite musicians). She was a tri-color, six week old bundle that couldn’t believe was finally mine.

She was a smart little gal, housetrained at seven weeks. As she grew I worked with obedience skills but Logy became very aggressive when I worked with her. Logy and I went to obedience school since I was very inexperienced in dog training. After the instructor watched us work, then began to work with her, he stated she was inherently aggressive and should be put to sleep. NO! I couldn’t just give up on her. I was already in love! The instructor gave me some things to try which may be judged cruel by current training techniques. We worked diligently every day. She fought me but I fought back even harder because the alternative was just too painful. After two months something changed in her. She watched me, she listened, and then became the collie I had hoped for – smart, devoted, obedient yet an independent thinker.

She knew the perimeter of our property and never strayed. She herded my cat around the yard, making sure he knew the rules. When my daughter was born she slept between the two bedrooms, keeping an eye on the whole family. When my daughter was three she was in the yard with Logy. I went into the house for a minute and when I came back out, my daughter was not to be seen but Logy was at the far end of the property, looking down the street. I asked “Logy, where is Kailey?” She took one step off the property and looked back. “Is this okay?”, she seemed to ask. “Logy, find Kailey!” I answered. She took off down the street, past three houses, across the street and up to the front door of a neighbor. I knocked. As Logy had shown, Kailey was there, going to play with the neighbor child. What a wonderful friend Logy was!

When she became very ill with an autoimmune blood disorder at age 10, I could see the pain in her eyes and knew she needed help, needed to be free from her pain. That night my daughter and I cried until we had no more tears. But each night, for three nights, I heard Logy walking the house, heard her tags click together. One night, after waking from a deep sleep and startled by the noise her tags made, I said, “Logy, you’re scaring me.” Boy, did I regret that comment because I never heard her tags again. I miss that sound. I miss my Logy. Even though I have had many other dogs since she was a special soul. And I know she will come running to me again some day.

 Dear Sir,
I found this little dog in a box, I think now God sent her to me.
I miss her so much , are there people out there that lost a pet to talk to?
I do believe they are eyes of god.
                                          Thank you , Sherri


Don't ask me why I wrote this, I think I had help.
 
Hi, my name is Wrinkles, but my mom calls me "My Girl."

I was born in AZ I was only three weeks old when I met her. I wasn't a full blooded Shar-pei
so my real owner's couldn't sell me. I heard her tell her husband  she would find me a good home. He had a dog named Sheba, and mom worked all day, so I was good & she fed me warm milk & bread. Then she took me to a doctor, he said I was too little, but if I make it (what ever that means) bring me back in six weeks.

Well I did, and I  was so good even her husband said "She's a keeper."  So now I have mom & dad, he takes me & Sheba for jeep rides every day. One morning I met another puppy in the desert, we played for a long time. When dad whistled, I had to run to the jeep. I tried to get my new friend to come home with me, but he said he had to go home to his mom too. Later I heard dad tell mom I was playing with a coyote puppy.  I guess that was his name, I never saw him again, he must live far away.
    
Boy, Sheba must be getting old, she wont come out when the black & white cats come in our yard.  I have to chase after them & tell them to stay out. I got one once, mom got mad and put me in the tub, said I smelled like skunk, what ever kind of cat that is. Dad told mom I cant help it, its in my breed, so I got a lot of baths.

As I get older, I  get what they call Shar-pei fever, I got it from my real mom, boy I would get so hot & my hind legs would hurt. But mom made sure I got medication for it. Now it happens more often. Then one day dad took Sheba for a jeep ride, never saw her again, dad cried when he came home.

Long time after, dad got sick too, mom said he was in hospital, he never came home either.  Mom cried a lot.  I would sneak on the bed at night & lay by her, I was lonesome to. She knew I was there and she would pat me. I know I made her feel not so alone. I was sad when she went to work all the time, but then she stayed home with me. We played hide & seek, sang & dance.
 

One day, mom got me a sitter & said she would be gone for awhile. I was sad, then Uncle Craig came & we went for a long ride. When we stopped, there was mom, I was so glad to see her, we were in a new place called Texas.

We met a lot of new people, some I didn't like and I let them know it. When I went outside I met Buddy, big black Labrador.  I like him, but I got jealous when mom came out, so we would fight.
I had to be in a fence by myself. Then one day I couldn't walk, mom took me to a new doctor. More pills & shots but it came more often now. I heard our years are different then theirs, but mom and I are supposed to grow old together.

Now we moved out in the county, boy what a big yard just for me, I sure am loved. We have a big deck, mom put some carpet on it , so its better for my legs. They said I have arthritis and I'm getting older. Now I have mom, Aunt Laurie, Uncle Craig and some times kids. I like them, the girl puts her finger on my for  head & asks mom "How come wrinkles has a 'Y' on her for head?" Mom says I was born with it & that made me special, no other one like me in the whole world. I like it when they kiss me there.

 I still stay inside with mom, now I get two beds--one in the bedroom, and in the hallway. I still watch over my mom, no body bothers her when I'm around or even the kids.  It sure is nice today I get the deck all to my self, mom says after today, no more pain. So I don't know why she's crying.
 

 Yes my girl went to sleep that day
 June 19th , 3:30 p.m.
 She will always be my kid, my joy, my best friend--my bud, my joy . I will carry her with me where ever I go, I promise her.  I still sing to her,  "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."
                                       

Tell we meet again, Love-forever your mom

by Theresa G.

 There was our Duke, a Sealpoint Siamese, about 18 months old who had been lost in winter and brought to a Veterinary office, where staff hunted for someone to take him home. I was that person who couldn't resist.

It was a huge experience to live with Duke. He was never more than 6 lbs. 7 oz. in weight but he carried a Mighty Attitude, and was able to bring our Golden Retrievers to their knees, just by looking at them, or sometimes twisting his body in a way that scared them. He was small but very intelligent. He had nothing to fear. If he had fear he covered it up by his behavior.
 
He was a comfort to me when I had breast surgery, he snuggled in, and although he may have been after my Body Heat, he was there, my special little fellow. None of the other cats slept as close to me as Duke. I was his mother and he claimed that spot.
 

Over time, he gave me up and seemed to drift to my husband, who at times had three cats in his lap. Although Duke was 3 to 5 lbs lighter than the others he could make the other cats leave my husband's lap just by staring at them. My husband would point out what he had just witnessed. My answer was "Well, they should know that's DUKE's place." 
 

As the years went on, I mentioned several times that my husband had taken my baby away from me, and he would grin and draw a halo over his head in the air and grin of course.
The night my husband passed suddenly, we had had supper and went into the Living room to watch the news. This was Feb.28, 2000..  My husband had had a normal day, although he'd had respiratory problems for 30 years, being on Prednisone all those years. He had only seen his doctor 12 days before his death and he was told he didn't have to come back for a year, instead of the 6 months he'd been doing for years. And he had a new inhaler. It didn't agree with him but we were sort of unaware.. that is of the danger from it.
 

When he went to sit down he said to Duke, "Duke, how did you get here so fast?" He picked him up and sat down with him in his lap. In about 3 minutes Duke climbed way up on his chest, higher than either of us had ever seen him do. He was demanding to be there, and to wash my husband's nose. Again, my husband asked "Duke, what are you doing", as he held his head down to Duke. Duke washed his nose with his sand-paper  tongue. Then my husband handed Duke to me, and went outside where I had seen him go to try to get air many times.
As my daughter was leaving for a Bagpipe lesson, my husband said to her "Cindy, take me." And she got him to the car where he died instantly.. before she got out of the driveway, as she headed for ER a mile away.
 

 believe Duke knew something we didn't know. I believe Duke was showing his love and knew something was wrong. His behavior that night was "different". Duke was 18 by then, and lost weight steadily (kidney failure) for the next 4 months and I had to have him put to sleep, which was another very painful thing.
 

To this day, I adore that cat. Speak of him often, feel the same love for him, and many stories we lived through because of Duke. Of all the pets, Duke was an experience we could never forget. He was known as The Duke-meister, His Royal Duke, His Duke-ishness, Dukeums, and Dukey.

I say this with love.

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

My Baby and my Princess

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.

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.