Your Dog

I found this and decided it described my husband Dave, and our TeddyBear.  The rest of you might enjoy it, too!

Merry

Your Dog

 

"He is your friend, your defender, your dog.
You are his life, his love, his leader.
He will be yours, faithful and true
To the last beat of his heart.
You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion."
Anonymous

 

merry1621@aol.com


Thought to Ponder . . .

Many of our fears are tissue paper thin,
and a single courageous step
would carry us clear through them.

A Dog Named Bone Bone

This is a GREAT Petwarmers story.  Sorry, warning:  It's sad.

You'll not forget it.

Love,

Merry

A DOG NAMED BONE BONE
by Roger Dean Kiser

      I had wanted my orphan brother Wayne to write a story about his relationship with his dog Bone-Bone.
      But I think asking him to do that was just too painful.  So I thought I would tell the story from my point of view.
      I have to admit that Wayne and I, after being raised in a very abusive orphanage in Jacksonville, Florida, did not turn out to be the most loving individuals on the face of this earth.
      No one seems to be able to stay married to people like us who find it very difficult to love or show affection.
      Not only that, but Bobby Wayne Evers is not the easiest person to befriend.  He is rather an unusual character.  When it comes to people, they must always prove to him that they are trustworthy
before he will allow them even the slightest chance of becoming friends of his.  And yet, I have never known anyone who has a bigger heart of gold when it comes to children and animals.
      I attribute that to the fact that most abused children find it very hard to trust people, mainly because of the fear of being hurt and then abandoned again.  The pain and hurt are just not worth the chance of loving anyone.
      However, I can honestly say that I have never known anyone on the face of this earth who loved their dog more than Wayne did.
      Bobby Wayne gave his dog the best of everything.  He would even go without food himself if that is what it took to feed his best friend.  That is how much love there was between the two of them.
      One night he telephoned and told me that Bone Bone had liver cancer.  I knew that this would be one of the most horrible experiences of his life.
      Wayne had earlier made me promise that if he died before his dog that I would make sure that the two of them would one day be buried together.
      Wayne did his bestto try and hold himself together.  For five days he went deeply into debt trying to save, not only his best friend, but the love of his life.
      I sat on the telephone for hours as Wayne lay on his bed, Bone Bone cuddled in his arms, crying as he waited for the inevitable.
      It tore out my heart to hear him cry and suffer.  Even the beatings and abuse that Wayne suffered in the orphanage could not come close to the pain and agony I heard coming from my brother during those few days.
      After Bone Bone died, Wayne hand built a casket -- a casket fit or a king.  Then he and his son buried his best friend in the backyard so he could see his grave from the kitchen window, every
morning and every evening.
      Every evening since Bone Bone's death, Wayne walks out to the grave and brushes off the headstone with his favorite painter's paint
brush and then he sits down on a small plastic bucket and talks with his best friend.
      They say that love is a combination of many things. I know there must be a heart, a soul, a brain, tissue and bone.
However, in Wayne's case it was a very big heart, a very big soul, a brain, tissue and bone bone.

       -- Roger Dean Kiser  <trampolineone @ earthlink.net>

___________________________________________
Roger is well known among Heartwarmer and Petwarmer fans as he
continues to touch the hearts and minds of folks all over the world.
If you are interested in reaching out to his friend, Bobby Wayne
Evers, you can email him by clicking here:
mailto:BobbyEvers@webtv.net

The Miracle with Kaite!

Credit for this again goes to Petwarmers.com.  (No, I don't use every one they print though it may seem so.  Lately they have just had so many good ones!)  I hope you enjoy this.

Love to all,

Merry

THANK YOU, LORD
by B.J. Cassady

      My Irish-Setter mix, Katie, the first dog of my three dog household, started to get ill this summer.
      My vet said she had tick fever and prescribed the medicine for
the illness.  However, she started to fade.
      I became alarmed because she is a young dog, about three and a
half years old. and we took her in within hours of noticing her
behavior.
      I asked my wife to take her to the Oklahoma State University
Animal Husbandry Clinic, which is considered the best in the state.
They noticed a golf ball sized growth close to her spine.  Her weight had fallen from 33 to 23 lbs. in just three weeks.
      The hard news of cancer loomed.  Costs of tests would be about $1,000.  To remove the growth would be another $1000 if it was not cancer.  The growth had already weakened the L4 and L5 bones.  This seemed so technical... Katie...
      During an ice storm, I fell outside and she came to my side and stood beside me and allowed me to use her to help myself up.  Then she walked me to the house.  When I would cut myself she would lick my wound.  If my wrist hurt, she would somehow 'know' and lick it.
She and I had a connection that I have never had with any animal.
Katie...
      We communicated at some level.  I could understand her different barks and whines.  Once she had a panic bark and I found her with a curtain cord around her neck.  I unwrapped it for her and was a grateful dog.
      She loves to go to garage sales.  She would peek on the tables and pick out a stuffed bear and carry it in her mouth and I would pay for it.  She never tears themup.  We would play catch with it and later she would toss itin the air and she would play by herself.
Katie...
      Wednesday they said they would phone me so I could be there if they had to put her down.  I wanted to hold her.
      The growth now was the size of a softball.  I was warned not to
get my hopes up.  The previous Sunday I took my dogs to a
professional photographer in case something happened.  I wanted memories.... Katie...
      The call came at 4pm.
      They had never seen anything like it.  The growth was gone!
      Katie had removed the growth herself.  Yes, there was a lot of
blood and poison, but she peared to be fine.  She could come home
the next day after they cleaned up and bandaged the wound.
      When I arrived home from work the next day, Katie met me at the door.  She hugged me with her neck.  Her eyes glowed.  She lived!  A miracle had happened.
      I had prayed every day for Mercy, for Grace.
      Thank you, Lord.

           -- B. J. Cassady    <cassadys @ earthlink.net>

___________________________________________
B. J. is a Stephen Minister and ISD professional from Guthrie,
Oklahoma.  A disabled Vietnam vet, B.J. enjoys giving back to the
world with his writings and is putting together a CD audio collection
of his best writings. 

The Storm's Gift

I need to give credit to Petwarmers.com for this great story!  I hope anyone who reads it (if anyone does) loves it, I did.

Love,

Merry

THE STORM'S GIFT
by James Colasanti, Jr.

      The dog and I are on the front porch at dusk.
      I am sitting in the rickety old white rocking chair staring at
the first stars of the night.  Darkening clouds flock to cover the
evening sky with thunder echoing in the distance.  And yet, it is
still a good night.
      He is at my side, where he always is, carefully keeping his tail
out of harm's reach.  The storm clouds gather fringing the horizon
with curtains of rain but they are nothing compared to what this dog
has seen.
      He is from New Orleans -- a long-haired Dachshund and a Katrina
rescue dog.
      It was there that after 12 years he was abandoned by his forever
family.  They left the home in a hurry and he watched from the window
as the car pulled away never knowing when he would see them again.
      When the levees broke, the house began to flood with the murky
waters.  He climbed up on a porch chair and then on top of the porch
railing.  He could not move -- sitting perched above the swirling
waters.
      Days without food or water went by.  People would pass in boats
-- staring -- but no one stopped for him.
      Then one day a young fireman snatched him from the railing and
threw him into a small motorboat.
      He was taken to a shelter, cleaned up, fed, and watered.  It
seemed like there were hundreds of other dogs and cats at this
shelter.
      Weeks went by.
      One morning at a breakfast meeting, I told the director of the
Animal Rescue & Foster Program, "I know I don't need any more dogs,
however, if there is an older dog -- one that no one else wants --
bring him or her back for me."
      The rescue group was making a trip to New Orleans to rescue some
animals and to find new homes for them.  It was after midnight a week
later when the van pulled into Greensboro.  In the back of the van in
a small kennel was a little black dog.
      A rescue worker grabbed him out of his cage and thrust him into
my arms saying, "Here's your little dog!"
      After stroking the length of his fur, I knew that he and I would
be friends forever.
      I named him Noah, saying, "Anyone who could survive a storm like
Katrina needed a name of biblical proportions!"
      When Noah was neutered I received some disturbing news.  The
tears welled in my eyes when the vet said, "Noah is heartworm
positive -- high heartworm positive."  Like so many of the Katrina
animals, heartworms are a problem in the Deep South.
      The veterinarians performed "half-treatment" saying, "We don't
believe that Noah's heart is strong enough to survive a full dose."
They were right, but someday, hopefully, we will give the treatment
another try.
      Noah is now my forever dog.  He sleeps by my side on the left
side of the bed -- that's his spot.  If there are any noises during
the night, his ears are the first thing up.  Although his whiskers
have grayed, his hearing is still sharp.
      Oftentimes, I call him Old Man, because that is what he will
always be to me.  I took him in when no one else did and that makes
it a lifetime commitment.
      Noah is my gift from the storm.

               -- James Colasanti, Jr.  <onegooddog1 @ bellsouth.net>

___________________________________________
James is a lead clerk for Barnes & Noble Booksellers.  He shares his
home with his housemates -- 17 dogs, and a cat named Pumpkin

Dances With Her Heart

DANCES WITH HER HEART
by Glenda Townsend

      On May 8, 1987, I gave birth to a beautiful blonde, blue eyed, baby girl.
      Minutes after she was born, the doctor told us she had "mongolism," a term I detest to this very day.  I explained to him, that we no longer say that, but Down Syndrome.
      He told us not to expect too much of her.  She may never walk, probably won't talk, or even play like other children.  He said just to love her, for now, and consider putting her into an institution in the future.
      I said, no way, I would raise her just like my other children.
      She was the best baby ever!  She only cried when she was hungry,
and hardly fussed at all.  I loved holding her and rocking her to sleep.  She had a calming effect on anyone who held her.
      By the time she was 18 months old, she was walking and getting into all kinds of mischief.  She and her brother, who was 1-1/2 years older, played together constantly and were inseparable.  They seemed to learn together, although Kathy was the more inquisitive of the two.  We had learned, by this time, that Andrew, too, was mentally challenged.
      Music for Andrew had a calming effect, but for Kathy, it was a
chance to "shake her booty."  She loved to dance.  Even sitting down,
if a song came on that she liked, she would wiggle, almost in time to
it.
      When Kathy was 3, Don and I managed to get away for a very short
three day holiday.  On the way back, we stopped at a native gift shop
and bought the kids some gifts.  One for Kathy was a set of ankle bells.  They were attached to leather and you tied them to your ankles and danced.  She wore them every day for a week and danced her little heart out.
      When she was about 8 years old, I tried to get her into a ballet class but was met with so much indifference and indignation from the teacher that I gave it up.
      Two years later, another teacher opened another dance school and
I met with her and asked what she thought.  She said she would love to give it a try.  She didn't know if she could teach Kathy anything but she thought it would be good for her.
      For the first year she put Kathy in a class with typical kids. Kathy did pretty well, but it was evident that she could not keep up.
      The next year she started up a class for special kids.  There were three young girls and some older people from a local group home for mentally challenged adults.
      They were a hit at the year end show!  Everyone loved them, and
clapped along with the music.
      That same year a friend came with her son, who is a very good
dancer.  He also had Down Syndrome.  The teacher invited him to be a
guest dancer at the recital.  She now had a goal for Kathy.
      When Kathy was 16, the teacher decided she would do a solo at
the year end recital.  Kathy did her solo and was a hit!  There was not a dry eye in the place.
      During the last four years she has danced solos for the schools, and danced at a community show.  She still loves to dance and her teacher is pleased with her progress.  She has been invited to dance at the year end recital at another dance school, and has been invited to travel to Edmonton, Alberta, to dance at a school for special students.  This will probably happen in May or June this year.
      Kathy is in college, now, in a different town,  but comes home every weekend and has a dance lesson every Friday night.  I do hope this continues, as she definitely connects with her dance teacher.
She brings rave revues of her dancing wherever she goes and smiles
and says "thank you" to all the compliments.
      She realizes she is different, but when it comes to her dancing,
she simply dances with her heart.

              -- Glenda Townsend   <gat1127 @ yahoo.ca>

___________________________________________
Glenda lives in Invermere, British Columbia, Canada, with her
husband.