A Special Kind of Teacher …

On March 15, 2005, Hannah, affectionately known to many as “Hannah B.” for “Hannah Banana”, crossed over to the Rainbow Bridge while being held by her “dad” and surrounded by her family in the “comfort room” in the Kansas State University Veterinary Medical Teaching Hospital (VMTH).

Hannah, a Welsh corgi, touched virtually every veterinary student graduating from K-State during the last nearly fourteen years. It was a K-State veterinary student that spayed her in 1991, and then a host of veterinary students who cared for her through her three back surgeries, a root canal procedure, a cruciate repair, and various other ailments.

Because Hannah did not like having her temperature taken, several classes of students had to admit that they were not able to obtain her temperature during routine physical examinations by standard methods. Only after becoming partially paralyzed did she allow such indignity. And then there was the group of students who assured Hannah’s “dad” on an impromptu visit to the dental room that everything was okay while she was obviously experiencing a severe allergic reaction to an eye medication administered during a teeth cleaning procedure. Hannah’s “dad” could tell that everything was not quite okay by the amount of sweat on the brows of the students.

Those students not assigned to Hannah during an illness had opportunities to care for her during the many times she was boarded while her “parents” were out of town. Although paralyzed for the last three years of her life, Hannah enjoyed living and being in the center of all activities. She was routinely given – more correctly, demanded – a cage in the treatment area where she could observe all that was occurring. Even during her last stay at the VMTH, Hannah touched many students, clinicians, and staff members. Many students learned about the sanctity of life and the privilege veterinarians have to end life when pain cannot be relieved and there is no hope for maintaining an acceptable quality of life.

Although the loss of Hannah has left a great void within her family and in her extended family, it is comforting to know this little dog helped train more than 1,300 veterinary students. It is truly comforting to know that such a little dog that never traveled more than a few miles from home could be a small part of so many veterinarians’ training. Hannah Banana truly was a special kind of teacher!

- Submitted by Dr. and Mrs. Ronnie Elmore

Lief

Lief came to our home from a local humane shelter when he was just a couple of months old. He was one of four pups that someone had turned in for whatever reason. My son and I decided that after several days if no one would claim him, we would. My son returned to the shelter, and as my hopes would have it, he returned with our new family member.

Lief was a Golden Retriever and who knows what else, but it really didn't matter. He was ours. I guess it was his yellow eyes and that silly, mischievous look that first grabbed me. Lief, like most male dogs, was his “own person.” In time, he came around to my way of thinking, and we trusted him whole heartily. He never destroyed anything and could be left alone in the house unsupervised for hours. (Although I did accuse him of watching T.V. when we weren't home, because I know for a fact that when we left the house he would nap on the couch and one time he must have accidentally pawed or sat on the remote and turned the T.V. on.)

Lief’s early years were quite routine, and one time while we were vacationing near Lake Ontario, a complete stranger came up to me and offered me $1,000 for him. Of course, there was no price that would be considered for a family member. Lief was a real looker. Despite his handsome looks, Lief, like a lot of Golden Retrievers, was plagued by medical problems. He was prone to ear infections, hot spots and at about five years of age, we began to notice he was having trouble catching a frisbee. To make a long story short, we took him to the Cornell University College of Veterinarian Medicine. I was crushed that day when the doctor told me that Lief was partially blind and would be totally blind in six to twelve months. I promised him on the return trip home that he would have nothing to worry about; I would be his eyes and I would not let him down.

Lief was my shadow. Whenever I moved, he moved, wherever I went, he went. He loved to ride in the car and would rest his head in my lap for hours. He was always at my feet. He loved to sleep on my feet; I guess he did that so he would know when I was on the move. I was his and he was mine. Then, one night, the week before Christmas 2004, at about 10 p.m., Lief went into a seizure that he never recovered from. Despite our efforts to get him to an emergency room hospital for animals on slick and snow covered roads, he passed away about 9 a.m. the next morning. He was six years old.

When he passed away so did a piece of me. Some would say, “He was just a dog,” but they don't or can't understand, and I feel for them. Lief will always be a part of me. I can't help feeling that I let him down because I couldn't keep my promise. Lief I love you. I am so sorry.

- Submitted by Dave Oberbeck
 

Zeke

He was beautiful to us from the moment we first saw him. Though by Sheltie standards, his overbite caused him to appear to have the nose of a Collie. We loved him dearly, and he felt the same about us. He was Zeke – named by our four-year-old grandson.

My wife saw that he got professional training, and he began to visit nursing homes as a therapy dog, always in the company of the love of his life, Nadine, my wife.

God gave us ten years with him. We are very, very grateful.

Zeke is gone from us now, and we are still missing him terribly. Maybe eventually another dog will come into our life. Meanwhile we mourn, and yes, we cry a little.

We remember the good things; his piece of rubber garden hose that he carried around outside when he wanted us to play tug with him; his toleration of two cats he didn’t really care for, but he protected them anyway; how much he loved riding in the car; how the residents of the nursing home loved him and how he loved them.

So to you, Zeke: You took a little of us with you, but you left a lot of yourself with us. Thanks for the ten years.

- Submitted by Don Manley
Topeka, Kansas
 

Winston

Winston came to live with us nine years ago. He was an Old English Sheep Dog and was born deaf. As a puppy he was full of life and always happy. He had access to our garage and during the day while we were at work, he spent hours pulling tools, grills, lawn furniture, anything he could carry, out on to our patio. He did not destroy anything, he just enjoyed moving items outside - part of his herding instinct I am sure. Although we found this amusing, my husband eventually closed everything in the garage so that he couldn't get to anything.

As with most dogs, life was a game. His devotion and love was overwhelming to my husband and me. We decided – as a lot of dog owners do – to take Winston through obedience training at our local kennel club. We realized with his hearing disability it would be a challenge. Believe me it was. With Winston's joy and energy, he saw the other dogs as playmates and I constantly corrected him on paying attention. Sometimes I had to do time outs with him as we were walking in a circle with the other dogs. We worked with him day and night teaching him sign language and doing the drills that were required of beginning obedience. We had to find other ways to give him the commands since he could not hear. Winston learned sign quickly. Doggie treats worked wonders teaching him to lie and stay. He always wanted to take the lead, so a big challenge was teaching him to walk beside you instead of ahead of you. A sign was developed to keep him back and along side.

As the big day approached, which was on his first birthday, we arrived at the school with Winston. The teachers had decided that because of his disability he probably would not place in the final training exercise. Winston surprised all of us. He placed first. His attention and response to the sign language we taught him was right on. The judge said that Winston and my husband worked amazingly well with each other. Winston took it all in stride and looked at us as if to say “What were you worried about? I knew I could do it.” A few weeks later, he earned his Good Citizen Award by passing his test with very high marks.

Winnie, as we often called him, loved to run in the field behind our house with his head up high, chasing the flying birds – once again, part of his herding instinct. Throughout the next years he was a constant joy to us. His unconditional love and faith in all people taught me to love and appreciate all animals. He just loved being with people. If you happened to be standing washing dishes or cooking dinner, you would often find him standing between your legs. Guests would come over and talk to you and the next thing they knew, a big ol’ Sheep Dog was standing between their legs.

Two years ago, Winnie developed Mega Esophagus, which meant his esophagus was too large and food could not get to his stomach. He was always in danger of getting aspiration pneumonia. He also developed problems with his swallowing and stomach mobility. We began taking him to the K-State Veterinary Medical Teaching Hospital in Manhattan, Kansas. After two surgeries and a feeding tube in place, we brought him home. And so time went on with us tube feeding Winnie three times a day. Eventually he put on the weight he had lost and got back to his old self, loving life and all that he came in contact with. Pneumonia continued to plague Winnie over the next couple of years. There were more trips to K-State and more surgery on his feeding tube button. Never once did he cry or act distressed over his medical condition. He was always a trooper.

On his final trip to K-State, he had to undergo surgery due to an obstruction in his bowel. He came through surgery well but then began to develop other problems. On April 6, 2005, my husband and I made the 200-mile trip to K-State from Grand Island, Nebraska, knowing that his condition was grave and he might not be alive when we reached him. When we got there, Winnie was very weak but holding on. As my husband and I talked to him to tell him good bye and that we loved him, he talked back to us, and I will always believe he was telling us it was okay, he was ready to go play in heaven.

Jim and I wish to express our thanks and gratitude to Dr. Lisa Moore and her staff at K-State for the love and care Winston always received. Because of them we know that Winston was always taken care of when we couldn't be with him. That knowledge has made his loss somewhat easier.

Submitted by Jim and Kathy Celmer
Grand Island, Neb.
 

Moxie
 

Dear Dr. Nelson, Dr. Artzer, Beth, Amy and everyone who gave such wonderful care to Moxie,

Thank you for surrounding her with friendship when I couldn’t be with her during her last hours. I know she was as comfortable with all of you as she was with family. She always jumped out of the car and trotted up to Nancy at the front desk with her collar bell ringing for her visit to her doctors’ office. She was a wonderful dog and we will miss her and talk lovingly about her forever. Thanks to Amy’s beautiful plaque, her paw print sits on our desk as well as being imprinted on our hearts.

- Sincerely,
  Janet and Pat Duncan

Spencer

Spencer “the Shredder” Stephens came into our lives in December of 1995. We had no idea how much this little dog was going to change our lives when he came into our home. And today, eleven years later, it is hard to get along without him around. Spencer was the runt of his litter, and that was one of the main reasons we picked him out. He was so cute and so small. As the years went on, you would never have known that he was the runt because his hearty appetite had caused him to be a little husky. Spencer, or as my father liked to call him, Little Buddy, was so much more than a dog; he was the fifth member of our family, he was our friend, he was our companion and now, life is not the same without him.

At a very young age, Spencer lived up to his middle name, “The Shredder.” He would find Kleenex, the cardboard from paper towels and wrapping paper and he would tear them to shreds…all for some attention. While most people would be annoyed, our family thought it was hilarious. I guess you could say this was the start of the millions of memories we have made with Little Buddy over the years. He always had such a hearty appetite and would devour his food in less than two minutes, and then immediately come to the kitchen table to wait for handouts of our dinnertime meal. If he wasn’t hungry, we knew something was wrong. He traveled with us on all of our vacations, and many times he was the best traveler, never asking, “are we there yet?” or complaining. Spencer was happy just to come along. In his later years, he was so accustomed to going on family vacations, that when anyone would get a suitcase out of the closet, Spencer would be worried that we were going somewhere without him. After seeing the suitcase, he would park by the front door or follow so closely at our heels to make sure we didn’t forget to take him along, and we never forgot because vacation wouldn’t be the same without Little Buddy.

As the years passed and more memories were made it seemed difficult to remember what life was like before Spencer was a part of it. Our family would always joke and say that Spencer was a furry little human, and to this day, I believe that to be true. It was this “little human” that made the simple pleasures in life the most enjoyable. Bad days were soon forgotten when I would pull up in the driveway to see Spencer at the front door anxiously waiting to hear the garage door open. Happy times were doubled because he was always a part of them. And sad days were easier having him to come and lay his head in my lap. It’s amazing that his presence could heal my human hurts.

In winter of 2002 Spencer fell ill. We knew something was wrong because he was no longer concerned with gobbling up his food. He began to have seizures and we took him to the vet not knowing what to expect. We were told he had a large mass in his stomach and surgery was necessary. I remember telling my parents that the only thing I wanted for Christmas that year was for my “Little Buddy” to be okay. On the day the surgery was scheduled our family waited by the phone for news from the vet. The vet called to tell us that they had not begun the surgery because they wanted to try something that another vet has suggested…a pill that would control the seizures and possibly shrink the mass. Willing to try anything, we agreed and it worked. Slowly but surely, Spencer was back to his normal self. We had four more wonderful years with him and knowing now more than ever how important time was, we cherished every second with him. In early 2006 bad news came. Spencer was diagnosed with kidney cancer and we were told time would be short. He no longer had an appetite for the many different types of dog food we purchased and the vet told us to feed him whatever he would eat. Spencer began eating rice, hamburger, chicken, and in his last days he got a grilled steak everyday. I think it was fair to say that many times he had a better meal than we did!

Spencer made it through one last birthday and turned 11 before Thanksgiving. People were always so surprised to hear that he was still with us almost one year of hearing the bad news. But we knew that he hung on to us for the same reason we hung on to him; we loved him and he loved us. His unyielding loyalty taught us all an important lesson about devotion, a lesson we are forever thankful for and will never forget. When December came we knew the time was here for us to say goodbye to our faithful companion, and on December 12, 2006, with his family by his side, we did the hardest thing we had ever had to do and said goodbye to the little dog that changed our life. When Spencer left, he took a piece of each of us with him and we miss him terribly. Although our hearts hurt to see him go, we are thankful for the wonderful and memorable 11 years we were able to share with our “Little Buddy.”

We miss you Little Buddy

Submitted by Dean, Kim, Austin and Rachel Stephens.
Shawnee, Kansas

Tess

I was once told it's a blessed gift to have the capacity to love something with all your heart,
but with that gift comes the responsibility of having strength if you have to part.
I called her Tess, Tetta Metta and sometimes Tessa Mae.

Today with broken heart I helped her slip away.
She went to her end like she lived her life: with dignity and grace.
I couldn't stay till the very end when the light went out of her face.
I hope you forgive me my dear friend, I couldn't see you dead;
that's an image there would have been no way to ever evict from my head.

You never did me wrong in any one of your nine short years,
that I did you wrong today will always be one of my fears.
You didn't leave a hole in my life as you passed to the other side,
you left a chasm, immeasurable, it's so deep and wide.
When this broken body of mine gives way and succumbs to its ultimate fate, you better be there little black dog, when I walk through the pearly gate.

I want you to be doing your black dog dance with a grin from ear to ear, and fill my heart and soul with joy as you always did when you were here.

Goodbye my Tetta Mae.

- Submitted by Kathy Coffman
  Norman, Oklahoma

Miss Allie

God saw Miss Allie was getting tired and a cure was not to be. So he put his arms around her and whispered, “Come with me.” With tearful eyes, we watched her fade away and although we loved her dearly, we could not make her stay. A golden heart stopped beating, a sweet spirit was put to rest. God broke our hearts to prove to us he only takes the best.

Miss Allie fought a courageous three-year battle with cancer. On February 19, 2006, at Kansas State University veterinary school’s intensive care unit, Jesus called her sweet soul home to rest peacefully with him in heaven until we can be reunited.
 

- Submitted by Tom and Caroline Bishop
  St. Louis, MO

Austin

It had been a long day of searching for a new found friend and the day was almost over. Upon arriving at Wayside Waifs in August, 1992, we had not found "the one" and the day was almost over. We had been to numerous animal shelters that day and seen many wonderful animals that I am sure would have been great companions, but none that seemed to be that special one we were looking for. Then my wife called me over to one of the cages outdoors, where males were being held, and asked, "What do you think of him?" Standing in front of me was a beautiful black and white dog. We asked an attendant about him, and the attendant retrieved the card with the shelter assigned name, and their guess about breed. He was listed as a lab mix, but he was clearly a collie with shorter than normal hair. He seemed very nervous at first, and did not want a leash put on him. We learned that he had been abandoned by his owners and left tied up behind their house when they moved away. Luckily, the next door neighbors fed him and eventually brought him to the shelter. When we found him, it was his first day there. We brought him home, and given several days time, he learned that the leash was a good thing and would love the leash the rest of his life. 

Austin was a wonderful friend to all people he met. He was a very pretty animal and whenever we took him anywhere, people would come up to us and strike up a conversation while petting him. We met so many interesting and nice people, thanks to Austin and his charm. He loved going to the Vet, and thankfully until his final year, only went for routine checkups. Our animal hospital loved him as well and whenever he was there, a joyous atmosphere prevailed. He would "talk" for Dr. Modrcin, and the rest of the staff, and going there with him was always so much fun.

Austin was a wonderful friend and companion to his "little sister," Jessi, whom we adopted one year later in June, 1993. They were the best of companions, and traveled with us on many trips around the country. Jessi is still with us, and we know she also misses her "big brother" very much. Austin exhibited great intelligence and skill when it came to getting along with Jessi. As is normal with dogs, Jessi, always wanted the toy or chew Austin had. When this happened, Austin would immediately switch to another toy or chew close by, and then Jessi would want that one instead. Austin would calmly go back to the original one, and all were happy. This was a characteristic of his personality. He was happiest when all around him were peaceful

I will always believe that Austin was a "gift from God" and we were so fortunate to have been awarded the 14 and-and-a-half years we spent with him. It is our hope that he awaits us at the "rainbow bridge" where we will someday be reunited with all the wonderful companions we have known throughout our lives.

Submitted by Mike and Becky Malotte
Olathe, Kansas

Rebecca

We got Rebecca at the pound on Christmas Eve. We had been told she had a very little chance of surviving. She had been badly abused and starved in the 4 months of her short little life. We feel her life started the day we brought her home. The pound could not get her to eat anything. When we brought her home, Zoey (our other pound girl) went up to her, walked her over to her food dish, and she started to eat.

We had 8 wonderful years with a little girl who was not supposed to live. She was the second blessing we had on a Christmas Eve, as Zoey was born on Christmas Eve two years before.

Now both of my girls are together again. We love and miss you both!

Michele
(submitted by Michele Braun)

Zoey

We got Zoey when she was 6 weeks old from our local pound. From the very beginning she was loving and smart. She knew every toy by name. You could talk to her and she knew just what you were saying. When people would ask me what kind of dog she was, I would just tell them "Loved."

Two years after getting Zoey we brought our second pound baby home, Rebecca. Zoey took over and made a very abused Rebecca whole again.

Zoey was always with me even after she got diabetes and could no longer see. She still knew where I was and she fought hard to stay well. She did not like to see me sad. But the fight is over now and she is with Rebecca.

She is loved and missed!

Michelle
(submitted by Michelle Braun)

Rocket Ron
 

THERE is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
 

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
 
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve.
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

The Power of the Dog
 Rudyard Kipling

We gave our hearts to Rocket Ron to tear because he unconditionally gave his to us. Thank you to all of the doctors, nurses, senior students, techs and other staff who came into RR’s life over the last 6 ½ years. You gave him the care and love he needed to persevere with joy for three years beyond what we thought possible. May he live in all of our hearts until the end of our days.


- Submitted by Jo Gutgsell, Steve Haack and J. Joe Gutgsell (nanny)

Scamper

We adopted Scamper from the Nelson Rolf Memorial Animal Shelter in Warsaw, Mo., on Dec. 17, 2004. She was 8 weeks old.

She had been dropped off, in a cardboard box, with six of her brothers and sisters two or three weeks earlier. She was the last in her litter to be adopted.

Scamper was the prettiest dog ever – jet black except for her four white paws, the white tip of her tail and white markings around her nose, between her eyes and on her chest.

She appeared to be a border collie/beagle/cocker spaniel mix with small feet – so we knew she would be a 20 –25 pound dog. By the time she got to her true weight of 47 pounds, it was too late for us. We were in love with her.

Her favorite activity her first two years was grabbing anything and everything within reach that she could put in her mouth. Dish clothes, napkins, Kleenexes and pencils were her favorites. If any of them were within reach, she would have them in a flash. When she was outside, her favorites were rocks, sticks, and pieces of bricks.

At age 3 and 4, her favorite activity was walking the path at Lake Shawnee. We would walk two miles every morning, and two miles every evening. Squirrels were spotted and treed on many of these trips. When she spotted a squirrel, she would immediately go into stalk mode – slowing moving forward one step at a time. This would continue until she would get 10 – 15 feet from the squirrel. At that point there would be a massive face off until the squirrel fled up the tree.

In her fenced yard, Scamper lover to stroll through the day lily beds looking for rabbits. She was so fast, she must have had some greyhound blood in her too. She loved to fetch her green ring toy, and I loved to throw it for her.

When volunteer work was done in the Lake Shawnee Gardens, she would go along. The other volunteers all loved her as much as we did.

She was a constant companion in the car anytime we went out – when it wasn’t too sunny or too cold.

We took her to K-State on Sept. 2 when we found her blood count to be too low. The wonderful crew at K-State, including Dr. Hanzlicek and Jennifer McMeans, did everything in their power to cure her, but it was not to be. She was put to sleep Sept. 8th when we realized no miracle would occur. On that last visit, she licked Elaine’s face and grabbed a Kleenex out of her hand. She was the true Scamper to the end.

We had Scamper for less than four years, but she gave us a lifetime of joy and remembrances. We know that they were wonderful years for Scamper too.

- Submitted by Frank & Elaine Holmstrom
Topeka Kansas

Hannah Rose
(December 1995-May 11, 2009)
Hannah was a special girl who came to us many years ago at about a year of age. She was dumped on the road out near our house. It took me three weeks to get her to come to me. She would follow cars and then watch to see who stopped. Each time she would look and then walk away as if to say, “No you aren’t the person who left me.” The third week I stopped, I called her and told her they weren’t coming back for her and that she might as well come to me. She hesitated a bit, then looked back at the road, decided I was right and come over to me, and rolled onto her back. She was my girl ever since. She was constantly at my side, whatever I was doing. She loved to go to the horse barn with me and help bring in the horses, snack on horse droppings, and keep on eye on me. She bossed the house and kept the silly Irish boys in line! She was a working dog, probably an Australian Cattle Dog/ A. Shepard mix and therefore was all business! She didn’t understand all the play stuff the Irish were about!

Hannah began failing about a month ago due to a hemangiosarcoma. She still went to the barn with me, but no longer herded the horses in. Sunday morning, she no longer wanted to go to the barn. Monday, I took her to her veterinarian, Dr. Jeff, and we learned the tumor had ruptured and she was hemorrhaging. We helped her to the Bridge and bade her farewell.

Sleep well, Hannah, We love you.

- Submitted by Becky and Robin Roeckers,
Berryton, Kansas

Millie of the Valley – “Millie”
(May 22, 1993-June 12, 2009)
I found Millie and her three sisters while driving to dog class on June evening. They were 6 weeks old and were in a ditch by the road. One had stumbled up onto the road. I took them all home, vetted, and then found good homes for three of them, and Millie stayed. I had Maggie, and she was just 6 months old, so Millie became Robin’s dog. She was his first dog ever in his life and she really loved him, and he her. She used to lie in bed in his arms on her back and get her tummy rubbed. He would stop and raise his arms in the air, and she would stick her paws straight up. He then started to say “Touchdown!” Millie soon learned when he said “Touchdown” to stick her feet in the air! It was the cutest thing.

Millie went on to earn her Obedience Companion Dog title in AKC competition. We had registered her with an ILP registration that allowed her to compete in non-conformation events. She was also a licensed pet therapy dog with Heart of America Hospice. Millie warmed many hearts and brightened many lives with her visits to nursing homes. 

Millie also “taught” a dozen or more kids about training dogs. She was my “demo” dog in my training classes for years, and I let kids work with her and learn about giving commands, signals, and rewards. Millie was so perfect, she would work for anyone. Millie began failing the first of this year, and had slowly declined to the point of zero life quality. With me by her side, and Robin holding her face and looking into her eyes, her lifelong doctor, Dr. Myers, helped her slip into peace. She knew we were with her and we loved her with all our hearts.

Rest easy, Dear Millie, and we will see you at the Bridge.

-Submitted by Becky and Robin Roeckers,
Berryton, Kansas

Poppy Seed

(Born approximately 1992 and left this world Oct. 6, 2009)

Poppy Seed came to us with the help of many friends: Phyllis with All Miniature Pinscher Services (AMPS) who saw him on the internet. He was in a shelter in Olathe, Kan. She called Harold, my trucker friend, to see if he knew anyone in Kansas who could get Poppy from the shelter. He knew me. I called my friend Kathy with LL Dog rescue in Overland Park and she agreed to go to the shelter and pull him for me. She then dropped him off at my friend Linda’s veterinary clinic for the day until my husband Robin could drive over to pick him up. That night, Sept. 17, 2008, Poppy came home to us and here he stayed until today, when we helped him to the Bridge.

Poppy Seed was suppose to stay with us until Harold could pick him up and take him to Phyllis in New Hampshire, where he would live out his days. We took the little guy to Dr. Jeff before he was to travel east, however, and received the word that Poppy had a terrible heart condition. Dr. Jeff didn’t think he could survive the long trip. Right then, I said I would be his foster/hospice mom. Phyllis and AMPS agreed and so he came to stay.

To those who knew my “Little Seedling,” as I called him, you will remember how precious he was, and how loving. Though many miniature pinschers have a reputation for being standoffish, he was not. Anyone could hold him or pet him. He was so very dear to me and I confess he didn’t walk much when we were together. He was always in my arms. He slept right beside me every night and if I was home, he was in my arms or beside me on the couch. Many times I took him to work with me and he would sleep in his stroller beside my desk, or I would push him to wherever in the lab I was working. He attended several division meetings and was the guest of honor a couple of times.

Poppy Seed had many friends and all will miss him. Though he was not our first hospice dog, and I know he won’t be the last, he was a very special one. He and I had a connection that was made deep in our hearts and souls, and that bond will never be broken, even in death.

Breathe easy now and rest, dear friend, and sleep peacefully. I know how tired you were, and yet you still watched my every move, and worried when I stepped out of sight. You can rest now, for I will never be far away. And as I always told you, “It’s okay, Poppy Seed, Momma loves him”.

- Submitted by Becky and Robin Roeckers, Berryton, Kansas

Daisy and Mae

Daisy and Mae came into our lives during the spring of 1997 while we were living in Moscow, Idaho. We took them to puppy and dog obedience classes run by veterinary students from Washington State University. Don started taking them on daily walks, which continued until the last few days of their lives. The children in each of the three neighborhoods in which we lived with Daisy and Mae did not know our names, but they knew the names of both dogs.

The 1,600-mile move to Manhattan, Kan., in 2000 was not without its moments. One of the rest stops in Montana had been taken over by a colony of prairie dogs (we thought it best to go to the next rest stop). One of our fondest memories of the trip happened in Estes Park, Colo. We went downtown to do some shopping and a crowd soon formed around our park bench to pet and look at the dogs. We received many compliments over the years that they were “good looking/nice dogs.”

We lost Mae on July 21, 2009, due to advanced lung cancer. She was terrified of thunder, but able to distinguish between thunder and the artillery sounds from Fort Riley. She often sat on one of the dining room chairs when we had guests and looked a person in the eye when you talked to her, which bothered some of our guests. She developed allergies after we moved to Kansas, which were especially difficult for her during the late spring and early fall months. She had to be “the” leader on walks, but always came back and checked out new scents discovered by Daisy.

We lost Daisy on Sept. 3, 2009, due to metastatic cancer that probably began in her liver. In early November 2008, she required surgery for a ruptured left cranial cruciate ligament, so there were no walks for a couple of months. She was a bit slower to learn new things compared with Mae, but she never forgot something once it was learned, such as where she last saw a rabbit on our walks. She was always hungry and quickly ate her food as well as Mae’s, if we did not watch them closely — hence the name the “food hound.” She was especially patient with children. Her build was more compact compared with Mae. Don often said that Mae was the halfback in the offense and Daisy could do the blocking for her.

The loss of Daisy and Mae left a void in our lives that will be difficult to fill. We know that there are those individuals who do not understand how humans can become so attached to an animal, however, they either have never had pets in their lives or they never had pets like Daisy and Mae. We were fortunate and thankful to have had them in our family for more than 12 years. They enriched our lives with many fond memories.

- Submitted by Don and Ronna Robertson