It’s Saturday, 11:45 am.

Exactly 1 week ago right now, my world changed.

Finally I’m able to say it.

Shes gone.

My baby.

My furry child.

My best friend.

Gone.

The end of our time together.

The end of a way of life.

Shes gone to join her sister over that rainbow bridge.

Gone from this earthly plane, ascending to that white light of eternal bliss with our maker.

Leaving me to somehow move through this house, this yard, this world, without her.

Day seven and I’m still not moving well.

Forgive me if I cry….

She was always the strong one. The day I brought them home, it was obvious the little 8 week old pup was strong, daring, and fearless, opposite of her twin sister.  Double her sisters size, she stood tall, confident, and walked with purpose.  She was “Super Dog”!  Flying from the top of the couch to the top of the love seat, like a winged Angel. She was independent. Decisive. She became the matriarch of the house.  We all bowed down to her commands.

My Angel Baby.

She was always the “assertive” one. Confident and forthright.  Never shy about running up to strangers with urgency as if to say “WHO are YOU? WHAT do you think you’re DOING here?”  Even stamping her paw at you. Walks were “surveillance trips” to inspect the neighborhood and find out who else has been peeing there. Always making sure everything was safe. She held judgment, opinion and suspicion as if to say; “prove to me I should trust you!”  It took some proving before she was ready to “give paw” and be your friend.  She wanted to know everything.  It was her job to ask the hard questions and keep the family safe.  And she would remember it all.  Because of her, I met many, many people I may not have otherwise, just from her assertive (notice how I don’t say aggressive?) insistent approach.  She taught me much about the delicate balance between confidence and aggression. Acceptance and refusal.  She was a living example of that, with just one look.

She was always the scruffy one. My little Tom Boy. Rawhide in the mouth, off to bury it in the dirt!  Keeping her clean was impossible.  Unlike her sister, she was all about the hunt, or the dig, or the smelly “whatever”.  I’ll never forget the time we hiked up to the top of Eagle Mountain and back.  All the other hikers along the trail commented on how beautiful my girls were.  Long flowing blonde hair.  Endless energy.  Up and down the trail we went.  And then, the moment she noticed it, she dove off a foot bridge into the murkiest, green goo water known to man.  Rolling, digging, jumping.  We drove for hours looking for a reachable stream I could safely clean her off in.  She hated to be brushed and could pull her bows or clips out of her hair in record time.  She insisted on allowing her leg hair to matt up making her look 5 times bigger than she actually was.  And then she would walk, confidently, heavy on the front steps, as though she was ready to get into the ring and kick some booty. Yes, she was my Tom Boy.  She was my dirty girl. Even still, there was something about her that intrigued people. She racked up smiles and compliments, and brought entertainment to everyone we met.

She was always the protective one. When I was sick, or sad, or worried, or angry, she was the one to come to my side, and guard me.  And there were so many of those times over course of our world.  Without fail, she was always, always there. She would rush up to strangers on our walks, placing a fur barrier between me and them until she assessed their intentions and was sure it was safe for them to come any closer.  She protected the house, the yard, and even alerted me any time bad weather was approaching that we should head into the basement for.  She would stay close, always at the ready, watching for danger.  She would keep everyone else in line when I was too tired to.  She was all attitude, but it was purely out of love.  She adored me as I did her.  She protected me. She was the large and in charge girl.  My matriarch.  My guard dog.  My Guardian Angel.  She always made me feel safe.

She was quite the adventurous one. She loved rides in the truck looking out the passenger window, while Sunny Girl perched on the console between the bucket seats.  She loved the outdoors and our road trips. She was a camping girl, a hiking girl, and an all-around 4 season outdoors girl, like me.  She loved the snow.  She loved the cold.  She really seemed to love hunting season.  She knew she could give Buddy a run for his money in the field.  The first time they saw one in the yard, she outran Buddy for a striped gopher, she got it, dispatched it and laid down like a sphinx with it in front of her. That moment set the stage for who would be in charge.  She proved herself to be a hunter and gatherer for our family, having dispatched many mice and chipmunks over the years, and almost a squirrel or two. She even came in for an assist on a rabbit Buddy got ahold of. She and her sister traveled all over the state with Buddy and I in search of game.  They assumed guard positions over the truck or our camp while I would be in the field hunting with Buddy.  On our return, she was always eager to smell us up and down to learn all about where we’d been, and would “nose” the quarry with such excitement.  I always felt like she was evaluating our harvest.  Then she would get into the “I can hunt too!” mode, and stalk around camp, looking for something to catch.

She was always the little chow hog. Getting that girl to leave everyone else’s food alone was an act of congress.  She would eat anything.  Anywhere.  She would challenge Sunny, and Buddy, Jack and Coco for their dinners.  Me and you, too! She was such a relentless bully about food, I had to fence her off with her dish so everyone else could eat their meals in peace.

Until now.

What I would give to have her under foot trying to keep her out of her siblings dishes.

My tough little Tom Boy was going to show everyone that she wasn’t done yet. That she was strong enough for both of us. She tried not to disappoint, because she knew how much I needed her.  Watching her fight to get better…was unbearable.  It was like she was in denial, saying; “I got this, I’m ok.” I could feel her life force—it was strong.  On the inside I cried to the universe “Is it her time? How can I help her?  Please don’t take her from me!” but on the outside all I could do was hide my hot irrational mess and try to comfort my Angel baby.

She continued to accept bits of hamburger, liver, chicken, fish and lamb until she just couldn’t do it anymore. The day she turned her nose up to Maple Beef Sticks and Butternut Squash….

Once again, I am so very tired. Not from being up all night from her dementia cries for months.  Not from rushing to her side when she had a bad dream, or when she looked terrified of being alone. No, heck no, I laid by her side and protected her, comforted her, and made sure she did not feel one bit alone for weeks.  No, this tired is about the void.  The emptiness. The exhaustion that comes from a realization that change is inevitable.  Nothing is permanent.  Feels like I’ve lost a huge part of what makes me me, like an arm or a leg, or a lung.  Somehow I had it in my mind that Angel would be with me for years yet—such a strong, suborn old girl. They say the average life span of a Lhasa Apso is 12 – 14 years.  My gawd, Angel is like 134 dog years old.

I know she was trying to stay for me. In May of 2017 Angel had a stroke. I clutched her in my arms and begged her not to leave me. I cared for her relentlessly and she didn’t.  When her sister died 6 months ago I pulled Angel close to my chest, buried my face in her neck and begged her to stay with me forever, that I couldn’t lose her too. And once again she stayed, despite her own grief, another stroke and a number of seizures.

She had already given me a bonus year. How dare I ask for more?

But I just couldn’t put my own selfish wants aside. She seemed to be trying to rise up and recover. She still had the will. My tough old girl. In my desperation and anguish I convinced myself that maybe we could get her back up!

So I rushed her over to the vet. Sobbing, Terrified. Irrationally hopeful….

“Please, please can you help her? Is it not yet her time? Can she come back?”

The vet showed such monumental compassion.

Her heart was still quite strong. For a moment, there was actually hope, but it would be a long road back. And then, the truth hit. The vet discovered an unfortunate development. Angel’s battle for life was not winnable. She had complications I had no way of knowing about, and could have never fixed.  Yes, it’s her time.

I had to find the strength to encourage her to rise up and surrender to something so much better than now.

As she lay on the exam table on a soft bed of cushions, toys and blankets, I looked into her eyes, and she into mine. My Angel. My guardian Angel.  Her breath slowing, her eyes softening, our connection so very strong.  She knew she was not alone. I chanted, well, I cried, Vedic Mantras in hopes that she would feel safe to let go, and reassured her it was okay to follow that beautiful white light. The vet was there to assist.

And then there was stillness.

She definitely did her best to stay with me.

Forgive me if I cry.

She gave everything she could to me for 17 years, 4 months and 8 days. And I gave everything I could to her.  My Angel Baby.  Her heart was pure, her devotion unending. I was most certainly blessed to have such a strong, unwavering, unconditional commitment with another being for so long.  Beyond best friends.  Beyond family.  My Sweet Sweet Guardian Angel.  I was so very blessed.

Yogi’s believe we are spiritual beings, simply passing through and having a quick little human experience. That this time, the here and now, is a mere micro speck of what our true soul selves are, that we are in fact, eternal light and goodness merged with our maker, our God. And the same holds true for animals. I fully embrace the idea of this belief, but clearly, I’m not there yet.  As hard as I try to look at things differently…

It just never gets easier. In fact, it gets harder to experience loss.  All of my yogic logic went right out the window at the thought of losing Sunny Girl…and then Holly, and now this?  There are no words.  Geeze I can’t even remember to breathe this past week.

Humbling, how this kind of loss can be so traumatic. So life changing.  Instantly my life is now so different.  So, very different.  I’ve spent an entire span of my life, a 17 year chapter of my life sharing the most intimate details of my life with her.  Coveting a very specific sense of family. Belonging.  My foundation for how I’ve lived, and who I’ve been is now gone.  I go back and forth between my selfish need to have Angel with me, and selfless desire to know she is with her sister in a much better place now.

Angel Brady ascended on Saturday June 8^th, 2019, at 11:45 a.m.

Love you to the moon and back, my Angel Baby. You are my rock, my inspiration to press on. Our family grieves the loss of your physical presence, and pray you shine your pure loving light over us and remain my Guardian Angel until we can heal and meet again. Take good care of Sunny Girl, Holly, Jack, and Buddy.

 

Thank you for reading my post. What are you most passionate about? What makes your soul sing? I’d love to hear about it!  All comments are greatly appreciated.  For me, it’s any time I can be immersed in nature.  My connection is strong to the outdoors, mother earth, and animals.  You can get up close and personal through my observations and experiences in my “Words From The Wild” blog category.  If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website. You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’.  As always, please feel free to share my information with others who may find meaning and value in the outdoors from this outdoorswoman’s perspective, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again!

Seven days ago today, I laid to rest my pure, innocent, loving little white rabbit, Holly.

She gave almost no warning.

Ten days ago she seemed to be acting a little different. Didn’t want to come out and play.  When she eventually did, she hid under the bed–for days.  She finally went back to her cage, but still seemed a little off.  Not being much of an authority of rabbits, I thought maybe she was going through some kind of spring blues thing.  Or maybe she’s mad at me because she’s lonely. I haven’t been able to spend as much time with her the last few weeks.  Angel has been a handful of dementia issues since we went to Windom, and wrapped around my full time work I literally run up and down the stairs to spend time with each of them, and try to find time to add in Coco too.

‘Maybe she’s mad because I’ve been sleeping downstairs on the couch near Angel instead of up in our room.’

‘Maybe she misses me sleeping there.’ Maybe, maybe, maybe….maybe I need a qualified opinion.

When I checked on her the next morning I decided if she wasn’t better and acting normal by the time I got home from work, we’d go to the vet for advice. I softly rubbed her little nose bridge, and caressed her cheeks. “ I’m worried about you Holly baby.  What’s wrong with my honey bunny?”  She leaned into my fingers, loving the gentle touch.  “I’ll see you soon, baby, and we’ll have the doctor take a look at you.”  We touched noses.  She loved to “kiss” by touching noses.

That was our last kiss.

Even though I raced home from work and ran up the stairs to our room as fast as I could, I was too late. Her warm, limp body told me she had just let go of this earthly life and ascended.

The tears came hard and fast. Shock. Regret.  Sadness.  Bewilderment.  How could she just go?  Just like that? Nine hours ago she was upright and alive! The heartbreak was profound.

I had failed my pure hearted, love bunny.

Rabbit care is a totally different relationship than having cats and dogs. The only thing I ever knew about rabbits was that Hasenpfeffer is darn tasty and I have to admit, I’ve taken quite a few out of the wild for meals over the years, and, quite a few out of the garden to save my plants. How I went from that to keeping one as a pet is still a head scratcher to me.  Everything happens for a reason.  Guess there was a lesson in there.

Rabbits are surprisingly smart, protective, clean freaks, devoted and a little OCD. They are touch-o-holics, too. House bunnies are totally dependent on you for what you do for them.  Holly came into my life as a “rescue” in January of 2016.  It took her awhile to warm up to me, and having a life with me.  It seems she may have been a cage rabbit until me.  She just upgraded to a much bigger cage. She seemed to immediately be drawn to things like light cords and plastic containers. I protected her from any potential canine brigade threat. Then I rabbit proofed my master bedroom and gave her the run of it.  That earned me many points.  And yeah, I forgave her for chewing off 2 of my 4 bedroom lamp chords, and six pairs of my crappy fake leather shoes.

One of her favorite things to do besides have me pet her face, was chase around after one particular pair of pink pajama bottoms of mine. They quickly became “hers”.   We’d play “jammies”.  I’d stand and dangle the jammies near the ground and circle them around me, with her hot on the heels of their lace bottoms.  Around and around she’d run after the jammies, trying to catch them.  Clock then counter-clock wise, weaving between my legs, around and around.  Then I’d capture her into the ‘butt’ of them, and wrap the legs around her body.  She would sit for a few seconds all tucked in, then roll over onto her back, relishing the feel of those soft jammies around her fluffy body like a swaddled baby.

Next, she’d wiggle out of them and I’d quickly capture her into their waist, and we’d play “Where’s Holly?”. She would tunnel her way down a leg, and pop her little head out as if to say “here I am!” We could play those games for hours. And often did.

Perhaps the most adorable quirk was her dashing to her cage to go potty in the middle of us playing. Holly was the cleanest sweetie ever.  She would even run to her cage to eat her treats. She would dump her food dish when she was not happy with the selection of goodies.  She would throw her hay dish into her potty box when she thought it was too soiled. She would show me how high she could jump (to my dismay) by leaping up onto the bed or dresser in one move.  She knew when I was taking a picture and would strike a pose for me.  To my surprise, the joy I experienced developing a relationship with and playing with my bunny is indescribable. I was blessed to be able to add her sweetness to our family.  She brought so much happiness to my world.

Her world, was filled with treats, toys, and cubbies to hide in to entertain herself when I couldn’t be there. But we always began and ended each day with jammie time, gentle face rubs, and kisses.

As I’ve sat here the past week, shaming myself for not doing something sooner….not acting sooner….not having all the answers or getting home sooner….as my heart holds heavy with sadness and regret… a little voice in the back of my head tries to tell myself that she had a good life for the last 3 years and 5 months.

I don’t know what her life was like before me. Or how old she actually was.  I only know Holly opened her heart to me and became my honey bunny.  She let me be her human.  It changed my world.  And I miss that little fluff ball and all her silly antics like crazy. She gave me unconditional trust and love, and taught me a thing or two about pure gentleness of heart.  Why she suddenly had to leave so soon, I just don’t understand.

On Friday, May 31^st 2019, my friend came over with a shovel and dug. Dug through the toughest roots known to man to create a heartfelt resting place. I wrapped Holly in her favorite pink ‘jammies’ for the last time, and gently placed her soft fluffy body deep into the rich black earth of my back yard, right along the wild bunny path that is heavily traveled in the early morning hours. After a soft transition chant, I stepped away from my Holly girls resting place, filled with love, gratitude, appreciation, and great sorrow at the loss of this precious life.

Rest in peace, sweet Holly. Rise up into the eternal white energy light.  May your spirit be free to run with the wild ones.

 

Thank you for reading my post. What are you most passionate about? What makes your soul sing? I’d love to hear about it!  All comments are greatly appreciated.  For me, it’s any time I can be immersed in nature.  My connection is strong to the outdoors, mother earth, and animals.  You can get up close and personal through my observations and experiences in my “Words From The Wild” blog category.  If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website. You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’.  As always, please feel free to share my information with others who may find meaning and value in the outdoors from this outdoorswoman’s perspective, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again!

 

Thursday, November 15^th 11:10 p.m.

Numb. Reeling.  Hollow.  How to process?  Where to start?

She was always the frail one. The day I brought them home, it was obvious the little 8 week old pup was not as strong as her twin sister.  Half her sisters size, her nose pushed in, labored breathing.  After a few days of observation we thought maybe she would not be with us long.  So we loved on her and babied her and cared for her, thinking it would be short term. But to our surprise, she gained strength as she grew up.  She responded to our love and attention.  She developed into a beautiful, my beautiful, Sunny Girl.

Sunny Girl. Like furry sunshine.

She was always the friendly one. Happy and full of energy.  Never shy about running up to strangers with tail wagging and eager expression as if to say “Hi I don’t know you but I’m sure you’re wonderful!”  Walks were “runs” of joy, undoubtedly to prance up to anyone and everyone we met along the way.  She held no judgment, opinion or suspicion, just curiosity and acceptance.  She  readily accepted every new family member into our home without question or resistance.  Buddy, Jack, Holly, Aphrodite, Cleopatra, Kokoa, and Delilah. She was always ready to “give paw” and be your friend.  She wanted to know everyone.  Because of her, I met many, many people I may not have otherwise. She knew how to reel them in.  She taught me much about random acts of kindness.  She was a living example of one, with just one look.

She was always the pretty one. My little Barbie Girl. She knew she was pretty and feminine and dainty. She knew that her sweet little under bite was adorable, and she used it frequently to win hearts. Unlike her sister, she was not interested in the hunt, or the dig, or the smelly “whatever”.  No, she liked to have her hair brushed, her bows in, and be picked up and carried across the wet spots, as it should be when you’re that beautiful.  Yes, she was my princess.  She knew her long blonde hair flowed like liquid silk as she swaggered down the sidewalk, and worked it.  She turned heads, racked up smiles and compliments, and brought a little sunshine and joy to everyone we met.

She was always the sensitive one. When I was sick, or sad, or worried, or angry, she was the one to come to my side first, and try to comfort me.  And there were so many of those times over course of our world.  Without fail, she was always, always there. She would cuddle up to me and lick my hand as if to lick the problem away, even try to lick my tears away.  She was a fixture on my lap until she knew I was okay.  She didn’t ever cop an attitude, hold a grudge, or think any less of me for any reason what so ever.  She adored me as I did her.  She protected me, guarded me. She was my right hand girl.  My sounding board.  My cheering section.  My Sunny honey.  She got me.

 

She was quite the adventurous one. Even though she was a prissy little girl, she still liked a good adventure.  She loved to ride shotgun in the truck, on the console between the bucket seats, while Angel took passenger side.  Often she would help drive….she loved the outdoors and our road trips. She was a hiking girl, a camping girl. Every time I would take the tents out to set up, she would run and jump on top of one as I tried to set it up, and was inside checking things out the moment I had it staked down. She never complained when it was hunting season.  She and her sister assumed guard positions over the truck or our camp while I would be in the field hunting.  On my return, she was always eager to smell me, and Buddy, up and down to learn all about where we’d been and see what we came home with.  She understood and accepted that I was the hunter and gatherer and provided for our family.

She was always the finicky one. Getting that girl to eat was often an act of congress.  Her tummy was sensitive beyond words.  We dashed her to the vet more than once because of tummy troubles, tooth troubles, or back end problems.  We often struggled with what to feed Miss Sunny Girl, sometimes to my wits end with 3- 5 brands of food to rotate at a time.  But we always found something, even if it was hamburger and rice boiled on the stove after trying to cook up 10 other things first, or plain greek yogurt on a spoon.

Until these last few weeks.

What I would give to have her under foot, making her meals and hand feeding them to her.

My frail, pretty girl tried to be strong enough for both of us, tried not to disappoint, but just couldn’t do it anymore.

I am so very tired. Not from the worry, or the feedings, or the “accidents” or being up all night from her pathetic cries.  No, it’s about the void.  The exhaustion that comes from feeling like someone came and tore out your heart, right from your chest, leaving you in a bottomless pit of emptiness. Feels like I’ve lost a huge part of me, like an arm or a leg, or a lung.  Somehow, I had it in my mind that she’s still my little girl, she’s only 16, and we’ve got things to do, places to go, years, and years yet to share.

But no. She is already over 123 dog years old.

She definitely did her best to not leave me. Say it……say it……..I. Just. Can’t.

 

Wednesday November 21^st 7:00 a.m.

I’ve been stumbling around the house for a week, looking at all the ways it’s absent of her.  The empty dish on her special mealtime shelf.  Her favorite chair, my $2k massage chair, yes, that was Sunny’s favorite place to sit and be in charge of the living room. The back corner of their “bedroom” on the carpet square.  Tears seem to be endless.  Trying to remember to breathe. Trying to seek refuge in yoga and meditation.  Trying to consider the upside.  My God, is there an upside?  Hell no.

And then there’s the heartbreak of trying to comfort Angel, who doesn’t understand what’s going on, and walks around and around and around, and alongside me, looking for her sister. Trying to comfort Kokoa, and even Holly who both know full well something big has happened. They are being so quiet, and sweet.  They know.  When I have a moment to myself I go back and forth between my dreadful selfish need to have Sunny Girl with me, and growing selfless desire to know she is in a much better place now.

Yogi’s believe we are spiritual beings, simply passing through and having a human experience. That this time, here and now, is a mere speck of what our true soul selves are, that we are eternal light and goodness. And the same holds true for animals. I fully embrace this belief. Still,

It just never gets easier. In fact, it gets harder to experience loss.  All of my yogic logic went right out the window at the thought of losing Sunny Girl, and now? Geeze I can’t even remember to breathe this past week.

She gave everything she could to me for 16 years, 9 months and 13 days. And I gave everything I could to her.  My baby doll Sunny.  Her heart was pure, her devotion unending. I was most certainly blessed to have such a strong, unwavering, unconditional commitment with another being for so long.  Beyond best friends.  Beyond family.  My Sweet Sunny Girl. I was so very blessed.

Watching her decline so rapidly and feel so damn helpless to fix it…was unbearable.   On the inside I cried to the universe “please don’t take her from me!” but on the outside all I could do was suck it up, and reassure her it was okay to follow that beautiful white light. Put my own selfish wants aside.  Encourage her to rise up and surrender to something so much better than this mortal life with us.

As she lay in the comfort of soft cushions, toys and blankets, her breath slowing, her eyes softening, I chanted, well, I cried, Vedic Mantras to her throughout the days and nights in hopes that she would feel safe to let go. On Tuesday evening I chanted Ohm Shaanthi to her until 7:10 p.m. Then, for the first time in days, reluctantly left her side under friends careful watch, to go to a much needed restorative yoga practice. Not wanting to disappoint me, she literally waited just until my truck pulled out of the driveway.

Sunny Girl Brady ascended on Tuesday November 13^th, 2018 at 7:24 p.m.

There. I said it.

Love you to the moon and back, Sunny Girl. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Our family grieves the loss of your beautiful physical presence, and pray you shine your pure loving light over us until we can heal our grieving hearts and meet again.

 

Thank you for reading my post. What are you most passionate about? What makes your soul sing? I’d love to hear about it!  All comments are greatly appreciated.  For me, it’s any time I can be immersed in nature.  My connection is strong to the outdoors, mother earth, and animals.  You can get up close and personal through my observations and experiences in my “Words From The Wild” blog category.  If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website. You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’.  As always, please feel free to share my information with others who may find meaning and value in the outdoors from this outdoorswoman’s perspective, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again!

 

 

 

I’ve known since spring that we were living on borrowed time. Angel had a stroke in May, and Sunny, being so sensitive and worried for both me and Angel, had one only days afterwards. There I was with two lethargic, failing 16 + year old Lhasa’s. Thinking both their days were numbered, I was desperate, and began treating them with my essential oils. To my surprise, they miraculously bounced back!  Within a matter of days they came out of the lethargic cloud, slowly they regained their ability to walk properly, got their faculties back, and within a few short weeks started acting like normal again, just a little slower.  But what can you expect for being over 16 years old?

Of course there was no more jumping up on anything. Sunny Girl learned to take the doggie stairs to her chair until that became too dangerous.  Stairs became taboo.  One level living was mandatory.  We took several trips down south to the farm and I would lift her in and out of the toy hauler.  She moved slower and slower over the course of the summer and fall.

The last few weeks have been the hardest. Sunny Girl has started keeping close. Real close. She makes sure she is directly under my feet all the time, every time I try to take a step, there she is, looking up at me.  She’s become very vocal.  If I leave the room for more than 15 minutes, she cries out.  She tries her best to rush out the back door to go pee, and cries out if the door is shut.   She is trying so hard not to disappoint me.  Feeding her has become the worst guessing game yet.  I try oat meal, lamb, hamburger and rice, cooked pureed carrots, and more.  It’s a crap shoot to find something she will eat, as I watch her get leaner and leaner.  It is breaking my heart.  Often I’m on the floor hand feeding her because she seems to struggle with eating out of her dish.

Truthfully, I think she just doesn’t feel like eating out of her dish. Yes, she has me under her thumb.  I thought we had hit the jackpot with curly noodles and pieces of fresh cooked chicken.  And now suddenly it’s all stopped.

Sunday November 11^th 6:00 a.m.

Sunny Girl has suddenly become extremely frail. She’s walking into corners and getting stuck.  She’s  falling over.  She is guarding her left front leg.  She tries to walk, falls over and cries.  Trying to comfort her while I figure out what’s wrong.  She was fine last night….did she have another stroke?  Frankincense and Copaiba seem to calm her down.  Perhaps she just needs to rest that leg.  Maybe she pulled a muscle or bumped it.  Oh my baby girl!  How can I help you?

Sunday November 11^th Noon.

Sunny can’t seem to sit up on her own, as hard as she tries, and boy, she’s trying hard, and crying out loud with frustration. It’s like her spine has turned to rubber.  She won’t eat, not even her special chicken and curly noodles that she’s been loving lately.  I’ve made a soft cushiony bed on the kitchen floor to have her rest on.  Maybe she just needs to rest.

 

Sunday November 11^th 6:00 p.m.

My baby girl, Sunny! Oh my God, Sunny!  You won’t eat.  You try to lift your head and you can’t!  Angel has licked your face, your ears, your head, and you just can’t sit yourself up, even with all her efforts.  She is worried.  I am worried.  I don’t know what to do. I call the vet.  “I don’t know what to think.  I think it’s ‘time’ but I just don’t know”.

I can’t think. I’m not ready.  I’ve had over 16 years to be ready.  But I’m not.  Some people would say “it’s just a dog….she’s 16 after all!” But when I look at her sweet face I don’t see an old dog.  I see my loving companion who, in my mind, is ageless. So I sob, and sob, and sob. It takes me another 2 hours to pull myself together and bring her in.

Sunday November 11^th 8:40 p.m.

The vet is quietly checking Sunny out, while I fall apart on the chair. Thank God my neighbor happened to be there with her dog, and is now in the exam room with us.  “Her leg is ok, it’s her back giving her problems.  Let’s give her an injection for pain for starters.”  “You mean she’s going to be okay?” I weep with relief.  I’m sent home with two prescriptions to help her muscles relax and relieve the pain, and hopefully she’ll be eating by Monday morning.

Sunday November 11^th 9:40 p.m.

My Sunny Girl is home, sleeping easier now, but clouds are rolling in. I fear in my heart we are in for some very dark days.

 

Thank you for reading my post. What are you most passionate about? What makes your soul sing? I’d love to hear about it!  All comments are greatly appreciated.  For me, it’s any time I can be immersed in nature.  My connection is strong to the outdoors, mother earth, and animals.  You can get up close and personal through my observations and experiences in my “Words From The Wild” blog category.  If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website. You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’.  As always, please feel free to share my information with others who may find meaning and value in the outdoors from this outdoorswoman’s perspective, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again!

Hello this is Jack! I am a good boy!  I am an excellent hunter, and up here I’m a great angel, too!  Yes, today makes it one whole year since I floated away in my humans arms and went up to heaven. I remember I was tired and in pain and we were looking into each others eyes and she was petting me and calling me Sweet Boy and then she faded away and the next thing I knew I had no pain at all and I was with Buddy, and Sweet Pea and Zeke and Precious, and Smokey and all of the many fur and feather babies that my human has loved over the years and we’ve been running around in a beautiful grassy park ever since.

But I’ve been keeping an eye on my human. She’s had a very hard time this past year.  I’ve tried to visit her in dreams, to comfort her and tell her I’m okay.  She loves hard, and forever, and sometimes has a hard time moving on. So I just couldn’t stay away today.  I’m here to bring her a special message.

 

Hello my human!  It’s me, Jack!  I miss you too!  I know.  I know.  I wish we had more time, too.  It just wasn’t meant to be.  But the time we did have was the BEST!  You made me so happy!  I love you!  I adore you!  Please don’t be sad any more.  It makes me sad too.  I am always with you in your heart.  I know you can feel it.

I know it’s been hard for you. I watch you.  I love to be in your heart.  We all do.

So you have to know that my back disease wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault. You need to know that. It’s okay.  When I look back to a year ago, I know you did your very best for me.  Remember how sick you were?  It was so hot.  You coughed and coughed.  You hadn’t slept in weeks.  Yet you found the strength to try to take care of me, and everyone else.

Remember how hard it was to pick me up and get me outside? You braced yourself up against the wall and lifted my broken body into your chest, barely making it down the steps of our home on wheels.  I know that really hurt.  I saw your tears.  But you never complained.  You just held my back end up in the yard so I wouldn’t pee on myself.  You carried me in and out for many, many days.

You tried to make my medicine taste good and gave me special treats even when I didn’t feel like eating them. You kept my sores and “sick bed” clean and dry.  You sat with me and told me what a good boy I was when I felt so terrible and sad.  You didn’t let that man take me and “put me down”.

Not every human would have done that. Not every human would have tried so hard.  Not every human would have kept so much hope and determination.  I will always love you for that—you were the best!

I’m very grateful for every minute of our time together. I would not want to have been with any other human.  I’m so grateful, too, that my original human gave me to you.  She was smart and good and she sure knew what she was doing, even though I was scared to go with you at first.  She knew we were meant to be together. 

Even though it was only for a year and a half, we had many wonderful adventures I’ll cherish forever. Laying on the soft couch, the smell of your cooking, all those cushy toys to put in my mouth, riding in the truck, hunting the birds, that skunk, swimming in the big ocean water, running free on the farm, pointing the lizards and chasing those long skinny legged birds, all of those bones and chews, curling up with you on that big chair…..my life with you was pure joy. Never did get on board with those two female dust mops though.

Yes. For me, our time was perfect.  I want you to think so too.  Remember the good stuff, my loving human, just the good stuff.

The last thing I’ll say is that I am an excellent hunter and so are you. All of us up here that have shared in your life feel the same way. We all want to see you celebrating the outdoors again.   It’s time.  You need to open your heart to a new hunting partner.  You have plenty of room in that great big heart.  Buddy and I want you to.  So do it.  Go hunting this fall.  Find a good boy or girl, and spend the summer together getting ready to chase birds all fall.  They will stand at your side and adore you just like we all do.  Please promise you’ll make new adventures and memories and share your heart again.

Well, it looks like I’m wanted back upstairs. I gotta say, the birds up here are fantastic, and there’s no limits!

Always, your Jack

 

Thank you for stopping by and reading my post. You can read all about the adventures me and my human PR had together in the outdoors… I wrote lots of stories under “I AM JACK” in her blog category, “Words From The Wild”. I was careful not to have many typos.  I am a good boy!  If you like what you see, please let her know by “liking” her website. (She says it’s important to get “likes”, whatever that means.  I know I like her lots!) You can even join her tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’. Please feel free to share with others who may find meaning and value in our journey together, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again,   Jack.

 

This past autumn has been so very hard. Missing Jack. Unable to go hunting. Watching the leaves turn from my back yard instead of from endless woods full of birds and bucks.

My hunting season has been reduced to closing my eyes and remembering past experiences. Just not the same thing.  Temperatures hovered at unusual highs in early November, offering me many opportunities to escape to a warmer, friendlier place.

But I couldn’t leave. Health problems were stubbornly hanging onto me in defiance. I couldn’t drive.  I couldn’t go.

I had to accept the harsh reality that I’m likely not going anywhere warm any time soon. Life is changing for me, indeed. And ohhh, to have to face a Minnesota winter.

It’s been so long!

Winter without palm trees and beaches and warm sunny skies.

What is there left to do but make the best of it?

One morning, with great reluctance I finally stepped into the cold wintery outside and made my way to the side of the trailer, unlocking the door. My Toy Hauler was dark, creaking and freezing inside, so I quickly jumped in, dug out my Christmas tree and decorations, and carried the whole works into my living room.

Yup, I’m setting up my tree.

With a heavy sigh I carefully transported several light boxes of delicate Christmas baubles to the front window area, then began pulling my dainty “toy hauler size” tree out of its box. It was cold and stiff.  It’s little artificial branches were hugging tight to the trunk, not very willing to open up into place.  I pulled and separated the 3 sections onto the floor, then fit the base sections into their slots so the tree would stand freely.  This brave little tree has not known cold.  It has traveled the country with me to warm weather destinations, standing proud amidst the palm trees and tropical plants in 60 and 70 degree temperatures, never complaining.  As I fit the middle to the base, then the top to the middle, I recalled the strange feeling of our first Christmas in Florida.

In a tent. On the east coast.

Yes, many precious memories with this tree. I began fussing with the flattened branches to open them up and breathe some life into my little tree. Finding the plugs for the lights, I spun the sections to line up plugs, then tested out the lights.  All working perfect!  I returned to opening up branches, looking into the clusters of squished boughs for any sign of wear or breakage.

‘My how this tree has toughed out the last few years. It still looks pretty good.’

Picking at the branches accidently bent over in transit, my attention was split between the tree, and wondering about dinner, when suddenly, about half way up the tree, right next to my left hand, appeared without warning………a….

SPIDER!                !

Instantly, with feet peddling a mile a minute, I was rocketing backwards. My reflexes automatically reached for something (the tree) to stop me (from falling) realizing I was too late (and hit the floor) landing hard and still scrambling to get some distance between me and that creature infested tree! I pushed myself away so fast that I took down a box of ornaments from the chair, causing shiny round orbs to roll all over the floor.  OH did I mention that I was pretty much screaming the whole way down?

That spider was mega huge.

I went from the desperate attempt to place distance between me and the tree, to frantically brushing myself off and shaking my head to release any other potential critters that were hiding out in those fake branches waiting to attack me, crawling away as best I could.

I made it to the other side of the room—without crushing any of the escaped ornaments. Out of breath and out of sorts, I stood up and did a little pacing in the dining room, trying to get my composure back.  I need to dispatch the spider.

Relax. Take a breath.

I grabbed the broom and cautiously approached the tree, peering into its branches from a safe distance. Didn’t see anything moving anywhere.  Thinking maybe it’s on the underside of the tree, I tried erecting the tree back up with help from the broomstick—causing the base pieces to fall out of place.

‘OH no, I have to get under the tree and fix the stand!’

I tipped the tree to lean into the window, fixed the base pieces, and the tree fell into it’s proper place again. I peered intently into the tree—looking for signs of life.

ARAGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THERE IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I ran back to the dining room screaming.

You have to realize, this isn’t your every day run of the mill spider. No, this is a Florida spider—they can close up a walking path with a web in a matter of hours and catch unsuspecting birds and animals in it….some of them can carry a small child away…well maybe now I’m being a little melodramatic….but still!  That thing was huge!

I creped back over to the tree, just out of arms reach and peered again into the bristly branches. There it was. I stared, and stared, and stared at the hairy legged beast, waiting for it to make it’s move.  I rustled the tree with the broom just a little bit.

Hmmm, is that a broken leg?

Hmmm, is it missing a leg?

It’s just sitting there.

OH my God how many more are in my trailer.

Um….is it alive?

I shook the tree again, and it took its first lunge for me. It headed down the tree and hit the floor.

OH MY GOD IT’S ON THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I ran into the kitchen screaming.

By now, both of my dust mop dogs are highly curious about what’s happening. Sunny Girl is wandering closer and closer to the tree with a metal ornament stuck in her tail hair.  From across the room I cry out for her to get away as she gets right up close to the spider.  I have to rescue my little girl, so I dash in and scoop her up and away.

The spider didn’t move.

It’s just right there on the floor.

Beginning to think it’s actually not alive.

Beginning to feel a tad silly.

Ah yes, the rugged outdoorswoman.

Oh it’s times like these I’m glad there are no witnesses.

After a thorough inspection from a distance, I reach the conclusion that nope, the spider is not alive. I surveyed the mess I made trying to get away from the dead spider.  Wow.  I wonder how long that thing was able to stay alive in the box?  When did that thing get into the box?  I have more boxes…..oh dear.  I mustered up the courage to scoop that monstrous being onto a piece of newspaper, then placed him on a metal tin for “show and tell”.

Needless to say my tree decorating efforts came to a complete halt for the rest of the day. Finally got the tree trimmed that night, while keeping a sharp eye out for anything moving that shouldn’t be.  Have had several false alarms, thinking I saw something in the tree…or on the floor….and have had a couple dreams that I’d like to un-dream.  It’s one thing to have keepsakes of places you’ve been to that you’d like to remember.  It’s a whole different matter to have  fond memories of a Creepy Crawley Christmas!

 

Thank you for reading my post. What are you most passionate about? What makes your soul sing? I’d love to hear about it!  All comments are greatly appreciated.  For me, it’s any time I can be immersed in nature! I love to ‘get wild, rugged, and dirty’, so to speak.  You can get up close and personal to the great outdoors through many of my observations and experiences in my blog category, “Words From The Wild”.  If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website. You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’.  As always, please feel free to share my information with others who may find meaning and value in the outdoors from this outdoorswoman’s perspective, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again!

Even though he sat upright waiting to lock eyes with me first thing in the morning, I knew. Even though his ears perked up and he made that cute “oh boy she’s bringing me something yummy” face as I made his breakfast , I knew.  He even layed down in a relaxed position and crossed his front paws like he does when he wants to show me he’s a good boy–still, I knew.

Despite being less and less able to hold himself up on all 4 legs, the Vet gave me hope with her examination back on May 12^th.  It would be a long haul, but he could recover.  It would mean a minimum of 4 weeks of total bed rest and lots of drugs.  I agreed to try it.  And then my dear friend Lynn convinced me a “go-fund-me” campaign would rally scores of people to help, which would make it possible for Jack to get the surgery he needs so badly.  After only 12 days into the medication program, he has shown a whole new set of serious problems complicating his condition.

I’ve been trying my best to hang onto hope with Jack. I need my boy. But today was clearly different.   As I went to him first thing this morning, I was met with an all too familiar smell.  It brought me back to my beloved Buddy’s final hours.  That sad, familiar smell.  He looked into my eyes and shifted to sit up straighter.  “Yes, Jack, you are a good, good boy!”

I knew.

Still, I pushed the thought away. I called my friend to come over and help me with him. I called the vet for advice on changing his meds.  I reached out in frantic denial and selfish inability to let go, and I did my best to not accept the inevitable.  I needed to be heard and have him be seen.  He has way too much life in his eyes to not get better.   I tore apart our little fenced in yard and was able to drive Paula’s son’s mini-van right up to my camper, close to where Jack lay watching me.

So we took Jack back to the Vet.

My friend drove, while I rode in back with Jack. Throughout that long drive into town in the mini-van, I knew.  As he lay trembling on the soft comforter and sheets we placed in the back of the van, he laid his head on my knee. He looked up at me with both apprehension and trust. For a moment I thought that perhaps…he knew, too.

Or he was simply looking at his human with the love and devotion that he’s shown me since the day he came into my life-one and one half years ago.

We have so much more to do together. So many more hunts to go on. We’ve only just gotten started.  I filled my mind with scenarios where Lynn would call and announce the go-fund-me campaign exceeded our expectations and Jack would be able to get the surgery.  The Vet would tell me we can get Jack back on track in a matter of days.   She would tell me he was looking better than she expected.  She would tell me his situation looked hopeful. But when she walked into the exam room and looked at him, we all knew.  His original diagnosis of degenerating disk disease was bad enough, but the complications now were insurmountable. Even if we could afford to do surgery today, the recovery potential just wasn’t there.  It wasn’t a matter of making the “right” decision.  It was a matter of admitting the “only” decision to make.

Thank the gods my friend was there with us.

I gave Jack treats, and he laid his head on my knee, looking up at me expectedly. I whispered into his ear “sweet boy” and he nuzzled my cheek.  I kissed and pet his silky soft head and ears as they injected him with the sedative.  He relaxed instantly.  Clearly it was the best he’d felt in a very long time.

I told him how important he was to me.  I thanked him for letting me be his human.  I told him I’d see him again soon, and we would go hunt the birds again.

I told him I was sorry……”so sorry my baby boy”…

With his head on my knee, we continued to lock eyes. “I see you, baby.  I’m with you. I love you.”  I could feel the comfort of my friends caring arms around me, holding me tight as I held Jack.

In the quiet exam room of Dr. Nina’s Veterinary Clinic in Sarasota Florida, on Tuesday May 24^th at 2:30 pm, my sweet boy Jack took his last breath of life, looking into my heart with his head resting on my knee.

 

Go find some birds for us, little man. See you again soon.

 

I am very grateful for all the help that we received from people who stepped up out of nowhere in our most desperate hours. You have no idea what an impact your support made on me. I’m humbled by your kindness.  Even in the midst of the most unlikely and darkest times, somehow new bright friendships can be formed.  So grateful for that, Miss Dixie, Paula, and everyone else who was there for us!

Hello humans, I am Jack and I am a good boy! I know I have been gone a long time.  We have been so busy, I never could get my paws to the keyboard and tell you about it.  But I have all day today.

Lately I’ve been thinking back to this past fall. It was so wonderful.  I spent many days in the fields, running, searching, finding the birds!  My Human is the best! Every day, she brought me to a new place to hunt.  We even hunted with the human I used to live with.  That was great, too, although I did sort of get away from them for a few minutes in the tall grass one time.

Oh, how I miss hunting the birds with my human. How I miss running in the fields.  I think about it all the time.  I miss the excitement of finding a bird. I miss hearing her call out “fetch it!”.   I miss seeing the look she gives me when I bring the bird to her. I miss sitting at her side with our quarry, taking proud pictures.  I miss curling up on her reclining chair with her at the end of the day, resting from our big adventure.

Our hunting season ended so quickly.

Before I knew it she was packing everything up to go back to the land with all the lizards. We didn’t stay in the same place as before.  This time, there were more people there, and a great big dog called Styx.  When we arrived we stayed in the home on wheels.  It was very cramped and not fun at all the first month while we waited to see where we would be moving to.  I didn’t get to go out much unless we went away in the car.  Styx attacked me for no reason one day when I was sitting in the car.  He really scared me, but I didn’t let on.   My human made absolutely sure it never happened again, and kept him away from me and the two little hairy dogs.  She built us a wonderful yard to play in all winter.

I had a big job all winter. I went to work with my human many days. My big job was to run around on the farm and make sure everything was safe.  I checked high and low, and everything was always safe.  My next job was to point the lizards.  THAT was a full time job!  My best job was to greet all the humans that came to visit the farm.  They were always so nice!  I would make sure they knew I was a good boy and an excellent hunter.  They always said I was a sweet boy.  Yes, I am that, too.  My favorite visitors were the little humans.  Sometimes there would be so many of them I would be surrounded.  I liked that.  They were always so gentle and would look into my eyes with love.  I like the little humans a lot.

This winter I was taunted once again with those big fat birds that walk around the farm. And they were at our home on wheels, too.  I am an excellent hunter, and I know I could get one of those birds for my human if she would just let me.  I tried and tried to put a sneak on them, but would get scolded every time.  I will never understand that!  But it sure is exciting to think about it, and to try.

Then things changed.

Something happened I can’t explain. I started feeling uncomfortable.  My back hurt.  A lot.  I started to limp a little, and it wasn’t as easy to go get the ball.  One time when I was running across the yard I tripped and it hurt so bad I cried out and tumbled and couldn’t get back up.  My human came running to me, got all excited, and brought me to the Doctor.  They looked at me and poked and prodded and put me into a machine and took pictures of me.

They said nothing was broke but I’m old and my back was degenerating. What did that mean?  I want to run like the wind and stand at my humans side and have great adventures together because I am a good boy and we are a great team.  I am Jack!   The Doctor said it was a condition that would just get worse, but I should take a Previcox every day and could go get massages every day to make my back feel better.  My human started to cry.  She could not afford pills and $50 a day for massages.  She talked to my former human.  I could not tell what they said, but she cried and cried after they talked.  She massaged me, and so did many visitors that came to the farm.  I started taking one Previcox every day.

But it still got harder and harder to move my back legs. Every day I lost more movement.  I couldn’t lift my leg to pee without support.  Then it got so hard to move that I couldn’t go up and down the stairs to our home on wheels without help.  I couldn’t get in and out of the truck without help. And then, I couldn’t do it at all, even with help.  My human started carrying me in and out.  This became very hard for her when I kept getting worse because then she got very sick, too.  So I tried my best to pull myself up on solid ground and take a few steps. I am a strong boy, and I was able to pull myself up for days!  Then, I wasn’t sure if my back legs were still back there or not. I would pull them behind me, thinking “come on, legs, work for me!” But they would not.  I would just fold in half. I couldn’t go with her to work any more.  She could barely get there herself.

I know we are trying to go home to the house with the big fenced in yard. But my human is very sick, and now here I am, like this.  She is so sick she cannot pick me up and take me outside anymore.  So now I stay outside all the time.  I am sad and ashamed to be this way.  I see the look on my humans face.  She tries to not let me see her cry.  She cries a lot.  I heard her say she was so tired of losing everything important to her. I heard her talking to someone about free help for me, but she didn’t qualify because we aren’t Florida residents.  Two humans came over and looked at me and said I should be put down.  Put down?  What is that?  I already am down.

Styx’s human gave her money for another Doctor visit. My human took me to a new Doctor.  They told her more than the first one.  I have Hansen Type 2 Disk Disease.  It’s been going on for a long time, long before I came to live with her.  It’s why my back made so much noise when I wagged my tail.  One thing that might fix me is surgery.  That isn’t an option.  The other is medication.

So here I am, on my 6^th day of medication. Robaxin and Tramadol and Rantidine and Carafate and Prednisone.  The new Doctor said this would go on for 21 days.  I don’t really know how long that is, but it already seems like forever and I am not happy.  I know I’m a burden.  I know these pills are not going to fix me and today I tried to not take them. I watch her watching me. She is frustrated and trying to hide those pills in sliced turkey.  I don’t know why my human is trying so hard to make me better.  She can’t.  I am an excellent hunter and a good boy, but I am tired of laying here helpless.  We need to go home.

Oh, how I miss hunting the birds with my human. How I miss running in the fields.  I miss the excitement of finding a bird. I miss hearing her call out “fetch it!”.  I miss seeing the look she gives me when I bring the bird to her. I miss sitting at her side with our quarry, taking proud pictures.  I miss curling up on her reclining chair with her at the end of the day resting from our big adventure.  I will never forget the day she brought me home and let me lay on her cozy comfortable couches and chairs.  She is the best human!  We went on walks and played ball, and she brought me to fancy places where many humans sat around eating food, and some brought me food and water in special bowls and everyone there would tell me how sweet and special I was.

Oh, how I miss those glory days.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my post. You can read all about the adventures me and my new human PR are having together in the outdoors… I will write lots of stories under “I AM JACK” in her blog category, “Words From The Wild”. I will be careful not to have many typos.  I am a good boy!  If you like what you see, please let her know by “liking” her website. (She says it’s important to get “likes”, whatever that means. I know I like her lots!) You can even join her tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’. Please feel free to share with others who may find meaning and value in our journey together, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again,  Jack.

 

Hello! I am Jack and I am a good boy! Well most of the time, anyway. Just the other day I had a brand new kind of adventure. It put a pretty good scare into my human and her friend. The hair balls were even upset. Luckily, all is well now. But if I could hold a pen, I would write this and give it to the neighbor.

Hello Miss Neighbor,

I am Jack and I am a good boy. I am a famous hunter, too. Thank you for seeing me running free across the street, and catching me. My human was very worried, and scared, and also mad at me for leaving our yard. She said it was the worst 20 minutes of her life! She and her friend ran up and down our street looking for me. I didn’t realize how bad of a thing I had done. The gate was cracked open and I thought she was just on the other side.

Somewhere on the other side.

Okay, so I knew she wasn’t right there, and I was just curious about what was on the other side.

How can anyone blame me for getting caught up in the moment? All that unexplored ground on the other side of our fence? Just around the corner from our house there were so many vertical objects to pee on, I kept hitting them and hitting them until I lost count! Your two beautiful females watched me trot by, saying “run, Jack, run! Be free!” So in an effort to impress them, I did.

The soft breeze in my face, my ears flapping in the wind, and so many bunny and squirrel smells? I was dialed in and it was euphoria! I haven’t been able to run like that since we came home from Florida! And OH the endless opportunities to mark my turf? How liberating!

Then you came along. I knew who you were by your scent (hey, I’m a dog, after all!) and I wondered if you would scold me, or what. You were very nice. You were very sneaky, too. You had me nailed with the treats, so I let you catch me. You gently slid that collar around my neck, and clipped the leash on. Alas, my adventure had to come to an end.

I didn’t realize how far away I had gone until my human saw us down the side street, ran to us and fell into your arms crying. After that long walk back she said I could have been hit by a car and hurt or killed, or someone could have just scooped me up into their car and taken me away forever. I felt real bad. REAL bad. I love my human and my home—and even those two female hairballs.

So thank you for catching me. You probably saved my life. I am sorry I played “hard to get” with you and interrupted your afternoon. You were really nice. And sweet touch with those treats. They were good!  I am sorry I made my human cry and worry. Thank you for being nice to her too. When she held my head in her hands and said “I can’t lose you too!” I was ashamed for what I did. I know my human has gone through a lot already. I have learned my lesson and I won’t leave our yard again without her. I understand, she really needs me!

One last thing, Miss Neighbor;

Your two female canines smell so fine I can barely think straight. Their long, long legs and perfectly groomed tails give me crazy dreams. We’ve exchanged glances through the fence for some time now. The way they smile and show their bright white teeth, and tilt their beautiful dark heads and gaze at me with their big brown eyes, my heart melts and they really make my tail wag. A lot. Are they seeing any other dogs? I am available and interested in both of them. Any time you want to let us play together, I’m just across the fence, humbly at their service. I am Jack and I am a good boy. In fact, I am a charming ladies’ man. I am an excellent hunter, too!

And trust me, I’m not leaving our yard without permission ever again.

 Thank you for stopping by and reading my post. You can read all about the adventures me and my new human PR are having together in the outdoors… I will write lots of stories under “I AM JACK” in her blog category, “Words From The Wild”. I will be careful not to have many typos. I am a good boy! If you like what you see, please let her know by “liking” her website. (She says it’s important to get “likes”, whatever that means. I know I like her lots!) You can even join her tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’. Please feel free to share with others who may find meaning and value in our journey together, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again,   Jack

 

Sweet Buddy, thoughts of you weigh heavy on my mind lately.

You’ve been gone a year now.

Even today, a year later, tears come to my eyes just thinking of you.

Sweet boy, I miss you so much!

How surprising it is to realize the impact you’ve had on me; on my life. It’s true, there are places where we went, that I still cannot go to. Especially places we went those last few months, those places are still oh so painful to visit.

Sometimes I think I feel you around me. Moments catch me by surprise with memories of you, your silly antics, your steadfast loyalty, and your focused dedication to the hunt.   Those moments press hard on my chest, on my heartstrings, clawing up into my throat, taking my breath away. And then I cry.

Oh, sweet Buddy. You left us way too soon.

We missed a whole hunting season. A winter playing on sandy beaches. A spring of fetching across the fields. A summer of diving off the docks.

And now,

Another bird season is approaching, and we will miss that too. But now your friend Jack is ready to stand at my side. It will be our first time together. It’s true, I sometimes accidently call him by your name. He has patience beyond measure with me. Please stand alongside him, and help him learn to work with me the amazing way you did. He too, is a very good boy.

But oh how I miss watching you run like the wind, with ears flapping and nose to the ground–the lean mean hunting machine. My hunting companion. My companion.

My sweet Buddy.

 

Thank you for a decade of unconditional love.

Thank you for a decade of lessons, tests and achievements.

Thank you for a decade of making my world so very special.

Thank you for letting me be your human.

Although you are gone, your presence is still right here.

It always will be.

 

 

With heavy heart, I’m cherishing memories of you today.

Hoping you are loving it across that rainbow bridge.

 

 

Buddy Boy McBrady

Gone Forever Bird Hunting as of Monday, Sept 1^st 2014 at 3:30 p.m.

“Find us some good fields up there, boy, and I will see you again soon.”

 

Thank you for reading my post. You can read all about my boy… there are lots of stories under “Buddy – A Series of Adventures” in my blog category, “Words From The Wild”. If you like what you see, please let me know by “liking” my website. You can even join my tribe to automatically receive new postings ‘hot off the press’. As always, please feel free to share my information with others who may find meaning and value in our journey together, and PR Brady AdVentures. Thanks again!