Dead Pets* Society (*Not a Typo)
I am in the process of writing a column for Ladies Home Journal on dead pets. (I am not making this up.) Clearly not the best use of my snarky irreverence, if you ask me, but a paycheck is a paycheck, so who wants to help me bring home a little bacon? (And not the dead-pig kind, although it is sort of fitting to think about it that way. And my condolences if your pet pig died. Feel free to use the comments section to tell me all about little Babe.)
I need people to share their stories of beloved furry best friends passing on into that great green field/fishbowl in the sky. Specifically, I need:
* Advice on coping with the loss–did anyone say or do anything particularly profound that helped ease the pain?
* Thoughts on euthanasia. ( Are we having fun yet?) How do you make the quality-over-quantity of life call? How did you feel about it? Any regrets either way (i.e. not being there, waiting too long, letting a vet talk you into it too soon, etc.)?
* Cremation versus burial (versus, perhaps, flushing down the toilet). Discuss.
* Thoughts on re-populating with a new pet. (Of COURSE Fido can’t be replaced… but can another pet fill the void he left?)
* What NOT to say to someone who has just lost a pet. (Example: “He smelled really bad anyway.”)
Look, my dear friends. This is NOT a fun column to write. So I have decided to go for gut-wrenching emotional tearjerker.
Won’t you help me out?
I love you, really. But not in a creepy way. And if you ever need someone to help you bury a pet*, you can totally call me.
~Jenna
*unless it’s a horse or larger
My mom called me at my office when my childhood pet died. Our Siamese cat Sugar Plum, but we called her Sugie (hey, I was 5 when we got her and of course my parents let me name her) made it 18 years.
I felt like a complete idiot when my boss at the time came into my office and I was crying my eyes out. Him: “Umm, what’s up?” Me: stammering “Myyyyy caaaaat just died…” sob sob sob Him: turn and run…
Just kidding, he didn’t turn and run, but he did say he was sorry. Nothing more, nothing less. Which was great. I didn’t want/need/expect stories about his beloved pets or ideas about what I should do now.
My mom was a complete trooper and held Sugie when the vet put her down. I was so glad someone was with her, and I somehow I know Sugie was too.
My daughter’s carny goldfish (you know, the kind you get from the creepy carnival ping pong toss) lasted w-a-y longer than I thought it would. Certainly not because she took great care of it (believe me). When Jack finally floated my daughter was visiting Nanny and Poppy. I couldn’t immediately decide whether we should just replace Jack with another goldfish so she would be none the wiser or if we should pick something different and tell her about his untimely (OK, very timely) demise.
We opted for the latter and I’m happy to report we had no trauma or emotional damage from the loss.
Comment by Jenny — November 17, 2009 @ 2:05 pm
I’ve had pets (mostly dogs) my whole life. So I have lots of dead pet stories. My two most recent ones happened in ’07 and ’08. Maximus, my husky that was 12, developed a serious ear infection that affected his balance. The vet visit cleared it up but he was still lethargic. We watched him closely for a couple weeks, afraid to take him to the vet and learn grim news, but afraid to keep him alive and in pain if he was really sick. When it got to the point where he couldn’t go from his dog run to the yard to take his doggy dumps, we decided that was no way to live. We got a definitive diagnosis, liver tumor the size of a softball. It was a hard decision, were we doing this too soon, not soon enough, etc… It came to a point where we decided we’d rather not keep him alive and in pain for our selfish ends. We loved him enough to let him go. The vet gave him a shot to make him sleep before the stuff to stop his heart, and Maximus fell asleep in my arms, but not before heaving a giant sigh that I like to think was relief. There’s no easy way to justify lovingly killing a pet friend, but we just kept telling ourselves it was time. We had him cremated. We did not keep the ashes because he was cremated with other animals, the single cremation being more than we could afford at the time after the testing for him had climbed into the hundreds of dollars arena. I still feel bad about that, that we couldn’t keep his ashes and bury him ourselves.
A year later, my dog Chewie, my first adopted baby after I moved out on my own, got real skinny in a week and started acting sleepy and lethargic. She wouldn’t play, and we were worried. But after about five days, she perked back up, put some weight back on, and seemed like her old self, albeit a slower version of her hearty adult years. About a month later, I had to help her down the stairs one morning to go outside. That night, we brought her back into the house, bathed her gently and put her on her doggy pillow. She didn’t move for the rest of the evening, and I had a bad feeling. I spent more time with her than usual, telling her she was a good dog and I loved her and for a lonely while in college when I lived alone, she was my only company and my best friend. I told my husband that if she still seemed that bad in the morning, I was taking her to the vet first thing. He woke me at 5 a.m. to tell me she’d passed in the night, asleep on her pillow. We buried her in our backyard, in the spot we designated for our garden. We never knew what it was that got her, except she was 12. Old age.
If you ask me, it’s a travesty that pets’ lives are so short. We have another dog, a 2 year old horse of a black lab, and she’s a bright spot. We have pictures of Maximus and Chewie framed, and they won’t be forgotten or replaced, but we’re making new memories with the new dog, Calypso. We also want to get her a friend when a friend of ours breeds their puppies. For the foreseeable future, I will always have a dog somewhere in my house.
Comment by Andrea (@shutterbitch) — November 17, 2009 @ 2:10 pm
My sweet cat Fluff Puff died in February of this year; he was 13 and had been ill with a heart condition for a short period of time. Towards the end he got extra affectionate. He died peacefully in his sleep on our bed one night. I am so grateful that he didn’t suffer and that we didn’t have to consider euthanasia.
What helped ease the pain: I was given a day off work for bereavement. We had a funeral for him in our back yard. I sat outside every evening and burned candles for about a week. My husband made a collage of pictures of our cat and wrote a haiku. Many of my friends knew about him so having them acknowledge the event and a simple “I’m sorry” was comforting.
Regarding re-populating: We still had 2 cats left at home. Less than 3 months after Fluff died, we found a litter of kittens in our back yard, about 4 weeks old. I rescued the feral mom and the kittens (got them spayed/neutered, vaxed, etc.), found homes for 4 of the kittens when they were old enough and kept one myself. The mom lives outside in our back yard.
Looking forward to reading your article. Good luck, Jenna.
Comment by Nicki — November 17, 2009 @ 2:19 pm
The link to my blog is my post about our dog that died about a year and a half ago. It was a euthenasia situation and it was hard. I’m going to go through your bullet points and see what I can address for you in each.
* Advice on coping with the loss–did anyone say or do anything particularly profound that helped ease the pain?
No advice really other than to realize that they just naturally have a shorter life-span than people. I have a family member that says, “Dogs are people, too.” This may sound calloused, but, um, no, they are not. They are, in fact, dogs. And while the death of a beloved pet hurts and is sad, I would hope that we would be much more distraught over the death of a person. That’s all I’m saying.
* Thoughts on euthanasia. ( Are we having fun yet?) How do you make the quality-over-quantity of life call? How did you feel about it? Any regrets either way (i.e. not being there, waiting too long, letting a vet talk you into it too soon, etc.)?
–As I wrote this portion, it turned into helping kids deal with it… just FYI–
This is a hard decision to make, but one to be considered from the day you own a pet. I never thought I would have to do it, but there we were, in the vet’s office that day, knowing what we were there to do. Our nearly 12 year old dog had been on a several month roller coaster ride of eating and not eating having diagnosed with growths which were possibly cancerous throughout her digestive tract. We would have days that were hopeful when she would eat and then more days of not eating. We kept expecting to just come home and find that she had passed away peacefully at home. But it didn’t happen that way and it was clear that she seemed to be suffering. We did not tell our kids about this decision. We simply told them that she died at the vet’s office that day. In our opinion, dealing with the death of a pet they had known all their lives was hard enough, but to ask our 7 year old daughter to wrap her mind around that kind of decision was too much. I told her when she got home from school that day and we just sat on the sofa and cried together for a little while. As we talked she asked for a picture of our dog to keep in her room. So, we went through our photo albums and found a recent picture of her, put it in a frame, and she kept it at her bedside for months. We talk about Daisy and for a long time, my daughter would still get very sad, but that’s all just part of grieving.
* Cremation versus burial (versus, perhaps, flushing down the toilet). Discuss.
We cremated our dog, but I could totally see burying if you lived in the country and could do it yourself. I’m not really into pet cemeterys. Something a little off about that to me. Just sayin’.
* Thoughts on re-populating with a new pet. (Of COURSE Fido can’t be replaced… but can another pet fill the void he left?)
We had 3 dogs and losing one put us down to two. While we miss our big dog (the other two are smaller) we will not be getting a new dog any time soon for a variety of reasons. Not only financial, but that is a consideration when getting a pet.
* What NOT to say to someone who has just lost a pet. (Example: “He smelled really bad anyway.”)
I got nothing here.
Comment by Donna — November 17, 2009 @ 2:28 pm
I can give you a what not to do story
When I moved out of my parents house and got married, my mom and dad kept my dog because he was old (14 yr old pomeranian) and I couldn’t have pets in our apt.
When that dog died near my birthday, my parents told everyone else in my family — my brothers and sister — but not me…because they didn’t want me to be upset. I asked about the dog while we were out celebrating, and they all acted a little odd, but whatever. No one said a word about him d.
Finally, one day I was at my parents house A MONTH LATER and I was all, “hey! i’m going to bring the dog upstairs!” and they finally told me he died.
Let me repeat: A MONTH LATER.
I was pissed. So, moral of the story, don’t wait to tell your kids if a family pet has died. Let them know what’s happening and let them be a part of it.
I now have a 2 year old Lab, have had her since she was 6 weeks old (and blog about her often on crazedparent), and my kids adore her. And I won’t be hiding anything from them as she ages.
Now, we recently lost a beta fish not even 24 hours after we brought it home. My kid found it dead (he is almost 8), and we kept it to bring back to the store and get a new one. It’s his third beta fish in a few years, and he knows the drill. If it hadn’t been a new fish, we would have flushed it down the toilet and said goodbye:)
Comment by charlene/crazedparent — November 17, 2009 @ 2:42 pm
Seriously, you should talk to my sister @countr3girl. Her cat, Schatze (which, ironically, is apparently German for “sweetheart”, intentionally chosen) was the meanest damn barn cat you ever met. Barn cats are kept outside for a reason; my sister brought hers in the house. She was about 13 years old when she died…
My sister loved her – no one else did. That freaky cat would jump on to your lap, but would claw or bite you if you considered petting her. Most of us would simply freeze in place, like a statue.
Anywho…when he died, she had him cremated.
And put in a box.
With a plaque with his name on it, and photos of him.
It sits on the sofa table, behind her normal spot on the sofa.
So its kind of like he never left.
except NOW all of us pass him around. Its the only time we’ve ever been able to have him sit on our laps!
i know, you don’t mess with someone’s pet, but she had 3, and this was her favorite, and the meanest. We were kind, and no one commented at the lack of sadness at his passing.
Comment by Jenn (mommy_grrl) — November 17, 2009 @ 3:49 pm
Jenna,
My sweet cat of 8 years, Sonny, got cancer and we had to put him asleep a few months ago. I think about him every day. It was so difficult because we’d spent all this money (which we didn’t really have in the first place) to find out what was wrong with him, only for them to tell us that they *thought* he had cancer, which had a low probability of recovery. they could do exploratory surgery, etc., but prognosis wasn’t good. anyway, i felt totally guilty for a few reasons: 1. the vet said that often these kind of sicknesses et worse when the owners go away. (we had been away and came home a few days later to find that his stomach was severely distended and that’s when we took him in). 2. We couldn’t afford to do all the medical tests and because there was a low probability of him fully recovering anyway, we decided to put him to sleep. I felt guilty about that. Also, we weren’t sure when to do it… once they drained his stomach, and we brought him home, he seemed to be a little better, but still not his normal self, so I couldn’t decide when was the right time… he seemed OK, just slow, but I think he was in pain. I didn’t want to do it too soon, not just for me, but for him, I didn’t want to make that decision, but fianlly 2 weeks later, he had barely been eating and it was clear he was in bad shape. But i needed to wait a few days until my fiance got home from a business trip since I knew I couldn’t do it on my own. so then I felt guilty about that… if he was suffering a lot those last few days… gah. I’m getting teary just thinking about it. It was the right thing to do, and ultimately I just decided that he had been such a happy, energetic cat, that he had to have been suffering and we had to do it, but I felt awful about having to make the decision. I don’t like the idea of deciding that. I think I did the right thing, but I just felt awful. ugh… I’m happy to answer any questions you have.
Comment by Beth Janes — November 17, 2009 @ 4:00 pm
My best friend Brooke – 2009-11-05
13 years ago, on Thanksgiving Day, Brooke the Boxer was born. Yesterday, she was put to sleep while I held her in my arms. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. If a dog ever had 9 lives, it was Brooke. 3 knee surgeries, lots of tumors and finally weight gain. There was a point where I called her my pet sloth! We weren’t over-feeding her but she just never wanted to get up and walk, much less run! We just figured it was because of her knees. By complete chance, Dr. Lance Baltzley from Newberry Animal Hospital was with a mutual friend of ours when he stopped by my house one day. He took one look at Brooke and told me that he could most likely fix her. Fix her? Yeah right. I’d already taken her to my vet here in Gainesville and not only did he not offer a solution but he didn’t even say that there was a fixable problem. Dr. Lance diagnosed it in 2 seconds. It was her Thyroid. After 2 weeks of treatment, Brooke was standing up regularly, her tail was up, then wagging, then came the weight loss and all of the sudden she was catching Frisbees just like the old days! She was a puppy again! Thank you Lance. Yesterday, several years after the thyroid diagnoses, Lance put Brooke to sleep while I held her in my arms. We had done all we could do and it was time. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. I found myself wishing that she would just disappear or get hit by a car or anything that would keep ME from having to make the final decision. I was only thinking of myself and NOT Brooke. In the end I was so thankful that I handled it properly. I picked Brooke up from the vet on a Tuesday morning. She appeared to be in PERFECT shape! Happy, wagging, jumping….cancer is weird like that. I let her ride in the back of my truck on the way home and I considered NEVER stopping! She was sooooo happy with her lips flopping and tongue dangling – it was a smile I will never forget. I brought her home and spent the entire day with her playing Frisbee, walking in the woods, eating anything we could find and lying on our backs on the grass staring at the sun. Man I love that dog! We did not invite anyone to come over but some of our closest friends came over anyway with food, treats and love. At 5 o’clock the Vet came. He was also a personal friend and had agreed to perform this horrible task at my home. There was not a dry eye in the crowd. Even the Vet was sobbing and he had done this hundreds of times. I held Brooke in my arms as he administered the shots and cried as she took her last breaths. When it was over the Vet offered to put her in the burial spot but I refused. It was my privilege as much as it was my duty. After that I fetched her Frisbee and placed it beside her. It was over. After reflecting on this event I’ve realized some things:
Pets define an era of our lives – they usually played a significant role.
The love from family and friends as well as the love shared with your pet is a beautiful part of this experience. Focus on it.
Don’t be afraid to get another pet. Remember, they need you.
Thanks for listening. Rest in peace Brooke. You will be missed daily.
Byron
Comment by Byron — November 17, 2009 @ 4:04 pm
You probably dont want to include the story of how I was cleaning out the fish tank one day and I went to scoop the fish out of the tank and put him in a small bowl while I cleaned the big one. He flipped out of the net and onto the floor and my dog ran over and sucked him down in one large gulp.
Poor Goldie. He was dog sushi.
May he rest in peace.
Comment by Tracy Beckerman — November 17, 2009 @ 5:30 pm
Hi Jenna, saw your request on Facebook and wanted to help out because I lost my epic pet (every beloved pet partner has that one, epic, pet) Gypsy, my cat.
To give you the background, I got Gypsy when I was 19 and moving into my first apartment. I nearly went out of my mind my one year living in the dorms without a cat, as I’d grown up with multiple dogs, cats, and horses and the poor little guinea pig I had just couldn’t compete (found him a wonderful home). Gypsy was the most brilliantly colored calico (or tortie) with distinct orange, black and white fur and was the sweetest, snarkiest, most adaptive cat on the planet. She asserted her rights while still being sweet and cuddly. There are many friends of mine who bear minor little scars from her, but not one of them will deny they earned them by blatantly ignoring her warning signs to cut out whatever they were doing. First she’d slash her tail, then she’d let out a meow/growl, then she’d mock strike and if you still didn’t stop what you were doing, her lightening fast strike was impossible to escape.
As for adaptive, this cat moved with to 8 different places from 1989 to 1996, then moved with me to Seattle. Every place she went, she had it scoped in about two hours and settled right down at home. This included all the hotel rooms on the drive from Florida to Seattle. She accepted room mates’ pets with more ease than I accepted the roommates! She had a bit of a dominance battle with my now fiance when we moved in together, but a scar and a spray shower later they were as inseparable as she and I were.
When she was 14, she was diagnosed with diabetes and the months that followed were horrific. Every time I thought it was “time” she’d rally with a correction to her insulin dosage. Finally, we got it straightened out and she became a grand dame of old lady cats as long as she got her two shots a day. And you’d think she’d mind, right? But no! If we were late on giving her the shots she’d come bumping and whining to the fridge where the insulin was stored to remind us.
It ended suddenly, when she was 16 1/2 years old. She woke us up in the middle of the night screaming. We raced her to the emergency vet where they said in all likelihood she was having a heart attack, but they couldn’t be sure unless they ran tests and I wouldn’t have been able to stay with her. I can’t tell you why, but I knew that if I let her take her from me she would die, and die alone, and the only thing calming her at all seemed to be my fiance and I. So we made the decision to euthanize her, something was obviously horribly wrong and with her being diabetic and over 16 years old, putting her through any more procedures just was cruel and unlikely to work. I wanted her to have quality of life (which she’d had since we got the insulin right) and now it looked like that was gone. I can’t ever remember crying that hard. It was 2 AM by the time we got home and all our closest friends woke up and came over so we could drink and cry and talk. I remember calling my sister (it was 5 AM her time) and it was like she knew when she answered the phone it was about Gypsy.
So for your specific questions:
* Advice on coping with the loss–did anyone say or do anything particularly profound that helped ease the pain?
Not really, but the greatest quote my sister and I came up with around it was, when you live a fantastic life, you get to come back as a DeArmas girl’s cat. The thing that helped was having so many friends/family who understood this epic cat and everyone had a story (usually around the aforementioned tiny scar) to share.
* Thoughts on euthanasia. ( Are we having fun yet?) How do you make the quality-over-quantity of life call? How did you feel about it? Any regrets either way (i.e. not being there, waiting too long, letting a vet talk you into it too soon, etc.)?
This is so hard and so individual. I remember one night, before we got the insulin straightened out, just sitting with her, thinking to her, asking her silently to let me know when it was time. At that time she was so thin and so depressed because of all the procedures I just didn’t know. Very next day she rallied. The situations that break my heart is when people have to factor money into the equation. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about that at the time, but god if it had been 10 years earlier I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t regret how it went down at all since the night it happened, she’d been fine (for a 16 1/2 year old diabetic grand dame of a cat) and it was obviously an acute attack of some kind, not something building.
* Cremation versus burial (versus, perhaps, flushing down the toilet). Discuss.
Cremation. I would not bury a pet in case I had to move from the place where I buried them. I own a house now where I found a grave marker for a cat or small dog. I leave it be because someone, at some time, loved that pet and buried it and carved a stone as the marker. I would never want to leave Gypsy behind like that. So her ashes are in a beautiful antique jewel box that sit on the corner of my mantle where her picture sits. Now, here’s my weird part, I really wish I could have turned her ashes into a diamond (you can do that now), but it was too expensive. Also, I kind of wish I’d thought ahead to finding a way to save her beautiful coat (it was spectacular all the way through her life) and made a muff of some kind. If some find that weird, oh well, but I would have loved to be able to keep petting a small part of her beautiful fur after she was gone.
* Thoughts on re-populating with a new pet. (Of COURSE Fido can’t be replaced… but can another pet fill the void he left?)
I didn’t last two weeks before heading to the pound. Gypsy could never be replaced but we were LONELY without her. No cat to greet us when we came home and talk talk talk all about her day. My only rule was I couldn’t get another calico/tortie. We have a black and white (Brits call her a jellicle) female and a male chartreux now. Scary part is, and I didn’t notice it at the time, but the jellicle (Jackie) has the exact same asymmetrical nose pattern as Gypsy did. It’s ok, it reminds me of her. And Jackie is developing a fair amount of Gypsy’s traits, particularly vocalization (but thankfully not the lightening fast swipes). And we occasionally mess up and call Jackie by Gypsy, but she just seems to look at us and deal with it.
* What NOT to say to someone who has just lost a pet. (Example: “He smelled really bad anyway.”)
* It was just a cat/dog/whatever.
* It’s not like it was a person.
* I never liked pets anyway.
* How could you spend so much money keeping it alive?
* You can just get another one (so your decision, not anyone else’s).
* Long, grandiose, conversation-stealing monologues about your own pet’s demise. Short notes of comparison are fine, as long as it doesn’t become all about you, not the grieving pet owner.
* I know where you can get a new kitten/puppy/guppy/whatever (the grieving pet owner will come to their own conclusions at their own time about getting a new pet and since they are already a pet owner, they know where to get them when they want them).
Comment by Karin — November 18, 2009 @ 10:46 pm
When I was in summer school the summer of my sophomore year, my mom woke me up and put a brown lunch bag on my night stand.. “Brandy died, you need to bury her before you go to school.” Nice.. my pet guinea pig was in the bag. From then on I vowed to take a different approach with my kiddo’s. I adopted an amazing lab from the shelter who was clearly a pup that had been beaten.. She was so loyal and accepted my husband and children as our lives evolved. Katelon was her girl and she never left her side, the pup even bit a few strangers who dared walk in our backyard despite the sign on the back fence. Caliel developed cancer that spread throughout her body and was untreatable.. We spent gobs of money on every treatment possible and I knew it was time after two years of fighting. I read a book about how children grieve.. This was a great start to prepare for how children process grief – way different than adults. I called the vet’s office and had them come to the house to euthanize my best friend, while I held her in my arms.. I’m crying as I write this.
Following this procedure, I went to the school and brought my 6 year old home to say goodbye to her best friend. After a long goodbye, we took our beloved Caliel to be cremated and now her ashes are in a box on our bookshelf. Children process grief in short spurts for a longer period of time than adults. This is key to know!!! They can’t handle the long periods of emotional sessions, so they have lot’s of short jag’s of pain that last for months. Important to respect the difference in their emotional capabilities.
The lamest thing people say is “She was old, you know this was coming” Pet’s are part of the family and just listen and stop trying to rationalize when someone is in pain!!!!!
I renamed my lab when I adopted her, since her name was Raider – Lame… Caliel was named after a Kahil Gibran poem I once read that was basically about what you grieve for the most, is what has brought you the most joy.
Comment by Jenica Egan — November 19, 2009 @ 1:27 am
Jenna,
I’m sure somewhere in your article there will be mention of one of the coolest cats I have ever met…O’Malley. For those of you who have known Jenna for a (looong) while, will remember O’Malley the cat. But more importantly, any of you who ever lived with Jenna will remember living with the fear that you may be the roommate that bears witness to the passing of her beloved cat whom she has had since she was one year old (told you it was a long time ago).
I remember meeting many of Jenna’s friends from FSU (Shortney!) and every single one of them would wish me luck with O’Malley. Yes, I was the unlucky soul that was living with Jenna when O’Malley went to that great big window sill in the sky.
It happened one day when Jenna was at work and I came home to find him a bit stiff (sorry, there really is no proper way to say I was the one that found him). Immediately, panic set in as I knew I only had about 4 hours to take care of this and prepare her for the news. Although O’Malley had a tumor the size of a nickel on the roof of his mouth (which actually looked like a large hole), and we both knew his time was short; you really can not prepare someone for the loss of their childhood pet who, at this point, had to be close to 20 years old! Nonetheless I wracked my brain to come up with an idea that might make her think of O’Malley happily floating on clouds. I got a large wicker basket and a soft white table cloth; I placed O’Malley in the basket wrapped in the white table cloth and laid one dozed white roses on top.
When Jenna came home I told her that O’Malley had passed and she immediately (and somewhat franticly) asked me what I had done with him. When I told her that I had taken care of him, I thought she was going to rip my head off. You see, not only was I “messing” with her dear old childhood pet; but also stepping on Daddy’s toes. Imagining that I had had the audacity to bury O’Malley, Jenna very sternly reminded me that her father had hand built (or at least, had one of his carpenters hand build) a casket for the inevitable day. Come to think of it, he did have one of his guy make the casket…it was his cabinet maker (quite clever if you ask me).
It was a long, sad, quiet drive from Jacksonville to Daytona Beach that dark day and I really felt sorry for Jenna. Rarely will you meet someone so clearly bonded to an animal as Jenna and O’Malley Cat. May he rest in peace.
PS – Jenna, sorry to bring up any old sad memories; but I would hate to think there was an article about pets written by you that didn’t at least mention O’Malley (let alone, Sooner).
Comment by John McDonald — November 22, 2009 @ 10:15 pm
My dog Rufai of 9 years was diagnosed with cancer late summer. I bottled and sold garlic salsa to fund her cancer treatments. Sadly, Rufai died at the Vet. We sent her to another country to get treatment because we couldn’t afford treatment for her in the U.S. Today, I fear if she died alone and I can only wish that she didn’t feel abandoned. It just wasn’t fair. I didn’t even get a last chance to say goodbye to her. We had her cremated and brought back. Today, I’m still selling garlic salsa in her memory. It’s her parting gift for us. So far, we’ve created a legitimate business selling garlic salsa. It’s great. However, I’m still depressed about Rufai’s loss.
Comment by Captain — November 26, 2009 @ 3:42 am