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Mooch

Mooch came into our lives in the evening hours of August 25, 1999.  Mooch left our lives in the early morning hours of June 7, 2001. 

Sadly missed by Sue, Barron, Sex & Whitey

  He came to me one evening, all sad and lonely too - you see he’d lost his sister and the only life he knew.  That life was cruel and hateful, no goodness was he shown- we were both searching for something, at that time unknown.

Sex became his sister, and I became his mom...little did I realize what I had taken on.  I stood by him while eating, I taught him right from wrong..  I almost didn’t make it, it took so awful long.

He taught me joy and laughter, and lasting patience too. He gave me unconditional love like all my good friends do.  He was my constant companion, I taught him life was good. He flourished with my love for him and proud and tall he stood.

He woke me every morning, he slept each day at my feet. In the evening he sang and talked to me, he never missed a treat. He leapt when being playful, he protected me to the end. I never ever felt afraid, his duty to me was to defend.

At night a kiss and "sleepytime" was all he needed to hear, to know another day was ending and morning would be near.  Each night before he closed his eyes, he rose to check on me - a sniff was all I ever heard, it always had to be.

Who knows why you went by the road, you never did before. If I could change one thing in life, I’d wait beside the door.  I miss him more than words can say, he knew I loved him dear. His memories will never fade and I’ll always hold him near.

He taught me things I can’t repay, and now that he is gone - it seems the house is empty, that things just can’t go on.  Goodbye my faithful companion, your life was short but sweet. I know you know I loved you, and someday soon we’ll meet.  To spend together forever in a different place we know. I love you Mooch my "baby", I’m so sorry you had to go.

 

Rocky entered my life on June 30. 2001 and left it April 11, 2005. 

You needed me and I needed you… it was fate that made us find each other at just the right time.  Even though we both said no more... it’s too much.  And you tested me every step of the way… at first.  Towards the end you’d holler for me even when I went to tend to another mastiff in need.  We both knew it was time and you waited until I was right there by your side and it was quick...  Thank you… Although I miss you something terrible… you are now healthy.  You were my Rockaman… The Rock Man… everyone stopped to comment on how awesome you were… Only you and I knew you were my baby.  You gave me strength to go on when our life fell apart and you endured the long move to start again.  You pulled through more than once because I still needed you… You will always be with me… until we meet again… I love you…  Sue 

Derby was only with me for five short weeks.  Her strength, beauty, grace, willingness to please, and loving ways will always be with me.  I'm so very greatful our paths crossed and while I understand my job was to help her over the Bridge loved and held close, it is not easy to let go.  

Run free with your health restored and be happy with all those that have gone before you.  May you find the softest bed to sneak up on until mine is available again.  I love ya baby girl...  Sue

      

DALTON - Dumped with Derby. severely heartworm positive, he pulled through and spent 4 wonderful years with me.  What an awesome mastiffboy... spoiled rotten... goofier than heck... and wasn't with me long enough.  I miss you...

PEACHES - No one wanted to adopt her... so she decided to live out her life with me.  Boy did everyone miss out on a beautiful, sweet, protective and very loving mastiffgirl.  I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful apricot girl to spend her life with me.  I'll never forget you Peachies... you were such a good girl... I love you and I miss you...

SEX - Was adopted and given to me as a gift in 1995 from the Hilliard, OH Humane Society as a 5 month old puppy.  What a terror she was until she was about 8 years old!  She was the real mascot of the rescue for many, many years.  She lived to be almost 15 years old, and endured spleen cancer,  and was as sweet and good in the end as she was her entire life.  She always took 2nd place to all the rescues coming in and out and never complained.  Just laid her head down and sighed...  I love you Sex... you and I went through alot and if it wasn't for you I don't think I would have made it.  You were my girl... I miss you... and we'll be together again...

 

Dezi Lou and Madaline Main

So lucky to have been loved by Nancy and Susan and Dooney & Roscoe & Gen 

In Memory of Bubba

In Memory of Mary

Tonka I'll miss ya bud... Until we meet again, I know that you are now safe with those who have gone before you and your mind is now at peace... Sue

 

  Prince  Your valiant struggle to overcome what you were forced to endure by stupid humans was amazing. You finally knew what love and caring was.  Until we meet again... Sue 

You are now healthy and whole and free of all the pain.  Until we meet again, may there be miles and miles of open fields for you to run to your heart's content... Sue

You and I tried so hard Moose... may what caused you so much pain and confusion now be vanished.  I know you have found the loving arms of an angel to watch over you and love you until we meet again... Sue  

Bee (aka Beauty) - Such a beautiful girl... crossed  Rainbow Bridge 1/22/06.  Very loved by Elvis, Giselle, Mannie and family.

Nemo... left this world in December of '06.  He was so lucky to have been loved and so well cared for... and was such a wonderful neoboy... Mara, his neogirl, is also sadly missed... May you both be happy, healthy and free until you are with Matt again... Sue

HOWIE left us on Mother's Day (5/13/07).  He was a 2 old male harlequin great dane that came to rescue severely emaciated, with an embedded collar and no socialization skills.  Also severe heartworm positive and with adrenal gland tumors.  He was so loved by his foster family (the Adams), both skin and fur and their extended family and friends.  He learned through all of them what being able to live inside, love, good food, care and a warm bed is... things he wouldn't have had if not for them.  And he loved them back unconditionally.  He got all the medical care he could handle... he just got tired. There were so many that helped Howie that never did get to meet him and cared enough to want to help.  Thank you all so much.  He lives on in each and every one of us that did.  May you rest in peace sweet baby Howie...  

2006 - Rest in Peace Chaz...

Dude - who left us in January of 2008... What a lucky bordeaxboy you were for finding Susan, Hal, Rascal, Angel and the rest of the crew who were your family... Rest in peace awesome DudeMan... you were very loved by us all...

  Gen... 8/3/09 -- loved and sadly missed by Nancy, Susan, Dezi, Dooney, Maddie and Roscoe.

   Hooch left this world in November of 2010.... Rest in Peace sweet Hooch... you were very loved...

    Sam - Sam was not a rescue dog... but he was very loved by a wonderful family - 

   Dozer - 3/18/11 - - I was fortunate enough to see Dozer again before he crossed Rainbow Bridge... what a lucky neoboy he was to be loved by Mike & Lori - "We had a party with all his friends, he had a t-bone steak and endless ice cubes to celebrate the time we had with him. We sure do miss him. Thank you and lots of love - Mike" 

  Remi - After a long battle with bone cancer... Remi crossed Rainbow Bridge on 5/20/10.    He was so loved by Deb.  Here's a link to a video put together by Deb's sister.    

    Rosie (aka Roxy) was dumped with Remi and found a wonderful home with Toni where she was very loved- She left this world on 4/16/11.  Rest in Peace Rosie... may you and Remi be running together again!  

 Bullwinkle - Very, very loved.... 6/09

Zoe Very loved and missed.... 1/5/10

Camilla

Bruno 3/11/09 - Truly loved and sadly missed... 

Bentley 3/15/10  Truly loved and sadly missed... 

Izzie

Mighty Blue  - - 2/16/11 - - Blue is gone.  As Sue knows, he was diagnosed with bone cancer in December and I've known it was coming.  We sat on the floor at the vet this afternoon and I held him as he passed over.  I feel very blessed that we had this much time after the diagnosis.  Luckily I have not had to travel as much since the diagnosis so we have spent a great deal of quality time together.  The two of you are responsible for bringing this wonderful dog into my life and for that you will always have a special place in my heart.  It was 6 years ago this month and I have loved every one of them.  I have only lived 2 months in this house without him so the hole that is left in my home is almost as big as the one in my heart.  Thank you both for giving me the blessing that was Blue.  Candye

Tyche

Very wonderful slide show of the rainbow bridge on the internet: http://www.indigo.org/rainbowbridge_ver2.html

If tomorrow starts without me, and I'm not there to see, 

If the sun should rise and find your eyes are filled with tears for me;

I wish so much you wouldn't cry the way you did today,

While thinking of the many things we didn't get to say.

I know how much you love me, as much as I love you,

And each tme that you think of me, I know you'll miss me too;

But when tomorrow starts without me, please try to understand,

that an angel came and called my name and took me by the hand,

And said my place was ready, in Heaven far above,

And that I'd have to leave behind all those I dearly love.

But as I turned to walk away, a tear fell from my eye,

For all my life I've always thought I didn't want to die.

I had so much to live for, so much left yet to do,

It seemed almost impossible that I was leaving you.

I thought of all the yesterdays, the good ones and the bad,

I thought of all that we had shared, and all the fun we had.

If I could relive yesterday, just even for awhile,

I'd say goodbye and kiss you and maybe see you smile.

But then I fully realized, that this could never be,

For emptiness and memories would take the place of me.

And when I thought of worldly things, I might miss some tomorrow,

I thought of you and when I did, my heart was filled with sorrow.

But when I walked through Heaven's gates, I felt so much at home,

When God looked down and smiled at me, from His great golden throne.

He said "This is eternity and all I've promised you.

Today your life on earth is past, but here life starts anew.

I promise no tomorrow, but today will always last,

and since each day is the same way, there's no longing for the past.

You have been so faithful, so trusting and so true,

Though there were times you did some things you knew you shouldn't do.

But you have been forgiven, and now at last you're free.

So won't you come and take my hand and share your life with me?"

So when tomorrow starts without me, don't think we're far apart,

For every time you think of me, I'm right here in your heart.  

Music by Maria Danes dedicated to Mercy, the pit bull, who was tortured and died.  Operation Kindness rescued Mercy and did all they could.  

=================

An Old Dog

Just a sweet story ...(with permission to cross post)
They can be eccentric, slow afoot, even grouchy. But dogs live out their final days, says The Washington Post's Gene Weingarten, with a humility and grace we all could learn from.

Not long before his death, Harry and I headed out for a walk that proved eventful. He was nearly 13, old for a big dog. Walks were no longer the slap-happy Iditarods of his youth, frenzies of purposeless pulling in which we would cast madly off in all directions, fighting for command. Nor were they the exuberant archaeological expeditions of his middle years, when every other tree or hydrant or blade of grass held tantalizing secrets about his neighbors. In his old age, Harry
had transformed his walk into a simple process of elimination- a dutiful, utilitarian, head-down trudge. When finished, he would shuffle home to his ratty old bed, which graced our living room because Harry could no longer ascend the stairs. On these walks, Harry seemed oblivious to his surroundings, absorbed in the arduous responsibility of placing foot before foot before foot before foot. But this time, on the edge of a small urban park, he stopped to watch something. A man was throwing a Frisbee to his dog. The dog, about Harry's size, was tracking the flight expertly, as Harry had once done, anticipating hooks and slices by watching the pitch and roll and yaw of the disc, as Harry had done, then catching it with a joyful, punctuating leap, as Harry had once done, too.

Harry sat. For 10 minutes, he watched the fling and catch, fling and catch, his face contented, his eyes alight, his tail a-twitch. Our walk home was almost ... jaunty.

Some years ago, The Washington Post invited readers to come up with a midlife list of goals for an underachiever. The first-runner- up prize went to: "Win the admiration of my dog."

It's no big deal to love a dog; they make it so easy for you. They find you brilliant, even if you are a witling. You fascinate them, even if you are as dull as a butter knife. They are fond of you, even if you are a genocidal maniac. Hitler loved his dogs, and they loved him.

Puppies are incomparably cute and incomparably entertaining, and, best of all, they smell exactly like puppies. At middle age, a dog has settled into the knuckleheaded matrix of behavior we find so appealing-his unquestioning loyalty, his irrepressible willingness to please, his infectious happiness. But it is not until a dog gets old that his most important virtues ripen and coalesce. Old dogs can be cloudy-eyed and grouchy, gray of muzzle, graceless of gait, odd of habit, hard of hearing, pimply, wheezy, lazy, and lumpy. But to anyone who has ever known an old dog, these flaws are of little consequence. Old dogs are vulnerable. They show exorbitant gratitude and limitless trust. They are without artifice. They are funny in new and unexpected ways. But, above all, they seem at peace.

Kafka wrote that the meaning of life is that it ends. He meant that our lives are shaped and shaded by the existential terror of knowing that all is finite. This anxiety informs poetry, literature, the monuments we build, the wars we wage-all of it. Kafka was talking, of course, about people. Among animals, only humans are said to be self-aware enough to comprehend the passage of time and the grim truth of mortality. How, then, to explain old Harry at the edge of that park, gray and lame, just days from the end, experiencing what can only be called wistfulness and nostalgia? I have lived with eight dogs, watched six of them grow old and infirm with grace and dignity, and die with what seemed to be acceptance. I have seen old dogs grieve at the loss of their friends. I have come to believe that as they age, dogs comprehend the passage of time, and, if not the inevitability of death, certainly the relentlessness of the onset of their frailties. They understand that what's gone is gone.

What dogs do not have is an abstract sense of fear, or a feeling of injustice or entitlement. They do not see themselves, as we do, as tragic heroes, battling ceaselessly against the merciless onslaught of time. Unlike us, old dogs lack the audacity to mythologize their lives. You've got to love them for that.

The product of a Kansas puppy mill, Harry was sold to us as a yellow Labrador retriever. I suppose it was technically true, but only in the sense that Tic Tacs are technically "food." Harry's lineage was suspect. He wasn't the square-headed, elegant type of Labrador you can envision in the wilds of Canada hunting for ducks. He was the shape of a baked potato, with the color and luster of an  interoffice envelope.  You could envision him in the wilds of suburban Toledo, hunting for nuggets of dried food in a carpet.

His full name was Harry S Truman, and once he'd reached middle age, he had indeed developed the unassuming soul of a haberdasher. We sometimes called him Tru, which fit his loyalty but was in  other ways a misnomer: Harry was a bit of an eccentric, a few bubbles off plumb.  Though he had never experienced an electrical shock, whenever he encountered a wire on the floor-say, a power cord leading from a laptop to a wall socket-Harry would stop and refuse to proceed. To him, this barrier was as impassable as the Himalayas. He'd stand there, waiting for someone to move it. Also, he was afraid of wind.

While Harry lacked the wiliness and cunning of some dogs, I did watch one day as he figured out a basic principle of physics. He was playing with a water bottle in our backyard-it was one of those 5-gallon cylindrical plastic jugs from the top of a water cooler. At one point, it rolled down a hill, which surprised and delighted him. He retrieved it, brought it back up and tried to make it go down again. It wouldn't. I watched him nudge it around until he discovered that for the bottle to roll, its long axis had to be perpendicular to the slope of the hill. You could see the understanding dawn on his face; it was Archimedes in his bath, Helen Keller at the water spigot. That was probably the intellectual achievement of Harry's life, tarnished only slightly by the fact that he spent the next two hours insipidly entranced, rolling the bottle down and hauling it back up.  He did not come inside until it grew too dark for him to see.

I believe I know exactly when Harry became an old dog. He was about 9 years old. It happened at 10:15 on the evening of June 21, 2001, the day my family moved from the suburbs to the city. The move took longer than we'd anticipated. Inexcusably, Harry had been left alone in the vacated house-eerie, echoing, empty of furniture and of all belongings except Harry and his bed-for eight hours. When I arrived to pick him up, he was beyond frantic.  He met me at the door and embraced me around the waist in a way that is not immediately reconcilable with the musculature and skeleton of a dog's front legs. I could not extricate myself from his grasp. We walked out of that house like a slow-dancing couple, and Harry did not let go until I opened the car door.

He wasn't barking at me in reprimand, as he once might have done. He hadn't fouled the house in spite. That night, Harry was simply scared and vulnerable, impossibly sweet and needy and grateful. He had lost something of himself, but he had gained something more touching and more valuable. He had entered old age.

In the year after our move, Harry began to age visibly, and he did it the way most dogs do. First his muzzle began to whiten, and then the white slowly crept backward to swallow his entire head. As he became more sedentary, he thickened a bit, too.

On walks, he would no longer bother to scout and circle for a place to relieve himself. He would simply do it in mid-plod, like a horse, leaving the difficult logistics of drive-by cleanup to me. Sometimes, while crossing a busy street, with cars whizzing by, he would plop down to scratch his ear. Sometimes, he would forget where he was and why he was there. To the amusement of passersby, I would have to hunker down beside him and say, "Harry, we're on a walk, and we're going home now. Home is this way, okay?" On these dutiful walks, Harry ignored almost everything he passed. The most notable exception was an old, barrel-chested female pit bull named Honey, whom he loved. This was surprising, both because other dogs had long ago ceased to interest Harry at all, and because even back when they did, Harry's tastes were for the guys.

Still, when we met Honey on walks, Harry perked up. Honey was younger by five years and heartier by a mile, but she liked Harry and slowed her gait when he was around. They waddled together for blocks, eyes forward, hardly interacting but content in each other's company. I will forever be grateful to Honey for sweetening Harry's last days.

Some people who seem unmoved by the deaths of tens of thousands through war or natural disaster will nonetheless grieve inconsolably over the loss of the family dog. People who find this behavior distasteful are often the ones without pets. It is hard to understand, in the abstract, the degree to which a companion animal, particularly after a long life, becomes a part of you. I believe I've figured out what this is all about. It is not as noble as I'd like it to be, but it is not anything of which to be ashamed, either.

In our dogs, we see ourselves. Dogs exhibit almost all of our emotions; if you think a dog cannot register envy or pity or pride or melancholia, you have never lived with one for any length of time.  What dogs lack is our ability to dissimulate. They wear their emotions nakedly, and so, in watching them, we see ourselves as we would be if we were stripped of posture and pretense. Their innocence is enormously appealing. When we watch a dog progress from puppyhood to old age, we are watching our own lives in microcosm. Our dogs become old, frail, crotchety, and vulnerable, just as Grandma did, just as we surely will, come the day. When we grieve for them, we grieve for ourselves.

From the book Old Dogs, text by Gene Weingarten and Michael S. Williamson, based on a longer excerpt that originally appeared in The Washington Post. C2008 by Gene Weingarten and Michael S. Williamson.  Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster Inc.

Unlike most days at RainBow Bridge, this day dawned cold and gray, damp as a swamp and as dismal as could be imagined. All the recent arrivals were confused and concerned. They had no idea what to think for they had never experienced a day like this before. But the animals who had spent some time waiting for their beloved people knew exactly what was happening and began to gather at the pathway leading to the Bridge to watch. They knew this was something special.

"So does God," was the reply.