[ARCHIVED THREAD] - Rest easy, now, old girl. (Page 2 of 2)
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Very sorry for your loss. She was a beautiful girl.
Absolutely the worst part of losing my first dog was seeing his empty bowl on the floor and knowing I'd never fill it for him again. I had to go spend that first night without him at a motel, couldn't bear to be where he no longer was. It comforts me, 28 years later, to know someone else felt something similar. |
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End of mission. Close station. March Orders. and a bowl is left empty on the floor, during feeding time. http://<a href=http://i86.photobucket.com/albums/k91/Czechsix/TamurandtheSweetRidgebacki004.jpg RIP Tamurand, thanks for the years of friendship and all your yodels. 01-15-2000 to today, 02-09-2014. I'll bring a Kong with some PB in it for you, when we meet again. In the meantime, let Z show you around the best places to counter surf in the pub. I hear the ham is terrific on the counter next to the kitchen. http://www.thedonovan.com/archives/historystuff/wolf.wav I like Rhodesian Ridgebacks. Always have. One of my old girls passed on, 15 years ago or so. Eventually I searched for another companion, and found a Brindle Ridgeback at the local shelter. About a couple of years old, and didn't like people too much. Growled at me when I went see her the first time. She'd obviously just whelped, teats were huge and hanging, and she had a huge fold of skin on her neck where she'd been tied with rope for many months. So I took a chance on her, showed her to the (then girlfriend, now wife), who wasn't too impressed by her. Said she didn't trust the way she looked, and yep, she could look intimidating. But like I said...took a chance because I know this breed and how they work. Took about a year, but then she started to come out of her shell. This dog actually hadn't seen a television before we brought her home. Completely freaked out by it, likewise had no idea what a toy was. Named her "Tamurand" - a contraction of an Afrikaans word, and a kiSwahili word, meaning "sweet ridge". And that's exactly what she turned out to be. Of course, that was shortened into "Tam", and also, due to her hanging teats, also "Tamela Sue Anderson". 
When she saw her family coming home, she'd stand on top of a 15' tall granite boulder, and she'd yodel and howl at us in welcome. Anyway...great dog, and lots of stories. Won't TL;DR you guys with them, though. RIP Tamurand, rest easy, and I'll see you at Piddlers Green. And I won't forget the kong, either. 
this vale of tears is hard to deal with, some days Good girl Tam, good girl Lost my Golden on Nov. 28th to cancer. He was 5 years old. It hasn't got any easier. I still miss him terribly. Sorry for your loss. |
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Guys..and gals. I thank you all for your thoughts. I sit here. 51 years old. 6'2", 245 pounds. And I cry like a fucking baby. And I'm good with that. My grief, and that of others..well. That puts worth to a life. thanks, brothers. thanks. Here's to this hope, from a site that has much the same feelings: A story that needs tellin'. There's a wide place on the road to hail where warriors stop to sit a spell. They wet their whistle and rest a bit before Satan rings the closing bell, they then ruck up and go to hell. This place is called Fiddler’s Green. Some clever Sergeant built a bar, then stuck the bell inside a jar. Then working with a clever Warrant, they sucked the air out in a torrent. No one can hear that cursed bell. Now warriors never go to hell. They rest and wait at Fiddler’s Green, hanging with soldier, sailor, airman, Marine. They talk shite at the bar, hands low and high, for "There I was about to die…” Or at the tables, eating pie. But somehow no one hears the bell, at that wide place on the road to hell. On the other side of that road to hail, there is a green and leafy dell. It’s reached by a tunnel that goes under the road. This place is called Piddler’s Green. Fire hydrants everywhere, lots of toys and the scent of kibble fills the air. The mice are fat, sassy and slow, always a warrior with a Frisbee to throw. A knotted rope for tug-of-war and tennis balls by the score, And always, always a warrior who wants to play, until your own warrior comes, on that sad/glad day. As most surely he or she will. No one minds if you cross the path, and take a nap and not a bath. You can always swipe a scrap from a table, every warrior there's watching sports on cable. There's ear skritches, face skrunches and bellyrubs aplenty. Most important –and mark this well – for only you can hear The Bell. The Bell that rings not for hell, but the one that rings and makes you yell, and causes your heart to swell with joy. The one that says your warrior has come, the one that says you can be at peace. So my friend who has four feet and is gifted with that special sight, at that wide space along the road there are two clearings, left and right. One's a bar, the other a glen, and no one spends a lonely night not knowing if much less when. For just over there, when the moon is just right, is a place on the corner where you can catch a sight... of your warrior, asleep at night. ‘Tis the Watching Place. So you know that they are safe, and if they should stir, oh, just a bit, it's because a tongue, ever so gently, on their cheek just alit. -John Donovan, with a liberal sprinkling of Bill Tuttle. |
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I know just how you feel. I lost my Molly in 2009 and it still makes me weepy. I have two new pups now that I love to pieces, but I still miss those four feet trotting behind. I have done mostly what most men do, And pushed it out of my mind; But I can't forget, if I wanted to, Four-Feet trotting behind. Day after day, the whole day through -- Wherever my road inclined -- Four-feet said, "I am coming with you!" And trotted along behind. Now I must go by some other round, -- Which I shall never find -- Somewhere that does not carry the sound Of Four-Feet trotting behind. -Rudyard Kipling |
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sorry for your loss too.  Quoted:
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Sorry OP, I know your pain all too well especially today, I buried my bad haired (Wirehaired Pointing Griffon / Lab mix) buddy today. sorry for your loss too. Thanks, cancer sucks
He did great after the first couple of chemo treatments, and went into re-mission, and was totally back to normal  then it came back with a serious vengeance and had 2 so-so days then Saturday was horrible and we put him down. Sadly the wife was stuck at work (literally snow freezing rain)and could not be there with him.
She finally made home late Saturday night to say her goodbye and I buried him this morning. He is resting by Conan, Jasmine, and Belle. Edit. for Saturday instead of Friday I put in, lost a day in my grief |
