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Love knows not its own depth until the hour
of separation. I still miss those I loved who are no longer
with me, but I find I'm grateful I
loved them. The gratitude has finally conquered the loss. Whoever has loved knows all that life
contains of sorrow & of joy.
How I Deal
With A Departed Dog Like many of you, I know how devastating the loss of a beloved dog can be. I still mourn the loss of Mugger, whose cancer mandated euthanasia last year, and I rarely think of his loss without a sob. He was so very, very special. I've come up with what for me is the best way to deal with a beloved dog's death. I have the dog cremated and get the cremains back. Then I go to my favorite plant nursery and buy a new large bush or tree. After I dig the hole in just the right place in my yard, I mix the dog's ashes in with the fertilizer and amendments for the plant. Then I plant the new bush or tree. This gives me two major benefits. First, with his or her very last act on Earth, the dog I so loved contributed to LIFE. Second, in a way they're still with me. As I walk around my yard, at the jacaranda I say: "Hi, Bimbo!" At an orange tree it's: "Hey, Shadia!" Baron gets greeted when I see the Liquid Amber. So they're all still with me because they helped bring life to the plants in my - their - yard. This is especially beneficial if the plant bears fruit. No orange ever tasted as sweet as an orange from the tree Shadia helped to grow. Wherever you live, there are trees that will do well that bear some sort or fruit, nut or flower. How good if that beloved departed dog can be thanked with every lime, avocado, or grapefruit that you enjoy from now on! Do it this way, and you'll get to love them forever -
just as I do. They
say memories are golden, "ASHLEY"
(Tara Ashlynd Rowe) Written by Cathy Rowe
On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream she knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pastureland where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is one to a dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained and nothing lost - if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. If you bury her in this spot, she will come to you when you call - come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path and to your side again. And though you may call a dozen living dogs to heel, they shall not growl at her nor resent her coming, for she belongs there. People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by her footfall, who hear no whimper, people who have never really had a dog. Smile at them, for you shall know something that is hidden from them. The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of her master…" author unknown 
A Dog's Plea Treat me kindly, my beloved friend, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me. Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I should lick your hand between blows, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me learn. Speak to me often, for your voice is the world's sweetest music, as you know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footstep falls upon my waiting ear. Please take me inside when it is cold and wet, for I am a domesticated animal no longer accustomed to bitter elements. I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth. Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst. Feed me clean food that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life, should your life be in danger. And, my friend, when I am very old and I no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight, do not make heroic efforts to keep me going. I am not having any fun. Please see that my trusting life is taken gently. I shall leave this earth knowing that my fate was always safest in your hands.
The psychological community has finally learned what we’ve known for years: The loss of a companion animal can be as devastating as the loss of an immediate family member. I’ve known people who lost parents, brothers or sisters years ago, and for the past several years their main - or only - source of companionship, comfort and protection has been their dog. Its death was more upsetting to them because it was now their total support system; it may have helped them get through the other losses. I know people whose dog saved their lives or the lives of their children. Losing such a pet can be crushing. If you have multiple pets strongly bonded with each other, losing one can affect them as much as it does you. If one dies, either naturally or with veterinary assistance, always let the survivors see the body before final separation. If death occurs with veterinary assistance they should not witness the terminal event, but as soon as it’s gone they should see the body. Their common response is to sniff it and perhaps tap it with a paw a few times, but then they’ll look at you as if to say: "He’s gone. Let’s go home." They’ll still mourn the loss of a buddy, but if they don’t get closure by seeing the body they undergo much stress wondering what’s happening to their pal, where is he, who’s next, and what’s going to happen to them when it’s their turn. Closure is a loving gift. I’m often asked when a new dog should be gotten after a loss. Some advise getting another right away to help you through the loss; others say wait a few weeks. Some advise getting a very similar new dog; others suggest a very different type. Here are my thoughts, experiences and conclusions: After a loss we tend to remember the dead pet as we last saw it - sick, injured, whatever. When your memories of the dead pet are all positive - how she used to tilt her head when you called her, how he’d watch television or ride in the car, how he played with kids - then it’s time to get another. That might take two days or two months; that varies with each of us and with each pet. But when all your recollections are positive and make you smile, it’s time to get another. And because the lost one will automatically assume huge and sterling memories, I suggest a different type. Otherwise the new one will be constantly measured against the standards the old one left, and there’s no way to live up to them as we’ll remember them. Forget reality; we’ll remember only the good! All the chewed shoes, soiled carpets and holes dug will be forgotten; we’ll remember that silly grin or floppy ear forever! Give the new one a fresh start. Don’t make it live up to false psychological standards of perfection. If you miss the old one, you’re exactly the type of owner that provides a good home to your companion animals. Please consider getting another one. Ten years of devoted companionship surely outweigh a few months of grief. Shelters are full of candidates to fill that hole in your heart. You owe it to yourself and to them to give them the chance to do it. I’m in the process of doing just that right now. A few months ago I lost a very special animal, Mugger (in the first page photo). Yesterday I brought home a Samoyed mix from the pound. It’s time. I can’t give my love to Mugger any more, but I’ve still got lots to give - and Vixen needed another brother! There will never be another Mugger; I know I can’t replace him. But I’m looking for the next Muggs, not a copy of the last one. You’ll know when you’re ready for the next special partner, and, if you choose carefully, you’ll know when you’ve found it. By all means, do so. And, when you do, do what I do: Love their lips off and ENJOY!
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