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Ramonajohn.com/our dogs.html

Within a period of six months, we recently had to make the awful decision to put both of our beloved dogs to sleep. I hate that term. We didn’t have to put them to sleep. We had to end their lives. First, Greta, then Jake. If you have ever faced that choice, you know that it'll break your heart. We've been here and done it before, and it never, ever gets any easier. We're without a canine family member at this writing, but if history teaches us anything, that won't be the case for very long.

REMEMBERING DOGS WE LOVED

You brought us such joy. That’s why we were willing to accept what we knew from the beginning--- that you would be given just a few short years to live, and that losing you would bring shattering pain.

A few people, surprised by the depth of the grief involved, have said to me, “But it was just a dog.” Before I exploded, I remembered there was no way they could understand.

They never watched a new puppy, clumsy and excited, delighting in each discovery of his world. They never had a puppy nibble their fingers, cuddle in their lap, grow familiar with their voice and the touch of their hand, until a bond was formed, and they belonged to each other.

They never joined in games a dog created for them to share. They never watched him frolic, filled with pure joy at being with them, at doing something together.

If there are children dear to them, they never had a dog lie down, ears back, and gently cover the little ones with kisses. They never saw a dog keep them safe, stop them from wandering more than a few steps away.

Times they were lonely, they never felt a dog’s familiar nudge that said, “Hey, I’m here.” When they were sad, they never had a dog press his head against their knee and make them feel better, just because he cared. When nights were long and shadows seemed sinister, they never heard the reassuring sounds of their dog standing guard over them nearby. They never experienced the unconditional love of a dog, the love that doesn’t know or care about all of the standards by which the rest of the world judges us. They never marveled at how the love of a dog transcends the barrier between species.

They never saw their cherished friend walk more slowly by their side, take longer naps before the fire, as seasons passed. They never ached, while they watched him trying harder and harder to keep up the routine they enjoyed together. They never saw him grow old and sick, and agonized over whether the time had come to let him go. They never had to wonder if they were delaying the end for their dog's sake or their own.

The only purpose our dogs know is to love us. The only faith they hold is that we love them, too, and loving them, will do what is best for them. The only hope they have is that they will live on as part of our hearts.

Those who say, “But it was only a dog,” couldn’t possibly understand..

Here are some of the dogs who have played such an important role in Dick’s life and mine.

Dick’s wedding present to me was this handsome fellow when he was a five-week-old puppy. Bravo had a cast iron stomach. He ate the tops off a whole potted plant of mums once, and another time devoured a complete pound of goat milk fudge we had inadvertently left in the car. (Goat milk fudge is delicious. you should try it.) He was all that a German Shepherd should be, and he hooked us on the breed.

Brandy joined us in Pittsburgh. She was a sweet soul, living totally in Bravo’s shadow, but she never seemed to mind.

Dick and Trover were inseparable. That scrappy old boy, (Trover, that is ) lived to be 16 years old. Though his exact lineage was a mystery, Trover was a regal fellow when he was bathed and brushed. Once, Dick and I were traveling and took him with us to a rather up-scale hotel. We chose it because we knew they accepted dogs. In line just ahead of us was a woman with a fluffed and groomed Maltese. The desk clerk fawned over her.

When we stepped up with Trover, she looked as if we might have a communicable disease. “And what kind of dog is THAT?” she asked coolly. It annoyed me.

I leaned close. “Well, I probably shouldn’t tell you, but this is a real Pu-yeti,” I said.

She looked confused.

“They are so rare that most people are not aware of them,” I continued, “My husband was on business in Tibet, where this is the dog of royalty. He did a favor for the Dalai Lama and received this puppy as a reward. Trover had just been weaned from his diet of yak butter, so he was all right to travel.”

She looked at the dog with emerging interest. “Really?”

“Usually, no one is permitted to remove Pu-yetis from the country, but they made an exception for Trover, provided we signed an agreement never to breed him. There is such concern about keeping the blood lines pure. We understand there is a female Pu-yeti in the United States, but we would never dream of breaking our promise,” I said.

“Oh no, of course not,” she responded.

“Now, can you assure me that no one will disturb him if we leave him in the room for a short period?” I said.

“Oh, madam, I’ll alert the staff. He’ll be quite safe. We’ll take special care. It isn’t every day we have a Pu-yeti staying with us.”

I felt pretty certain of that.

Later, Dick asked where I got the name Pu-yeti. I told him I always thought Trover looked a bit like a cross between a poodle and a yeti.

Dick found Flynn on a highway median, where he had crawled after being hit by a car. The garbage men had just come along and were ready to destroy him, but Dick pulled him into the car and took him to a vet. Flynn went to work with Dick when he was the anchor man on KHOU in Houston. Everyone around the studio knew him, and at air time, someone would page Flynn to come to the studio. He lay there beside Dick throughout the show. When the theme signaled that the news was over, Flynn got up and sauntered to the door, the camera following him. Only once was there a problem. The regular weather man on the show was ill, and someone filled in for him. Flynn thought that just wasn’t right and barked at the hapless soul until Dick led him out of the studio. Flynn never could conquer his hatred of white trucks, and one of them got him in the end.. After he died, the TV station received calls for weeks, asking where he was.

On the newscast, Dick did a feature about dogs at the SPCA who needed a family. One such puppy who appeared on the show was Murphy. I fell in love and called Dick, saying please bring him home. Murphy was an independent, but loving dog. One night, I was out of town, it was raining and Dick had the flu. Though he always walked Murphy, that night he had no choice but to let him out on his own. Murphy never came back. We haunted the pound and the SPCA and ran ads in the paper, but we never saw him again.

Morgen had a beautiful soul. I wrote the piece at the start of this page in his memory.
More than that I can’t say about what he meant to me. He loved Dick, but of all our dogs, he alone was really just mine. We had to end his life when he was twelve, because hip displasia had left him unable to stand. Losing him nearly leveled me. He lives in my heart.

Dick found Straw when he was a tiny puppy, running around a gas station on the road somewhere between Houston and Victoria. No one knew where he came from, so Dick brought him home.
We already had two dogs, and when I saw this yipping little tornado dashing around, I told Dick, “This is the last straw.” The name stuck, and so did Straw. We had meant to find a home for him, but we soon became too attached to let him go. Straw never understood how little he was, He stood ready to take on the world, especially big dogs. Max tolerated him, He seemed to think it would be beneath his dignity to notice a little gnat like the golden ball of fur that kept yapping at him. Last Straw died of old age at 15.

After Morgen died, I knew I would want a shepherd again one day. But I was afraid to take the chance of another dog developing displasia, a condition commonly affecting the breed. The vet found a fine pair of shepherds from Germany, who were OFA certified to be free of displasia going back 5 generations. We bought pick of their litter. Max was an incredible physical specimen, a gorgeous 110 pounds of pride and independence. He could be gentle and loving, and he was an absolute pussy-cat around children. But he was born believing that he was in charge of the world. He was sometimes playful. He loved stealing my wash cloth when I was taking a bath. He was never aggressive, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting to challenge him. One night when I was home alone, a man knocked on the door. He made me uneasy, and I asked him to go. Instead, he stuck his foot in the door. Max suddenly flashed around from where he had been out of sight behind me. I’ve never heard anything like the sounds that poured from his throat. His hair stood up, and his fangs were bared. I was terrified that he would attack before I could stop him. The man was gone in the blink of an eye. We had to end Max’s life, also at 12, because he could no longer get up to go outside, and Dick couldn’t lift him.

Breezy was the most stunning female shepherd I ever saw, (until Greta, of course.) Bred by the famous breeders of shepherds, the Monks of New Skeet in New York, she had been destined for a life of producing more perfect shepherds like herself. We got her from the breeder who owned Max’s Dad and who had meant her as a mate for that beautiful old boy. When the breeders decided to become missionaries, we bought Breezy. She was Max’s physical equal, and they had two litters of flawless puppies. Breezy was as feminine and lady-like as a dog can be. She had an innate sweetness. Though she usually was submissive around Max, she occasionally had enough and put him in his place with a sharp bark. He didn’t argue. Breezy had cancer, and we had to end her life when she was ten.

Shortly after Breezy died, our vet called and told us there was a female shepherd we must see. I was incensed, and asked him if he had forgotten that we had just lost Breezy. “But you still have Max,” he said, “And he is so depressed without her that I think a companion is just what he needs.” He told us that Greta was bred by the same people responsible for Breezy. The young couple who owned her had two small children and another on the way. They were looking for a loving family for Greta. He had been transferred to Chicago, and a move, with house hunting, house selling, etc. was facing them. It was just too much to handle all of that and Greta, too. We went to see her. She immediately jumped on the couch between us. It was as if she had just been waiting for us to come for her. We’re convinced God led her to us. She was a wonderful gift. Max perked up and tottered around another 6 months after she came.

Greta lived and was so loved for 12 years. In the end, the same hip malady that struck down Max struck her, too. And, like Max, we let her go when Dick could no longer lift her to go outside.

Jolly Jake John arrived in our household in 2002. Greta had been part of a nightly play session with neighbor dogs in Houston. We thought she must be lonely without others of her kind no longer around. So we decided to find her a pal. We asked the vet whether he had any idea where we might find a grown male dog, who probably wouldn’t be adopted, unless by us. It just so happened he had one at his office. The people at the local pound had a full house, but they had fallen in love with this guy and refused to put him down. Instead, they were giving him a temporary stay by boarding him at the vet’s and hoping for a miracle. The girls at the vets office babbled about the dog. “He’s such a jolly fellow,” said one.

The vet said he was “about a year old.” But he assured us, “he’s fully grown.” Wrong. Jake was pure puppy, with all of the traits of a six-month-old. He was a load. Whatever, we fell for him. Once we named him Jolly Jake, there was no turning back.

The pound had us fill out an application comparable to one the government probably requires of applicants for a job at the Pentagon. Then the inspector came over to check us, our house and our fence.. I was downright nervous, but we passed. I think their investigation shows concern and care for the animals, and I applaud it. We headed straight for the vet’s and collected the newly examined and vaccinated fourth member of our pack.

Greta wasn’t sure about Jake at first, but he won her over with his infectious joy at each new experience. They romped together for years and became great pals. When Greta died, Jake, who knew only that she had suddenly disappeared, just like "Mom" had into the nursing home, never again knew what, quite, to do ..