RDOC ... Our Friends at the Rainbow Bridge

Our Friends at the Rainbow Bridge

Remembering Mr. Spock

December 28, 1983 ~ May 30, 1998

by Sharon McKeil

'Beam me up, Scottie!'
'- There's no intelligent life down here...'

His name was Mr. Spock and he lived a wild and wonderful life for 14 years and seven months. He took me from the heights of ecstasy to the depths of despair (often on the same day), he made me so proud I wanted to burst and so humiliated I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me (the latter being the predominant state of affairs). We raised him on the 'yank and yell' method until one day he almost strangled himself in a battle of wills. At that point, we decided an unruly dog was better than a dead dog. He spent 14 years trying to make me low man on his personal totem pole and one of his many obedience instructors asked me how it felt to be outwitted by my own dog (we changed instructors frequently to avoid this type of observation). My stock reply was, "I don't want to break his spirit, just corral it a bit". Somehow, I got the sick feeling I was the one in the corral while this 'free spirit' galloped around outside laughing at me.

There weren't any behaviourists, consultants or therapists for dogs then. I know now that I did it all wrong. Jean Donaldson says so in her book Culture Clash. In fact, when I first read it, I was horrified to discover that I had almost abused my dog. Then I remembered all the times he bit me, chewed up my shoes, harassed my neighbours by playing football with their cats and put the vet's kids through college and me in the poorhouse with his antics. I want a definition of abuse.

The first 18 months were hell. Frankly, I just muddled through, but the next 13 years were excellent. However, the last year of his life, he reverted to all the puppy behaviours that drove me crazy. I felt I was being given a second chance to get it right this time, using the kinder, gentler methods, we now know are the correct way to raise your dog. To tell you the truth, though, I wasn't any more successful using method B than I was using method A. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion he's up there laughing at me as he charges through a beautiful green meadow chasing rabbits and squirrels, doing exactly as he pleases, still.

In the end, it didn't really matter. We always wanted what was best for him and struggled to achieve it, never gave up even when the road was very rough, put his best interests ahead of public (and family) opinions and most of all we loved him and he knew it right up until the moment he died in our arms.

Farewell, old friend.

MITCH
June 17, 1985 ~ June 23, 2001

I'm Here

I stood by your bed last night,
I came to have a peek.
I could see that you were crying
and found it hard to sleep.

I whined to you softly,
as you brushed away a tear.
It's me, I haven't left you,
I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here.

I was close to you at breakfast,
I watched you pour your tea.
You were thinking of the many times
your hand reached down to me.

I walked with you towards the house
as you fumbled for your key.
I gently put my paw on you,
I smiled and said "It's me".

You looked so very tired
and sank into your chair.
I tried so hard to let you know
that I was standing there.

The day is over now ...
I smile and watch you yawning.
And say, "Goodnight, God bless,
I'll see you in the morning."

And when the time is right
for you to cross the brief divide,
I'll rush across to greet you
and we'll stand, side by side.

I have so many things to show you,
there is so much for you to see.
Be patient, live your journey out
... then come home to be with me.

Author Unknown

TRISTAN

To all his many human friends, goodbye from Tristan and thank you for all the treats and the attention that he loved even more. He died a few weeks after being diagnosed with cancer, only eight years old. Tristan had an extraordinarily loving, open and friendly golden retriever personality and never met a person he didn't like; his spirit was as beautiful as his appearance. He will never be forgotten.

KEISHA
Simple lives.

I had someone who could look inside me. Almost read my mind at times, we were so in tune with one another. We never really needed to talk, but I was the one who did most of the talking. We traveled through life, side by side, just dealing with the moments as they arose. There was a freedom in that for both of us, even though we were limited by time. Always time. It was always too long, or too short. Funny how it works that way.

Her name was Keisha. Beautiful, shining black hair with deep, thoughtful brown eyes that smiled on the world around her. Unless it was one of those cold, rainy mornings that seemed to cut through you to the bone no matter what you did to stay warm. Keisha would tolerate those mornings, her eyes determined to endure the discomfort and make the best of the situation. She knew her freedom was short, and her time spent on the streets of Barrhaven limited, so even on those dark, dreary mornings, she saw what she could and deeply inhaled the smells that came to her as we walked. Every so often she would pause, looking at me like "what the hell are we doing out in this weather?" and I would respond "I know it sucks, but we'll only go a little farther." And we did. Grateful sighs would slip from both of us when we reached the warmth of home on those days.

Newly fallen snow was definitely something we both celebrated. I enjoyed the quiet that always ensued after the ground was covered in white. Keisha enjoyed the sensations that snow would offer - the crisp smell, the soft, cooling touch, and the fun way it flew into the air at the least provocation. It quenched her thirst, stimulated her imagination and renewed her joy in life. Such a simple thing, snow is, but the effect it has is magical on the world.

I don't know if Keisha understood what she saw in my eyes the day we had to put her down. The cancer was winning the battle, even though she wasn't ready to give up the fight. She was a trooper to the end, which made letting her go - no, forcing her to go, the most difficult thing. I thought of my father who begged to die because his body could fight no longer, and his mind knew it. I thought of the day I could have given my father all of the sleeping pills needed to fulfill his wish to leave this planet and end his misery - and didn't. I could do it for Keisha. I hoped that was what she saw in my eyes. I only saw quiet acceptance in hers. Acceptance of her pain. Acceptance of the sun's warmth on her back. Acceptance of the strange looks and intensified hugs that came from me.

I often prayed, through her illness, that if something similar happened to me, that I would handle it with the strength and grace that she did. I always thought that if people were more like dogs, this world would be a much better place - not only in our final moments of life, but throughout each day. Dogs look forward to each morning, each meal, each caress, the littlest excitements and the largest adventures. Humans can learn so much from dogs.

She winced at the injection, then slipped into a deep sleep. She turned her beautiful eyes from me, but I talked and talked, as I always had done, until she was gone. I tucked her into my heart, and keep her there still. I travel with her this way, now.

K.S. Desabrais
Keisha - 1993-2004

JESSIE
May she be in peace and in Rainbow bridge.
Love you sweet girl May you go in peace
May your heart run free,

You will always be in our hearts forever more,
we will see you in our dreams.

And we will remember how you make us laugh
You are and always be an Inspiration to us

And in our loving hearts you will always be there
And may you run though the fields of love and peace

We will miss you jess, but we know that you are in god's heaven

May you rest in peace sweet jess until we see each other again

1990-2004

December 1990 - November 2004

(Treasured member of the Hartig Family)

She Was Just My Dog

She was my other eyes that could see above the clouds;
my other ears that heard above the winds.
She was the part of me that could reach out into the sea.

She had told me a thousand times over that I was her reason for being;
by the way she rested against my leg;
by the way she wagged her tail at my smallest smile;
by the way she showed her hurt when I left without taking her along
(I think it made her sick with worry because she was not along to care for me).

When I was wrong, she was delighted to forgive.
When I was angry, she clowned to make me smile.
When I was happy, she was joy unbounded.
When I was a fool, she ignored it.
When I succeeded, she bragged.
Without her, I am only another person.
With her, I was all powerful.

She was loyalty itself.
She had taught me the meaning of devotion.
With her, I knew a secret comfort and a private peace.
She had brought me understanding where before I was ignorant.
Her head on my knee could heal my human hurts.
Her kisses on my tears washed away my bad feelings.
Her presence by my side was protection against my fears of dark and unknown things.
She had promised to wait for me...whenever...wherever...in case I need her.

And I expect I will -- as I always have... She was just my dog.

Beloved companion to Judy & Roly Roy

May 22, 1990 to January 1, 2005

We Have A Secret

We have a secret, you and I
that no one else shall know,
for who but I can see you lie
each night in fire glow?

And who but I can reach my hand
before we go to bed
and feel the living warmth of you
and touch your silken head?

And only I walk woodland paths
and see ahead of me,
your small form racing with the wind
so young again, and free.

And only I can see you swim
in every brook I pass
and when I call, no one but I
can see the bending grass.

MAGGIE

In the memory of my darling Maggie.
Died three weeks ago from brain tumor.
She was almost five years old.
My pain is almost unbearable.
I miss my best friend terribly.

Valerie Nagy, Calgary, Canada
May 2006

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