What a touching and painful story. I just remembered the feeling I had when I lost my loving dog when I was a little kid. My parents bought me a new puppy after seeing how shattered I was, and eventually I learned to live with a happy memory of my dog. Thanks for sharing your experience. It was really touching.online casinos: just the best reviews

U should have been there for her; she was always there for you. You didn't deserve such a wonderful being. You are selfish and narcissistic

Holy cow. I knew I shouldn't have read this. I'm in tears reading these stories. Thank you for sharing these memories and feelings, and for your bravery in revisiting such a sensitive and tender subject. I have my own stories of losing my most precious Fur Friends, but writing about them is something I can't do... I clicked on this article because your Ariel looks identical to my Murphy. He is a 4year old Havanese. He appeared 3 days after I lost my 11 year old Chow, Simba. We call him "Simba's gift"; Murphy is the joy of my life now, even though I really consider myself a cat person!

Hi Lissa,
I read your blog on Grendel and all the responses from that blog and this one. I often had to leave the computer while reading the sobs were so deep and painful. I can't remember if it was a short time before or after you lost Grendel that I lost my service dog, Simon.

I got Simon and his twin sister as 8 week old rescue golden retriever mixes in February 2005. My intent was to find them new homes because finding home for large black dogs isn't an easy task. I found a home for the female, but finding a home for little Simon was more of a challenge until I fell in love, and I became a foster mother failure. He and I bonded heavily, and he was able to help a part of my disability become more tolerable. I then decided to train him as a service dog to help mitigate my disability, and then I would hopefully rely less on "service people" who were getting tired of helping me, I feel. We worked hard for over a year with socialization, obedience work, more obedience work and learning tasks defined just for helping me. He passed the CGC and his public access test and already he was a great help in my becoming independent. I was even able to travel from my home and attend shopping trips, family events, and visit friends in other towns. My life was became my own, and it felt awesome. I called him my Superman. I was able to decide to leave my home for whatever reason and with Simon complete the social event, medical appointment, shop, eat out, and even rent a video and return it if I wished.

Then at the end of January of this year, Simon was losing weight rapidly and refusing to eat. I did my best to feed him, while (shamefully) telling myself that he would get over this if I took good care of him. In a month or so it was obvious that this was not a regulary illness. I took him to two vets trying to diagnos his problem. We were referred to a local veternarian teaching hospital. A day of all kinds of test told me what my heart knew. Simon was dying and there was nothing anyone could do. He might have four to eight weeks if I could get him to eat. I took that and worked hard to get him to eat anything. McDonalds, Burger King and Arby's drive throughs were his favorite. I went into the the vet's office every two to three or four days to check his weight. He was losing and losing. And, I worked harder. I changed my life back to staying home to give him rest, and we ventured out for only important reasons.

Then on the evening of May 29, Simon came to me and just stared. That was his indication that he needed something or I should do something. I asked him about going outside. No blink. I asked about a cookie? No change. I asked him if he wanted me to brush him. The same stare. Then I started crying, and I asked him if he was ready to go. He came over and climbed on the couch with me and gave me a sigh. I felt his boney body, and I saw how he was trying to make ME feel better because I was crying so hard. The next morning I told him that he could go, and that I would be okay when he left. I called an made an appointment with a back up vet since my vet wasn't working that week. As I lay beside him the vet gave him a medication that put him in a dissociative state. A state I could understand very well. Just before he was completely under, he began sniffing the air frantically, and then he found my arm and chest. He settled under my arm and was calm. Then the doctor gave him the medication that would send him on his next journey. My Superman was gone. I could feel his spirit leave his body.

Since then my life has reverted back to needing help from my friends, but sadly, I realized that they weren't there for me anymore. One friend has been helpful, but she has communicated that I was able to go out with Simon, and I should still be able to maintain that. She almost said, "He was just a dog," but didn't thankfully.

Simon was more than a dog. He was my life. Or more accurately he was a very close companion and service dog that helped me life a much fuller life. Not everyone accepted this in my life, but I learned from my new freedom and his ability to help me that it didn't matter what anyone thought but me. Since Simon's been gone, my life has been full of grief. I am grieving over losing my buddy too early. He was only 6 1/2 years old. I'm grieving because I may have kept him here too long for my selfish reasons. Grief is great over losing my freedom and ability to navigate in the world without fear, shame and PTSD symptoms. I grieve that I don't have any support system anymore than I don't pay for. I grieve because I hurt so much.

Thank you all for sharing your losses with us. I know it helped me to know that the painful feelings are normal. Soon I will be getting a new puppy from a wonderful breeder who is donating the puppy to be my new service dog. I know he/she won't be Simon, but I'll give him/her a chance. And, I will conintue to honor what Simon gave to me.

I just read part 2 of your story and Allison's comment, and I cried and cried. Actually, I've been crying all week. I also lost my beloved Wheaten Terrier, Teddy, on Monday. For 13 years, he gave us an unlimited supply of love and joy and silliness. He was the best dog and he weathered us through many emotional storms, always giving comfort or a laugh. He reminded us of the simple pleasures in life, to stop and smell the roses. He loved us, life and nature... leaning into bushes to rub the sides of his body, lying in the cool grass, going for car rides, herding dogs at dog park, which was in his DNA.

He started having some health issues about 6 months ago. His back legs, (spine related I think), would sometimes give out on him, and he'd trip or fall. It broke our hearts to see the usually leaping pup fall down. He started panting a lot. We didn't know if it was from pain or anxiety...the vet said it could be from both and gave us pain medication. He was also on medications for a possible protein disease that Wheatens can get. He'd get better and then get worse, off and on. He finally took a turn for the worse and we knew we had to make the hardest decision ever, to end his suffering. His quality of life was decreasing quickly. Because he was so stressed going to the vet's office, we arranged a vet to come to the house. Teddy greeted her with a wag, and even then I thought, are we doing the right thing, he still wags? It was bittersweet. Then he tripped again while getting onto his bed on the floor.

The vet felt like an angel sent to us. She made the whole experience respectful and spiritual. She took us step by step through the procedure, explaining what we needed to know, checking in on how we were doing, pausing to ask us if we were ready for each next step. She confirmed we were making the right decision, that it was his time. Her gentle and caring manner was comforting to all of us. She understood the deep bond we had.

Teddy made a beautiful, peaceful transition as we wept holding onto his soft dog body. I felt his breathing become calm, and I realized how long it had been since I'd seen that. I was dreading that day for awhile, I wasn't ready for him to leave my life, but seeing him breathing peacefully was such a relief. His tight muscles began to soften. Then with the next shot, I felt his life spirit leave his body and the room became a vacuum, leaving a huge hole inside of me.

I think my heart will be broken for quite a while. It will be a long process to heal over the loss of such a dear friend. Reading your story has helped me, and I thank you.

I read this....and FEEL. and then FEEL more. And then you take the subject from you to me with your question and my heart rips open and the sadness and pain of watching Hank pass, of holding him while the same shot was administered--thinking if I hadn't asked the vet to come and let him go, he would still be here.

As 3 other mutts play at my feet, including the big boy, Leroy Brown, that I know Hank sent, I am cognizant of my own (but big)cedar box on the shelf just over my shoulder. The book of 12 years of photos. And all I can do is lean in to the grief.

He was with me for 12 years. I trained him and while I'd grown up with dogs we'd never been able to house train one..and growing up pets were owned more than loved. Hank gave me a new start with loving animals and bringing dogs into the family rather than treating them as toys in the yard.

At 10 weeks, a vet told me I had a lame dog and I should put him down. No way- I already loved him! Fortunately a 2nd opinion revealed his bones were growing faster than his muscles and he just needed to stretch the muscles. To casts and 4 weeks later that teeny boppin pup was just fine.

At 2 years, when my husband left on a random Wednesday afternoon, Hank was there with his head in my lap, his fur catching my tears. After that, he got protective and aggressive and I spent 4 more years training him- Canine Good Citizen, Agility 1, Advanced Agility-- anything to keep him active, loved, and out of crazy aggression.

He was my big tough boy- emotional and hurt. Fearful of thunderstorms, cats, beetles, and the remote control. But he was the best cuddling dog-ball there ever was.

When I married, we merged my 2 dog family with my husband's rescue mutt. Our pack was playful, and peaceful and joyful for 5 years....until I started to sense something.

My intuition whispered Cancer. I'm ashamed to admit I dismissed it and some mild symptoms long past the "SHOULD TAKE HIM FOR A CHECK UP DATE."

In the past, I'd spared no expense, never missed a shot, bought premium dog food, and shelled out money for high dollar arthritis meds for two years....but this I could not face. I could not take him and hear that he was dying.

And then I had to.

November 2011. His blood levels were messed up and he had intestinal cancer - probably kidney cancer too. EFF CANCER-- I'd just lost a good 34 year old friend, also an Allison, the weekend Hank was diagnosed.

I used to travel almost weekly for my business, and I was so fearful every time I went to draw, or coach. I was terrified that he would die while I was gone.

My husband and I made "What to do if he dies" plans. Things like-- call me immediately, no don't I'll have to finish the gig. Keep his body until I can say good-bye. ALL these thoughts flooded my mind for months while I nursed him, gave him 17 pills a day, made special food concoctions that would be good for his digestion and liver.

None of these to save him, but to give us time- after all he was still a little spunky from time to time, was eating and drinking and eliminating almost regularly.

Oh death please stay away.

I was blessed at one point to have a dog masseuse come to the house and do some work on Hank. It was more than a massage. She played soft music, spoke in loving words and asked me, "What has Hank done for you?" while we both sat stroking his fur and frail body. For a few hours, she gently guided me through loving memories, held my tears, and then offered to anoint him with rosemary oil-- and she asked me to just thank Hank for all the things he'd been and done for me. It wasn't Hank who needed the healing, it was me.

I'd had a 40th birthday party planned in Tulum...and a psychic had told me that Hank needed me to be gone so that he could go...that he would die while I was away.
I said my good bye's, asked Hank to please wait despite what the psychic said, and then left him at my parent's house and took my long planned and paid for trip.

7 days later I returned to waggy-tail-happy-mama-is-home Hank - and sighed with deep gratitude. That was the first week of February, 2012.

The 18th of February, I'd been gone most of the day, and when I got home, Hank had not moved from where I'd left him earlier that day. We soon discovered that he was just too weak. He'd gone from 80 lbs to about 40 - the cancer meds KILLED all his muscle. His mind and heart were so there and his body was not. My husband and I agreed -- it was time.

We called a vet and she agreed to come to our home the next day.
We spent the next 20 hours cuddling, feeding him a cheeseburger, taking photos, and more cuddling...and then waiting.

The vet agreed with us, that it was time, even though Hank was so mentally present. He lay on my bed, and I just held him. Stroking his face as she injected the sleeping part of the medicine. I felt his body go limp, but could still hear his breathing. I held him for a few more moments, and whispered all the love I could into his ears, and then she administered the next shot, and his breathing stopped.

For the briefest of moments, I felt his spirit-pure LOVE and CONNECTION-- go through his back and into my heart (I was spooned up against his back) and I felt the deepest peace and light flash through me and then out. He was gone.

Oh GOD the pain was too much to bear and I never have cried so hard. I scooped his body up onto mine and just fell into the tears of grief that filled the whole room. It was the one and only time I've seen my husband of 6 years cry.

I said good-bye to his body and then went back to my room and sobbed for a long time. My husband and I just held one another... in that grief. It was the first grief we'd shared together- and somehow that healed a bit of our marriage (the 2nd for both of us).

The grief was thick and the guilt thicker. All the questions around putting my pal to sleep-- was it too soon? Could I have done more? Did the cancer meds kill him faster than the cancer would have? If I hadn't called the vet, he would be here with us now? --- and more tears.

Making photo albums, and posting pictures on facebook was cathartic. And in time, I wasn't crying every day. I felt like from November, through Hank's dying and death in February, and the after grief in March and April- was a true dark night-- a deep winter in my heart. And, I let myself hibernate.

No coincidence that I was hosting a renewal retreat for my clients the last weekend in April. And that weekend I found my spring and was renewed again. I also began looking for a new puppy. I just KNEW that Hank would come back to me.

Hank didn't comeback to me. But he did bring me Leroy Brown, this I am sure. For brevity, I won't go into all the little circumstances of that story here. I will honor Hank, my best pal and soul-dog for 12 years. I will honor his health, and his illness, and his death, and I will honor our story and the deep grief he lead me to and the love that carried me through.

The loss was great...and the love was greater. Much greater.

Thank you for giving the invitation to share....