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Discussion in 'Northeast - Greater Flugistan and home of the carp' started by Kaw4Life, Sep 22, 2010.
Not that I am partial of anything like that but ......
Two Shepherds, I am very envious!
Here are my best buddies. Abby and Duke, Boxer and Chesapeake Bay Retriever. Duke passed two years ago, age 13 due to a collapsed larynx. Abby went to go see Duke just yesterday, tumors and old age. I can't stop crying.
Barley hasn't figured out that it's next to impossible to catch frogs or fish with a ball in his mouth.
My heart is with you. My buddy has been gone since Valentine's Day, I miss her every day but know that it is better that she didn't 'stick around' to suffer. Time makes it easier but the progress is slow. They will never be gone, like any other family member (and better than most), they will stay in your heart and you will remember all the good times.
I know...I'm welting up as I review my post for submit.
Keep a stiff upper lip! They do their best to be there for you until the end.
I am 1 year and 3 months removed from Flud seen in previous posts of this thread.
We have a different aussie now.
It was Flud that special one that spoiled me. We wont get what he had back in any other dog. I was blessed to be his partner.
Like people, animals have characters all their own. Take solice in what you had and rejoice in the fact you had your time.
But then move on and start anew.
Really, I have only just now been able to embrace creating rememberances of him from my massive video archive of him,
(he was a ham...he knew when we were filming)
It's taken time just to be able to touch the material due to the sadness of the loss. For you the day will come.
This is one out of multipal shots in a series from this moment. Flud is talking. He knows I have the camera out. What can you do after they've reached their age and begin untreatable complications? You celbrate life and the time you had together!
Beckworth's Fluda cripple creek
With a sidecar you don't have to leave your buddies at home.
He picked me up from the shelter in April... Every day's an adventure.
has he had his hair cut? Or is thatlength natural?
Looks like a fun loving charater!
We lost our beloved Aussie Bdog (seen on the first page of this thread) in January.
Our new Aussie, Addie, came into our lives a month or so ago and is now sitting in my office patiently waiting for work to be over.
OK, He's obviously 75% austrailian shepherd. Should be a wonderful life he's gonna have!
I'd have to go back to page one to check the former loved one, but I gotta say I really admire this on's deep liver pigments. Nice markings.
How's his tempermant? Errr, he looks male, but the name...
As with any person, to each his own. Although with a much different personality,
and some odd mannerisms when compared with Flud, (we have been spoiled by the best ever)
Flex has shown a very compassionate side along with his 100% share of love for us.
Flex is a part of daily routine and travels to work. This is companionship.
She is great. She is kind, but she is very smart already (she is about 6 months old) so she knows how to test the boundries when she wants to.
All the dog people here will appreciate this. Hope it's not 205.
This is Betty and me back when I actually worked in the woods. I sometimes still wonder why I thought a promotion could possibly be better than a job where I got to walk around in the woods with my dog four days a week.
That dog was a retrieving fool, with a top-notch nose to boot. She was equally proficient with ducks as well as upland birds. Picked up every command and hand signal I taught her lickety split. I could go on forever braggin' up that dog.
We lost Betty last October. She was 16. Normally when we went anywhere, she rode in the far back of the station wagon, while we sat up front. Always took her a while to settle down for the trip; we'd see her in the rearview looking at us for quite a few miles before she she finally laid down. When we took her to the vet for the last time, I rode in the back seat with her head on my lap, and she settled right down. I think one of the things that bothers me most is the realization that for all those years all she wanted was to ride with us, not by herself in the back. Seating arrangements in the car will be different with the next one.
I LOVE the look in the eyes!!!
So sad that we realize the important things far too late.
Sorry for the loss,,, I've taken 'that ride' too.
16 !!! Wow what a gift !!!
I know about the hole left behind, especially after one has been with us that long.
Wow that brought a tear to my eyes,if only people were this reliable and friendships lasted this long as the bond between man and his loyal companion aka dog/cat
+1. Sounds like you had a great friend in Betty.
Oh God! You made me laugh my ass off and then tear up. F'n excellent!!!!! It nailed what it's all about.
Molson: 1992 - 2007
Molson slipped oh-so-gently across the bridge on a brisk September morning, bathed in autumn sunlight and held in my arms. We had a long chat while waiting for the vet to join us outside, and while he couldn't hear me because of his deafness, for the first time since he came to us he looked right into my eyes and held my gaze with steady confidence. When the vet arrived he bared his fangs just one, briefly, as if warning the man not to harm his Dad, then lay his big white head in my hands and closed his eyes as I kissed his face, dignified to the end, the way a dog should go...
He is buried in our family graveyard, slightly uphill from Tetley, Glenfiddich, Harley, Oliver and Mercedes because he was, afterall, our Alpha male.
You wonder, up until the final breath, if you're doing the right thing. If your friend has a few more weeks of quality life left. In Molson's case the fact he slipped away when only a tiny fraction of the sedative had been injected told me the timing was right, that there was just a bit of wag left in the dog. My only wish is that he had come to us as a pup and known nothing but love in this life. But hard as his first years were, he found love and purpose, which is a lot more than most dogs can claim.
Molson came to us 11 years ago when a no kill shelter a few counties over called us with a problem dog. Molson, aged 4, with a vague history of being a stud in a puppy mill where he was controlled with cattle prods, had bitten a child in the face in his first foster home, then bitten and nearly killed a cocker spaniel pup in his second adoptive home. Because goldens are considered by so many to be warm and friendly dogs, the danger of an aggressive golden was, in our opinion, an unacceptable risk for the breed. So we drove to St Albans intending to take him directly to our vet to have him euthanized.
But the entire trip took place in a wicked heavy blizzard and our vet, being an avid skier, was on the slopes by the time we got home. We had stopped for fast food on the way, and when I offered Molson a few fries he took them with exceptional gentleness. One of the skills I was taught in the Marine Corps was how to deal with attack dogs, so I felt confident taking Molson for a snowshoe walk (on a tight lead) while waiting for the vet. Before long I realized that this beautiful dog was terribly afraid of me, wincing every time I reached down to pat his head. He was also moderately well trained and loved tennis balls. I had a pom-pom on top of my ski hat; once as I bent down it shifted and I noticed Molson opening his mouth and starting to lunge as if to catch a ball. Could that be what happened with the child? And biting an eight week old puppy who had been curled up in his belly at night? I rolled Molson in the snow and sure enough, there were puppy fang marks on his penis. Heck, I would have bitten too!
When the vet finally called back I had decided to neuter the dog and watch him carefully for a few weeks before making a decision. During the post-op recovery period I slept with him on the floor; it was obvious he had never been treated with kindness before. He really didn't know how to handle it. If he curled his lip at me he was immediately Alpha rolled...and I can snarl into a furry throat with the best of them! So he controlled his aggression out of fear of me, but openly snarled at everyone else, including my wife.
I'm not sure why I tolerated it other than he was VERY good with our other dogs, Mercedes and Glenfiddich, and had a marvelous way of breaking up fights without causing any injuries. He had very large fangs and in his prime was heavily muscled. He fought like a wolf, but backed off the moment the opponent submitted. Watching his behavior I could only wonder what sort of abuse he had suffered before finding us.
About six months later he reached the conclusion that I was the best thing in his life, and started obeying out of something other than fear. That was also the point at which he became very protective of me. Raise your voice or gesture wildly in my presence and he'd sit on my feet baring his fangs at the threat and sounding like Cujo. He had the most colorful canine epithets Id ever heard! More work, more training, and he reached the point where he would face a threat to give a warning growl, but fall silent the moment I acknowledged him.
After a year he expanded that protective nature to include my wife, protecting her from possible threats. And at that point we started bringing other rescues into our fledgling program, noticing with surprise and delight that he would not allow a dog to be aggressive in any way toward us. So instead of rescuing just any golden, we started specializing in abused dogs, fear biters, dogs that wanted nothing to do with humans. And Molson set the rules. In the rigid structure of his pack dozens of abused dogs were socialized, learned the rules of canine etiquette, learned to trust people and went on to good homes. Should they display fangs or any other signs of aggression toward us, he'd wade in with that beautiful tail flagging, that big chest puffed out, and all fangs bared as if to say, "None of that crap with THESE humans!"
He saved my life one winter when I fell down an icy well-shaft head first and couldn't get out. The waterline to our home had frozen, so I was forced to get water the old-fashioned way one bucket at a time. The well was about 200 yards from the house, and with my head five feet down just above the water level I had little hope of Tamara hearing me at home. But as despair set in I heard Molson snarling above as he and one year old Tetley dragged me to safety by the cuffs of my pants. Tamara later told me Molson had been resting in front of the woodstove and suddenly went berserk, hurling himself at the plate glass windows repeatedly until she opened the door out of fear for her safety. Tetley followed as he raced up the road to find me.
When Molson was 7 or 8 he started trusting most people, saving his snarls for those who looked untrustworthy or anyone who made aggressive moves toward the pack. He actually went belly up for a few people, mostly women, and loved anyone who scratched his butt. And at that age he started touching me anytime I was within reach. A paw on the shoulder, a head on my lap, or his entire body draped over my feet. By 10 he was an absolute mush of a dog, assuming people were decent unless they acted inappropriately.
And that pretty much characterized the last five years of his life. A big, lumbering dog who had learned to balance his belief in the pack hierarchy (which is why he had never met my loving gaze) with soft skills learned in our home over the years. The net result was that he found happiness in life, the contentment that comes to a dog who knows he is both loved and respected.
At the bitter end, when I spoke to him and he met my gaze for the last five minutes of his life, he spoke volumes to me of love and devotion. He had experienced both the best and the worst in humanity, and my old friend went out with a wag.
I like your story, the way you have told it, the love you showed him, and him you. Thanks for posting.