I'd love to hear about the pets that you've shared your heart with

[Boxergirl]

Any kind of pet. The ones that remain in your heart only or the ones that are with you today. Pictures and stories would be great too.

 

[tmricciuto]

The pets that have my heart are my two girls and my sharpei/queensland mix that lives with my daughter. She's 10 now and just has it made at my daughter's house.

 

[DDSK]

My two most memorable dogs was my first dog the family got when I was two and had for 18 years.
He was a shaggy red cocker spaniel cross mutt and we had a special bond, he was my confidant and best buddy, we had long talks and he always seemed to understand my moods. Custer was dog aggressive and would want to fight any dog he could get to, he jumped a pair of GSD's and drove them off when he was 16 years old. He had different barks and we could tell who was coming to the house by which ever bark he was making.
Then there was Jake a Chesapeke bay retriever, he bonded very strongly to me he would curl up onmy feet to stay as close as possible. Jake was very protective of his family and possessions. Jake loved to hunt and retrieve but he had no sense of smell he would retrieve anything you shot if he could see it go down but literally could stand on a dead quail and not find it.
He jumped in a shallow canal once and fished out 20 pound carp until he couldn't move.
Favorite story was my oldest son about 7 at the time walking down to the beach when a cocker spaniel went after him, jake lunged broke his chain and retrieved the spaniel, brought him to me unharmed tail wagging because he did his job protecting his boy.

 

[Bailey's Mom]

It's impossible to sum up 15 years of love in a few sentences... There are too many stories to hug close to your heart, to tell, retell and savour. It took me over 20 years to put some of it down in a poem, and the truth is, it would take me 20 more years to share it all with you, but...as promised once before, my poem about Coffee, my dog...gone but never, ever forgotten.

My Dog
​

I miss my dog.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think and cry about my dog.

He was the best. Oh, I know that that's a put down to the rest,
but no Sheppard, Dane or Setter could have loved his family better than my dog.

He was a prince, yes, a champion in every way.
His eager eyes, his playful smile still haunt me to this day.

And when we gather for a birthday, Thanksgiving or a Christmas meal
There is one small nose beneath the table I'd give anything to feel...My Dog.

Oh, life goes on, but no dog can take his place.
For years there's been no joy, no broad-rough tongue to lick my face.

I miss his brave soul-thrilling howl, his fierce, defiant family protecting growl.
No thief would dare to walk the grounds for which he cared, and when in trouble you'd find him curled up in his basement chair.

He was a notorious thief, a bandit and a crook, and he cherished odds and ends, old socks a scarf a little book.
All hidden in his chair, he'd make a nest with the little bits and pieces of the people he loved best.

I loved him from the moment that my father brought him home, so frightened on the highway, utterly lost and alone.
Whoever left him there did more for us than he could know. He was our pride and Joy...our brazen-throated Beagle Boy, we loved him so!

Elizabeth Wagner - 15 years ago - London, Ontario.


​

 

[tmricciuto]

What a beautiful and heart felt poem.

 

[Boxergirl]

Thanks for sharing, guys. Bailey's mom - you don't have to do it in a few sentences. You can tell a story or ten. If you want. The poem is lovely.

 

[Rugers-Kris]

Of course, I love/have loved all of my dogs just like family but there are two they have been extra special. Duke was my pit bull and my soul mate and my best friend and my confidant and...you get the point. I brought him home at 6 weeks and he passed on right after his 13th birthday. I've never mourned as a mourned that boy. I swore I'd never have another and it was many years before I did...many and that is when I found Ruger. He is my second soul mate. I adore him. I almost don't even have to talk to him...he always just seems to know what I want/need. We bonded immediately when I picked him up at 6 weeks ....I truly adore him. Pleas don't get me wrong I love love love Magnum and I would do absolutely anything for him and they both sleep in the bed with and go everywhere with me...they are truly my best friend but Ruger...he is special for sure. I treat them both exactly the same and they are happy boys and I can't imagine life without them but when Ruger passes I'm not sure how I will handle it.


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[cj-sharpy]

Sally was my first.
She was an abandoned JRT. My mother worked for a company that rented office space above a disused warehouse. One day an estate agent popped in to have a look about and take photos. He wasn't due for another two weeks but he was passing and asked if my mother would mind letting him in.
She did and they found Sally. She was only weeks old and had already eaten all the rats and then re eaten her poo a few times to survive.
The only way in was broken windows 6ft off the ground so she had been thrown in and left to die. The vets told us she was to young and weak to survive and we should PTS straight away.
13yrs later she still lived with us. She was MY dog according to the vet. She would go mental on vets visits, she would pull in the lead, jump about like a lunatic when you got home and had zero recall for any one but me with me she never even had a lead on cos she wouldn't go more than a few feet away. When I came home I was greeted with calm love.
The vet said this was cos she viewed me as in charge and a leader worth following and she viewed the rest of the family as nothing more than play mates.
She was awesome. She sat on her but like a human with her back legs in the air, she loved all strangers (except the windows cleaner, she hated men carrying big things)
Only problem was, being a terrier she was very prey driven and anything small and cute was there to be killed. And this included small kids she didn't know.
Once I brought my sister in the house when she was about 18 months. Sally walked calmly to greet me then saw my sister and went for a bite.
That's the only time I ever hit her and it broke my heart but no way was I going to let her bite my sister.
When she was 13 the vet again said that she'd lived a good life but her age was taking effect and she didn't have long left.
I just couldn't do it that day so I took her home.
That night I woke up at about 2am cos something just wasn't right.
I went to the stairs and say was at the bottom with a paw on the step. She NEVER got off her bed on a night and she could barely walk so to find her trying to get upstairs made me think something was very wrong.
I carried her upstairs to my bed where she lay down with her head on the pillow and went to sleep. I covered her under the blanket and cuddled her as we drifted back to sleep.
I woke up again at about 4am again with the feeling something was wrong.
She was wheezing and seemed panicked. I cuddled her close and she calmed down and seemed to breath better for about ten minutes then she just stopped.
I can safely say that I was glad she didn't get PTS that day and had her last minutes in a place she loved and being comforted by someone she had trust and respect for.
Some people say animals go away to die alone. But I think she knew it was the end and she wanted to be with me when she stopped fighting her fight and let go.

She's the dog that started me on my life long love of all things dog. And who gave me the approach I have towards every dog I meet.
I guess she was an inspiration. With out Sally I don't think I'd have been so keen to have a dog and would. Maybe have never met Max.


Obviously Max was a huge part of my life but you all ready know his story so ill not retell it here.

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[TWW]

Most likely Peppe the first Skunk me and my daughters mother had. People used to say I made a pack with the devil to get a animal as mean and as big a asshole as I am as a pet.
Example 1: Niece spent the night and he stomped at her when she was reaching for the remote, she waved it in front of him and tapped him on the head with it. She woke up the next morning and put on her shoes, first went on fine, 2nd was squishy, he had pooped in her shoe.
example 2: Buddy was over for the yearly pig roast and went to get on the computer, Peppe was avoiding everyone and curled up under the desk, he jumped and make his screechy noise, Rob shoved him out from under the desk with his boot.
Rob passes out drunk on the floor, and peppe circles him for a hour, with 5 of us watching at about 3am, Peppe walks slowly up on Robs chest and up to his face then turns around, lifts his tail and rubs his butt all over Robs mouth.

The other would be the current EM Mouse, who also has my attitude, but in a different way. He is derp dog when I'm around, but when I'm not or wife is walking him, he takes the role of protector as the sole job, he lets no one that we do not escort in the door in the house when the grandkids are here. Which it's part PTSD and part waking up beside my daughters mother when she pasted in her sleep that makes me extremely protective of them.

 

[Bailey's Mom]

I'm not a cat person.... But there was this one cat who fascinated me. The owner just called "her" Cat. I put the pronoun in quotes because it's important to the story. My neighbour was moving out...and he couldn't take the cat with him. My then husband was very fond of the cat, and it didn't take much to talk him into taking the cat, especially when we were told that "she" was pregnant.

Well, the switch over went well, but the now named "WatchCat" wouldn't stay in the house. She came in to eat, took a petting and then out she'd go. I kept trying to make little nests for the expectant mother, but "she" wouldn't have any of it. We waited and waited for her to have her kittens.... It was a very long wait.

Eventually, doubting the pregnancy, I boxed WatchCat up and took her to the local vet. After a cursory investigation, Dr. Sears broke out laughing. My "she" was a fixed "he." Colour me bright red! I had been conned by the neighbour who skilfully used my concern for the "poor pregnant mother" to get me to adopt his unwanted cat.

Okay, so I'm no brain trust when it comes to cats. I didn't look under her skirts...I wouldn't know what I was looking for in the first place. BUT...best con ever! She was my soul mate. Oh, yes, we couldn't stop calling her a "she", it stuck.

WatchCat was a neighbourhood favourite, loved by everyone, welcome in everyone's houses. Factually, she thought she was a dog. She loved going for family walks in the evening, and she would run to catch up if she'd stopped to sniff something. Her run was distinctive...sort of like Pepe le Pew's bouncy run (if you remember the skunk from the cartoons), hilarious.

She was a terrific support emotionally and would crawl up into my arms if I was crying. She'd lick all my tears away. WatchCat had a great spirit. I don't think I will ever experience that sense of oneness again...it was magical. I have her ashes here and my husband has been instructed to make sure she is buried with me. We will take the long walk together.

 

[NYDDB]

My first dog of my own was a Black Labrador named Luke. I got him as a pup and he lived to 12 1/2 years old.

This boy was so special to me, so utterly devoted...I could walk him off-leash anywhere since he never went more than a few feet away without looking back at me, making sure I was close. He had the softest temperament, and was a breeze to train-- easy, easy dog, and such a love.

Because he loved to swim, I regularly took him hiking away from the city, where there were plenty of lakes and rivers to fetch in. I also took him to work with me every day, as it was a dog-friendly sculpture studio.

In fact, one memorable event that happened on the way home from the studio one evening still gives me chills when I remember it. We had just crossed the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan and hit a traffic jam; no cars were moving. One guy decided to take advantage of the situation and was going from car to cat in a a very aggressive manner, asking for money, cursing out those who try to ignore him. Oh, crap. We were stuck, nowhere to go...

I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Luke, sleeping as he normally does on the back seat. I thought to myself, "This is the one time I wish I had a Rottweiler or GSD who would scare the shit out of this dude if he came close enough..."

Well. As the guy swaggers up to my car and leans in...WHAM! I heard this incredible roar from the backseat-- I turned around and saw Luke head and chest out the window, growling and barking like I have never heard from him, ever---it scared the shit out of me! The panhandler jumped in the air and backwards, almost falling over. He stood there for a moment, then threw down his hat and said, "I'm not gonna let this m-fing dog scare me away!', and he started walking towards my car again. Luke let loose again with a series of roaring barks to let him know that that was not the right decision, LOL. He finally admitted defeat and stomped away, cursing.

Right after, traffic started moving again and we were on our way home. I was still shaking--- both from shock and surprise and pride in my boy. I never, ever thought he had it in him to step up like that and be protective of me. I told him over and over what a good boy he was...even though by the time we were moving again, he was curled up and asleep in the backseat as if nothing had ever happened.

I could go on and on with stories, but suffice to say, he was a good dog. A very good dog.
When I lost him, my heart shattered...and I miss him to this day.

Some pics-

 

[Bob Felts]

My first dogs a black GSD named Merlin. Heart of gold, head of lead. Not really, he was fair smart. Good dog and companion. Used to allow the new kitten to try to nurse on him, with eye rolling and big sighs. As the kitten grew up, they were inseparable friends. When they played, sometimes the dog would win, sometimes Ivan would win. He was a great dog.

 

[eoj89]

Our first ever family dogs, were Molly and Hank, two Bullmastiffs that we got c. 1997, a few months before I was born. Now, I can't remember Hank as we lost him due to a tumour when he was about a year and a half old. Molly, though, was the most special dog I've ever had the experience of sharing my life with. Back then, we had the biggest dogs in the area, and I can remember we used to get my brother's friends knocking on the door to come and see Molly in particular. She was great off the lead too, but that was brought to an end when she was about three, because she used to run up behind people playing football and steal their balls. My Granddad owned her sister too, and he lost her when she was around 5 years old after running into the road, and you can guess what happened next.. When I was 4, Molly went to live with my Aunty and cousins because my Mum and Dad couldn't keep her anymore, with me being still a toddler and my little brother and sisters just being born. Twins. I used to drive 30 miles all together every weekend to go and stay with her. We lost her at 8 years old to HD.
About a year after my Mum and Dad split up, he gave me a call one day and told me to get ready. He'd had a surprise for me. He said that it was a big surprise. We drove another 10 miles to his house, and then waiting in the kitchen was:



The biggest dog I'd ever seen in my life. He'd given her a chance to settle in before I could come up to see her but didn't mention a word about her. She was about 13 months give or take in this pic, and called Iona. We had a few fireworks one night for Bonfire Night, which went horribly wrong, shooting off in all directions, forcing us all to run straight into the house/wherever we could to stop us getting our hands blown off, whatever, and I'd injured my leg at the time. I was struggling to run into the house, she was outside, running round and spotted me struggling to get in, as I've mentioned, and I don't know how she did it, but she'd ran straight under me it seems and I ended up right before the door to the house. In hindsight, it was obviously extremely irresponsible, but it was years ago now.

Bonus: pic of Molly that I posted ages ago in the Bullmastiff section.

 

[Boxergirl]

These are really wonderful memories. I've enjoyed every story and especially the pictures. Thank you all for sharing. I'll get to mine soon. And I'm going to post a ton of pictures. I'm feeling nostalgic.

 

[Boxergirl]

Ed was my second boxer. He was returned to the breeder because he had a severe heart murmur. I just happened to call looking for a pup shortly after he was returned. He was about five months old and the breeder was in the process of moving so she just gave him to me. When I took him to the vet I was told that I shouldn't even get him any shots because his murmur was so severe that he'd be dead by a year. I got him his shots anyway and drove home with this huge mound of puppy on my lap, crying and telling him that it didn't matter - I'd love him for as long as he was with me. On his first birthday we had a "kiss my ass" party. When I brought Ed home, my girls were still very young. I kept chastising my older daughter for teasing her sister by taking the heads and arms off of her Barbie dolls. One day I was cleaning Ed's crate and found a stash of arms, legs, and heads under his bed.

Ed was a great ambassador of his breed. He helped many foster dogs learn what it was like to be loved and the joy of a toy. Everyone that met him loved him. The neighbors would often come knock on the door and ask if Ed could come over to play. They'd lost their dog years ago and they would borrow him for some dog time. He loved it and so did they. Ed went on numerous JDRF walks with us - both of my girls are diabetic. This is Ed with my youngest at our walk in - gosh, early 2000's.

In his old age, Ed would often just sit down in the middle of the yard and decide he didn't feel like going back inside. It was late spring and we were putting siding on the house. My girls had been told that the weren't allowed outside without shoes on because there were nails in the grass - with both kids being diabetic, this was a big deal to me. Well, my eldest forgot and walked outside. Dad flipped. "I thought your mom said not to come outside without shoes. Where are your shoes. Get back in the house and put on some shoes!" She was horribly embarrassed because everyone there helping saw her get yelled at (teenage girl, what can I say). The next time I took Ed out to potty, he decided it was a good time to plant his butt and not move. Finally I crouched in front of him, looked him in the eyes and said, "Ed. I can't help but notice that you're not wearing your shoes. In this house you must wear shoes if you're going to come outside. I'm afraid you'll have to go in." He promptly got up and walked in the house. From then on, every single time he dawdled outside we'd talk about the shoes. And every single time he'd immediately get up and come inside. My DH would see him sitting there and ask, "Did you talk to him about the shoes?" It's been almost six years since he's been gone and I can't tell you how much I still miss talking about the shoes. Just last night my DH remarked that Oliver wasn't quite up to Ed's standards yet because he didn't know about the shoes.

The running joke around the house was, "It's all about Ed." We actually have ideas and sketches for a series of children's books about Ed called, you guessed it, It's All About Ed. He was a champion box destroyer. If you called out, "I don't have a dog. No dog for me." Ed would come running. Every Sunday morning, and only Sunday morning, Ed would lick my DH's head for twenty minutes. It was disgusting. And funny. He slept with his head on a pillow and a toy tucked between his legs. Next to me. If DH had some beers and snored, Ed snored in tandem. We lost him unexpectedly at the age of 10 to Addisonian crisis. He'd been to the vet over and over again for vague symptoms that just sounded like old age. Unfortunately because Addison's isn't typical at his age, we never thought of it. After he was gone, I was so lost in grief. I would take the girls to school and then pull back in front of the house, look at the window where that little grey face was no longer waiting - and I'd drive away. It's been almost six years now and I still miss him. Not with a sharpness, just a missing. Several months after he died I found some pictures. I truly had no idea how old he looked. He never looked old to me. Here are some pictures throughout the years. My favorite is the last one - and what I missed most when he was gone. That little face waiting.

Same kid, years later.

Ignore the hair please. It had been a long day of drinking beer and putting siding up.

 

[Boxergirl]

And then there was Leo. After Ed died, I was lost. I found a breeder that showed and health tested and just happened to have one puppy. That was Al. Al never had a chance. He was following Ed - the perfect ten year old gentleman. And Al simply was, and is, the single most difficult dog I've ever had. He just wasn't enough for me. I'd been perusing petfinder while I was waiting for Al to be old enough to come home and I found an adult dog at animal control in a neighboring town. I fell in love. I pulled up the page numerous times daily and finally made this dog my desktop background. I called and was told that they had never had such interest expressed about any dog before and there were over 30 people ahead of me to adopt him. I was very disappointed. I still kept "Sammie" as my background, even after Al came home. I don't think I've ever wanted a dog as much as I wanted Sammie. Over a month passed and I noticed that Sammie was still on petfinder. I called, even though they had never called me back. It turned out that Sammie had testicular cancer and every single one of the people ahead of me had backed out. I went to meet him. He was gorgeous. Beautiful, cropped, and show quality. His temperament was perfect. I took my DH to meet him and then, on my birthday I pulled my youngest daughter from school for the final test. When we walked into animal control you would have thought my Jess brought the sun in with her. I know that he must have had a young lady in his life because I've never seen a dog light up like he did. We brought him home and named him Leo.

His retained, cancerous testicle was removed but he still had the enlarged nipples and some hair loss due to the estrogen producing tumor. He also leaked pus and urine. We did tons of testing, but he ended up in a diaper almost 24/7. Because of the hostile environment, he had many UTIs and I had to wash him several times a day and apply diaper ointment to help with urine scald. He was such a good boy about it. He'd sigh and then step into the bathtub to be cleaned up.

He was the best thing that ever happened to my younger daughter. She'd had a traumatic event at a friend's house - unbeknownst to us, the older brother was in a gang. Even though this person hadn't lived with the family for a long time, the retribution for something he did was to shoot through a bedroom window that had a light on. My daughter and her two friends were in that room and one friend was shot in the shoulder and my DD had to dive off the bed to avoid getting hit. She was pretty messed up and couldn't sleep alone in her room. Leo became her sleeping buddy and with the bed away from the window she started to heal. (And then she learned to shoot a gun. That helped tons too.)

We had Leo for a year and nine months. He was the perfect gentleman. He gave Al confidence. He was my daughter's constant companion. He filled a huge empty place in my heart. One day he got off the couch, staggered toward me, and went down as I caught him. With my youngest on one side stroking him and telling him what a good boy he was, and his head cradled on my lap, he died. Just like that. Not a bad way to go for a good dog. I've had a lot of dogs, but I've honestly never wanted a dog more than I wanted Leo. He was clearly meant to be mine. Why else would 30+ people have backed out? I feel very lucky to have had him, even though it wasn't nearly long enough.

 

[sidecar]

My all time favorite dog was my 1/2 lab, 1/2 german shorthair, Elvis. We had heard that a rescue here in town found 5 puppies in separate boxes at intrevals along the expressway and I had just lost Shadow, a weird little terrier. We went to see these puppies, but when we got there. only 1 male was left. I fell in love right away (absolutely nothing cuter than a black lab puppy, IMO). I had been mulling names over because I wanted an iconic name like Sinatra, Zappa or Elvis, etc for my next dog. The lady running the rescue had an old chocolate lab that was her personal dog and when I asked her she said the dog's name was Pepsi! Any Elvis fan knows full well that Elvis' favorite soft drink was Pepsi, and so it seemed per-ordained. Elvis rode home with me in my jacket pocket on my 750 Honda that day and for 13 and 1/2 years we were best friends. I helped to run a dog training school at the time so he and I trained together extensively for 2 full years and even took agility training (he was the best in his agility class, but I couldn't enter him in competition because he was a mix) I bought a Gold Wing and mounted a sidecar to it and together we put almost 100.000 km on it together, We went to Winnipeg, Thunder Bay, Gogama, even Quebec City together. Alas, at 4 years old, he tore his left rear cruciate and could no longer jump into his sidecar, but he remains my favorite bike passenger. He and I made the best of his injury and slowed down our walks to where he could keep up and still went camping and swimming together. I bought him a puppy (Cash) at age 11 and it helped him stay active for a couple more years, but eventually old age and arthritis caught up with the old boy, and I couldn't stand to watch him struggle any longer. One morning, we got up and went for our usual walk. We came home and he had an unusually hard time with the stairs and he had the 'it's time' look in his eyes. I called the vet to let him know and, after a lie down together and lots of petting and tears, we took our last walk out to the van together. He lied down on the blanket at the vet's. and I held him and told him what a good boy he was while he left me for the last time. It remains the single worst day of my life. It's been 3 years and I'm in tears right now thinking about him. I actually have a tattoo of Him in his riding gear that contains some of his ashes on the forearm of my throttle hand. I still miss my dog-of-a-lifetime, Elvis.

 

[sidecar]

Here's a couple pics of the old boy-

 

[Boxergirl]

I just wanted to thank everyone for sharing their stories and pictures. I liked hearing about your special guys.

 

[NYDDB]

Boxergirl, I loved hearing about your past dogs, too. And that picture of Ed looking out the window for you...hauntingly beautiful.