Lulu was a sweet and gentle giant. Her absence leaves a painful hole in my heart. I will always love and miss her.
6/30/2005 – 6/20/2021
I have lost part of my heart and soul that can never be replaced. My constant companion that gave me fulfillment when my life was at it’s worst and at it’s best. She was my person and I was hers. I hope you are running free again and have no pain. Will see you again, my love, on the other side! A void now exists in my life, but will treasure your memory forever.
And now, we have this incredible sadness… we miss you Harley and and we love you.
Saying goodbye to our sweet, loving Radar was one of the hardest things we have ever had to do. Radar was a kind soul who loved everyone he ever met. His gentle spirit and fun-loving presence will be greatly missed. Fly High Sweet Boy 💙
For almost 19 years Pepper brought us joy with his loyal companionship. He made us smile and laugh with his silly antics. We miss you sweet Pepper. Rest in peace.
Hundley chose us for his family one spring day in 2014. I took our oldest daughter, who was 6 at the time, to a pet adoption event at Petsmart “just to look.” She went straight to his cage and said, “I want this one mommy!” I looked into the kennel and saw a scruffy and sad looking lab/hound mix. I said, “Let’s keep looking honey. It says he’s 5-6 years old. Don’t you want a puppy instead?” Before we could leave, a volunteer let him out. My daughter sat down on the floor with him, and he laid his head in her lap. With all the noise of the other dogs at the event, Hundley waited there quietly, just happy to be petted and certain that he had found his forever family. “Just to look” turned into 7 years of lots of treats, belly rubs, comfy naps on beds and trips to the beach. He was the gentle companion my children loved on, and he watched them like a hawk if they were playing outside. I think we were the only people who gave him a fair shot in life. He’d never been brushed before or had a bath. I think he had scavenged for food before he ended up in a kill shelter. At some point in his early life he had been tied tightly by a rope, judging from the permanent scar around his neck. His ear was torn and he limped from an old injury. Despite all of this, he had perfect manners on the leash and was a loving soul. He demanded his breakfast and dinner loudly, right up to the end even as the oral cancer was spreading and making eating difficult. I’m so glad we didn’t pass him by that day at Petsmart. I’m so glad he somehow knew we were the people for him. Letting him go was so very hard, but we will always remember and miss him.
He held on to the very end, walking to the door every day to greet me as I woke up in the morning and arrived from work, even though his body was slowly betraying him. He kept trying to eat even when it was hard for him, because I would kindly ask him to try to eat a little more. He was a stubborn cat and loved life. He was not a friendly cat by nature, but always knew when something was troubling me. Like when I lost my job, my business, lost my brother & other times. He was an indoor cat, but his last moments were outside in the grass where he always loved to explore, as the vet pulled up to my house. He passed peacefully & painlessly in his home, because I promised him I would never take him in a car ride again.
SOMEONE ONCE SAID that having a good dog brings you years of joy and happiness, and companionship, followed by a single day of crushing anguish and sorrow; and after that, weeks of unbearable grief and prolonged mourning.
They were right.
This is my beautiful Zoey. I miss her so much but I do have beautiful memories. It just hurts right now.
This is Ella May when she first came into my life at 5 weeks old. She was my faithful companion and protector for over 14 years. She had a big personality and was very sassy. The two things she loved most were food and her friends. She will be greatly missed.
Rest easy, sweet Pepe. Even since we brought you home in 2006, you were the best cuddle buddy, ice cream thief, and conversation companion. We love you and miss you.
They were right.
My Lab Murphy was a good dog, and although he was occasionally strong-willed, aggravating, and stubborn as Labs are prone to be, he was always ready to please, always ready to play, or go for a walk, or go for a ride, or just be with Maggie and me. He’d lay at her feet and watch TV with us, and woe to any other dog that might appear on the screen, for he’d chase them away with a barrage of fearsome barks. If perchance you came to the house, Murph would welcome you with a wagging tail and a submissive posture, and you would swear he was smiling – happy because you were there. He loved people, but he loved Maggie most. Wherever she was, that’s where you would find Murphy.
With heavy hearts, we had to send Murphy Home today, and I felt the crushing weight of anguish and sorrow I knew would come. Cancer and edema had claimed him. Weeks before, he had part of a lung removed due to a cancerous mass, a laryngeal tie-back to relieve his labored breathing and a bone biopsy on his left hind leg that also proved to be cancerous. I wanted to believe that medical science could repair him, but they could not.
When his hind legs swelled to twice their size, the vet said his lymph nodes weren’t doing their job and recommended laser and massage therapy. I thought it would work. I wanted it to work, and I would have given anything to make it work, and for a brief time, it seemed to have the desired effect. But it was not enough, and the vet said to keep him as comfortable as possible. It was a phrase that put a dagger through my heart. It meant only one thing. There was nothing we could do for him. His lungs were taking on fluid, once more making it hard for him to breathe. The vet said he had about two weeks before he suffocated.
The selfish part of me did everything I could to keep him around. I sought out 2nd and 3rd opinions and spent whatever I had to spend in order to fix him. Why? Because he was still my dog. Still my Murphy … bright, alert, and playful at nearly fourteen years old. But his hind legs were useless, and his front legs were arthritic. He was suffering, but being a Lab, he did not show it. If they could have fixed him, I would have spent thousands more to pay for any procedure that would help him, but no amount of money could save my boy.
I finally stopped fooling myself. Murphy suffered through it all without as much as a whimper. He endured a bevy of pain, and I needed to be man enough to do the same for him. We found a vet that came to the house to euthanize him at home.
Home, where he felt loved and safe and unafraid. And I felt like Judas.
I know it was the right thing to do for him, relieve the suffering he refused to show. So why does doing the right thing hurt so damn much?
The vet took Murphy’s body with her for cremation – and I broke down.
“She has my dog,” was all I remember saying as she pulled away with Murphy. It finally hit me what I had done. Tears washed down my face, and I sought to be alone. I watched the many videos I had of Murphy—videos of when he was young, and strong … and full of life.
My God, how I miss him.