Moochs In Memory Of

THE SPIRIT OF THE MASTIFF
I was standing on a hillside in a field of blowing wheat,
and the spirit of a Mastiff was lying at my feet.

He looked at me with kind dark eyes, an ancient wisdom shining through,
And in the essence of his being I saw love there too.

His mind did lock upon my heart as I stood there on that day
And he told me of this story about a place so far away.

I stood upon that hillside in a field of blowing wheat
and in a twinkling of a second his spirit left my feet.

His tale did put my heart at ease, my fears did fade away
about what lay ahead of me on another distant day.

I live among God's creatures now in the heavens of your mind,
So do not grieve for me, my friend, as I am with my kind

My collar is a rainbow's hue, my leash a shooting star,
My boundaries are the Milky Way where I sparkle from afar.

There are no pens or kennels her for I am not confined,
But free to roam God's heavens among the Mastiff kind.

I nap the day on a snowy cloud, gentle breezes rocking me,
And dream the dreams of earthlings and how it used to be.

The trees are full of liver treats and tennis balls abound,
And milkbones line the walkways just waiting to be found.

There even is a ring set up, the grass all lush and green,
Where even Rescue Mastiffs become the Best of Breed.

For we're all winners in this place, we have no fault you see
And God passes out those ribbons to each one, even me.

I drink form waters laced with gold, my world a beauty to behold,
and wise old dogs do form my pride to amble at my very side.

At night I sleep in angel's arms, her wings protecting me,
And moonbeams dance about us as stardust fall on thee.

So when your life on earth is spent and you stand at heaven's gate,
Have no fear or loneliness for here you know I wait.
Author Unknown

Mooch came into our lives in the evening hours of August 25, 1999. Mooch left our lives in the early morning hours of June 7, 2001.

He came to me one evening, all sad and lonely too - you see he’d lost his sister and the only life he knew. That life was cruel and hateful, no goodness was he shown- we were both searching for something, at that time unknown.

Sex became his sister, and I became his mom...little did I realize what I had taken on. I stood by him while eating, I taught him right from wrong.. I almost didn’t make it, it took so awful long.

He taught me joy and laughter, and lasting patience too. He gave me unconditional love like all my good friends do. He was my constant companion, I taught him life was good. He flourished with my love for him and proud and tall he stood.

He woke me every morning, he slept each day at my feet. In the evening he sang and talked to me, he never missed a treat. He leapt when being playful, he protected me to the end. I never ever felt afraid, his duty to me was to defend.

At night a kiss and "sleepytime" was all he needed to hear, to know another day was ending and morning would be near. Each night before he closed his eyes, he rose to check on me - a sniff was all I ever heard, it always had to be.

Who knows why you went by the road, you never did before. If I could change one thing in life, I’d wait beside the door. I miss him more than words can say, he knew I loved him dear. His memories will never fade and I’ll always hold him near.

He taught me things I can’t repay, and now that he is gone - it seems the house is empty, that things just can’t go on. Goodbye my faithful companion, your life was short but sweet. I know you know I loved you, and someday soon we’ll meet. To spend together forever in a different place we know. I love you Mooch my "baby", I’m so sorry you had to go.

You needed me and I needed you… it was fate that made us find each other at just the right time. Even though we both said no more... it’s too much. And you tested me every step of the way… at first. Rachel will never forget you either. Towards the end you’d holler for me even when I went to tend to another mastiff in need. We both knew it was time and you waited until I was right there by your side and it was quick... Thank you… Although I miss you something terrible… you are now healthy. You were my Rockaman… The Rock Man… everyone stopped to comment on how awesome you were… Only you and I knew you were my baby. You gave me strength to go on when our life fell apart and you endured the long move to start again. You pulled through more than once because I still needed you… You will always be with me… until we meet again… I love you… Sue

DERBY Derby was only with me for five short weeks. Her strength, beauty, grace, willingness to please, and loving ways will always be with me. I'm so very greatful our paths crossed and while I understand my job was to help her over the Bridge loved and held close, it is not easy to let go.

Run free with your health restored and be happy with all those that have gone before you. May you find the softest bed to sneak up on until mine is available again. I love ya baby girl... Sue

PEACHES is a 4 year old female apricot english mastiff. She was obviously used as a breeder and when her usefullness was over with, she was dumped to be euthanized. She is VERY sweet (look at that happy face!) and wants nothing more than to be beside you getting loved on. She would do better in a home without other animals until she learns that no one is going to leave her again. When she is extremely happy, she spins and hops in the air! She has been vet checked, is up to date on shots and spayed. If you are interested in Peaches, please fill out the adoption application. Peaches is in Houston, TX.

Tonka I'll miss ya bud... Until we meet again, I know that you are now safe with those who have gone before you and your mind is now at peace... Sue

Prince Your valiant struggle to overcome what you were forced to endure by stupid humans was amazing. You finally knew what love and caring was. Until we meet again... Sue

You are now healthy and whole and free of all the pain. Until we meet again, may there be miles and miles of open fields for you to run to your heart's content... Sue

You and I tried so hard Moose... may what caused you so much pain and confusion now be vanished. I know you have found the loving arms of an angel to watch over you and love you until we meet again... Sue

Bee (aka Beauty) - Such a beautiful girl... crossed Rainbow Bridge 1/22/06. Very loved by Elvis, Giselle, Mannie and family.

Nemo... left this world in December of '06. He was so lucky to have been loved and so well cared for... and was such a wonderful neoboy... Mara, his neogirl, is also sadly missed... May you both be happy, healthy and free until you are with Matt again... Sue

HOWIE left us on Mother's Day (5/13/07). He was a 2 old male harlequin great dane that came to rescue severely emaciated, with an embedded collar and no socialization skills. Also severe heartworm positive and with adrenal gland tumors. He was so loved by his foster family (the Adams), both skin and fur and their extended family and friends. He learned through all of them what being able to live inside, love, good food, care and a warm bed is... things he wouldn't have had if not for them. And he loved them back unconditionally. He got all the medical care he could handle... he just got tired. There were so many that helped Howie that never did get to meet him and cared enough to want to help. Thank you all so much. He lives on in each and every one of us that did. May you rest in peace sweet baby Howie...

Dude - who left us in January of 2008... What a lucky bordeaxboy you were for finding Susan, Hal, Rascal, Angel and the rest of the crew who were your family... Rest in peace awesome DudeMan... you were very loved by us all...

A Living Love

If you ever love an animal, there are three days in your life you will always remember . . .

The first is a day, blessed with happiness, when you bring home your young new friend. You may have spent weeks deciding on a breed. You may have asked numerous opinions of many vets, or done long research in finding a breeder. Or, perhaps in a fleeting moment, you may have just chosen that silly looking mutt in a shelter -- simply because something in its eyes reached your heart. But when you bring that chosen pet home, and watch it explore, and claim its special place in your hall or front room -- and when you feel it brush against you for the first time -- it instills a feeling of pure love you will carry with you through the many years to come.

The second day will occur eight or nine or ten years later. It will be a day like any other. Routine and
unexceptional. But, for a surprising instant, you will look at your longtime friend and see age where you once saw youth. You will see slow deliberate steps where you once saw energy. And you will see sleep when you once saw activity. So you will begin to adjust your friend's diet -- and you may add a pill or two to her food. And you may feel a growing fear deep within yourself, which bodes of a coming emptiness. And you will feel this uneasy feeling, on and off, until the third day finally arrives...... And on this day -- if your friend and whatever higher being you believe in have not decided for you, then you will be faced with making a decision of your own -- on behalf of your lifelong friend, and with the guidance of your own deepest Spirit. But whichever way your friend eventually leaves you - - you will feel as alone as a single star in the dark night. If you are wise, you will let the tears flow as freely and as often as they must. And if you are typical, you will find that not many in your circle of family or friends will be able to understand your grief, or comfort you. But if you are true to the love of the pet you cherished through the many joy-filled years, you may find that a soul -- a bit smaller in size than your own -- seems to walk with you, at times, during the lonely days to come. And at moments when you least expect anything out of the ordinary to happen, you may feel something brush against your leg --very, very lightly. And looking down at the place where your dear, perhaps dearest, friend used to lie -- you will remember those three significant days. The memory will most likely to be painful, and leave an ache in your heart. As time passes the ache will come and go as if it has a life of its own. You will both reject it and embrace it, and it may confuse you. If you reject it,it will depress you. If you embrace it, it will deepen you. Either way, it will still be an ache.

But there will be, I assure you, a fourth day when ....
along with the memory of your pet -- and piercing
through the heaviness in your heart -- there will come a realization that belongs only to you. It will be as unique and strong as our relationship with each animal we have loved, and lost. This realization takes the form of a Living Love -- like the heavenly scent of a rose that remains after the petals have wilted, this Love will remain and grow -- and be there for us to remember. It is a love we have earned. It is the legacy our pets leave us when they go. And it is a gift we may keep with us as long as we live. It is a Love which is ours alone. And until we ourselves leave, to join our Beloved Pets -- it is a Love we will always possess.

To my beloved owner, there's some things I'd like to say. But first of all, to let you know, that I arrived okay. I'm writing this from the Bridge. Here I dwell with God above. Here there's no more tears of sadness. Here is just eternal love. Please do not be unhappy just because I'm out of sight. Remember that I am with you every morning, noon and night. That day I had to leave you when my life on earth was through, God picked me up and hugged me and He said, I welcome you. It's good to have you back again, you were missed while you were gone. As for your dearest family, They'll be here later on. God gave me a list of things, that he wished for me to do. And foremost on the list, was to watch and care for you. And when you lie in bed at night the day's chores put to flight, God and I are closest to you in the middle of the night. When you think of my life on earth, and all those loving years, because you are only human, they are bound to bring you tears. But do not be afraid to cry; it does relieve the pain. Remember there would be no flowers, unless there was some rain. I wish that I could tell you all that God has planned. If I were to tell you, you wouldn't understand. But one thing is for certain, though my life on earth is o'er. I'm closer to you now, than I ever was before. There are rocky roads ahead of you and many hills to climb; But together we can do it by taking one day at a time. It was always my philosophy and I'd like it for you too; That as you give unto the world, the world will give to you. If you can help somebody who's in sorrow and pain; Then you can say to God at night My day was not in vain. And now I am contented that my life was worthwhile. Knowing as I passed along I made somebody smile. God says: If you meet somebody who is sad and feeling low; Just lend a hand to pick him up, as on your way you go. When you're walking down the street with me on your mind; I'm walking in your footsteps only half a step behind. And when it's time for you to go, from that body to be free. Remember you're not going, you're coming here to me. -Author Unknown

Music by Maria Danes dedicated to Mercy, the pit bull, who was tortured and died. Operation Kindness rescued Mercy and did all they could.

Just a sweet story ...(with permission to cross post)
They can be eccentric, slow afoot, even grouchy. But dogs live out their final days, says The Washington Post's Gene Weingarten, with a humility and grace we all could learn from.

Not long before his death, Harry and I headed out for a walk that proved eventful. He was nearly 13, old for a big dog. Walks were no longer the slap-happy Iditarods of his youth, frenzies of purposeless pulling in which we would cast madly off in all directions, fighting for command. Nor were they the exuberant archaeological expeditions of his middle years, when every other tree or hydrant or blade of grass held tantalizing secrets about his neighbors. In his old age, Harry
had transformed his walk into a simple process of elimination- a dutiful, utilitarian, head-down trudge. When finished, he would shuffle home to his ratty old bed, which graced our living room because Harry could no longer ascend the stairs. On these walks, Harry seemed oblivious to his surroundings, absorbed in the arduous responsibility of placing foot before foot before foot before foot. But this time, on the edge of a small urban park, he stopped to watch something. A man was throwing a Frisbee to his dog. The dog, about Harry's size, was tracking the flight expertly, as Harry had once done, anticipating hooks and slices by watching the pitch and roll and yaw of the disc, as Harry had done, then catching it with a joyful, punctuating leap, as Harry had once done, too.

Harry sat. For 10 minutes, he watched the fling and catch, fling and catch, his face contented, his eyes alight, his tail a-twitch. Our walk home was almost ... jaunty.

Some years ago, The Washington Post invited readers to come up with a midlife list of goals for an underachiever. The first-runner- up prize went to: "Win the admiration of my dog."

It's no big deal to love a dog; they make it so easy for you. They find you brilliant, even if you are a witling. You fascinate them, even if you are as dull as a butter knife. They are fond of you, even
if you are a genocidal maniac. Hitler loved his dogs, and they loved him.

Puppies are incomparably cute and incomparably entertaining, and, best of all, they smell exactly like puppies. At middle age, a dog has settled into the knuckleheaded matrix of behavior we find so appealing-his unquestioning loyalty, his irrepressible willingness to please, his infectious happiness. But it is not until a dog gets old that his most important virtues ripen and coalesce. Old dogs can be cloudy-eyed and grouchy, gray of muzzle, graceless of gait, odd of habit, hard of hearing, pimply, wheezy, lazy, and lumpy. But to anyone who has ever known an old dog, these flaws are of little consequence. Old dogs are vulnerable. They show exorbitant gratitude and limitless trust. They
are without artifice. They are funny in new and unexpected ways. But, above all, they seem at peace.

Kafka wrote that the meaning of life is that it ends. He meant that our lives are shaped and shaded by the existential terror of knowing that all is finite. This anxiety informs poetry, literature, the
monuments we build, the wars we wage-all of it. Kafka was talking, of course, about people. Among animals, only humans are said to be self-aware enough to comprehend the passage of time and the grim truth of mortality. How, then, to explain old Harry at the edge of that park, gray and lame, just days from the end, experiencing what can only be called wistfulness and nostalgia? I have lived with eight dogs, watched six of them grow old and infirm with grace and dignity, and die with what seemed to be acceptance. I have seen old dogs grieve at the loss of their friends. I have come to believe that as they age, dogs comprehend the passage of time, and, if not the inevitability of
death, certainly the relentlessness of the onset of their frailties. They understand that what's gone is gone.

What dogs do not have is an abstract sense of fear, or a feeling of injustice or entitlement. They do not see themselves, as we do, as tragic heroes, battling ceaselessly against the merciless onslaught of
time. Unlike us, old dogs lack the audacity to mythologize their lives. You've got to love them for that.

The product of a Kansas puppy mill, Harry was sold to us as a yellow Labrador retriever. I suppose it was technically true, but only in the sense that Tic Tacs are technically "food." Harry's lineage was
suspect. He wasn't the square-headed, elegant type of Labrador you can envision in the wilds of Canada hunting for ducks. He was the shape of a baked potato, with the color and luster of an interoffice envelope. You could envision him in the wilds of suburban Toledo, hunting for
nuggets of dried food in a carpet.

His full name was Harry S Truman, and once he'd reached middle age, he had indeed developed the unassuming soul of a haberdasher. We sometimes called him Tru, which fit his loyalty but was in other ways a misnomer: Harry was a bit of an eccentric, a few bubbles off plumb. Though he had never experienced an electrical shock, whenever he encountered a wire on the floor-say, a power cord leading from a laptop to a wall socket-Harry would stop and refuse to proceed. To him, this barrier was as impassable as the Himalayas. He'd stand there, waiting for someone to move it. Also, he was afraid of wind.

While Harry lacked the wiliness and cunning of some dogs, I did watch one day as he figured out a basic principle of physics. He was playing with a water bottle in our backyard-it was one of those 5-gallon cylindrical plastic jugs from the top of a water cooler. At one point, it rolled down a hill, which surprised and delighted him. He retrieved it, brought it back up and tried to make it go down again. It wouldn't. I watched him nudge it around until he discovered that for the bottle to roll, its long axis had to be perpendicular to the slope of the hill. You could see the understanding dawn on his face; it was Archimedes in his bath, Helen Keller at the water spigot. That was probably the intellectual achievement of Harry's life, tarnished only slightly by the fact that he spent the next two hours insipidly entranced, rolling the bottle down and hauling it back up. He did not come inside until it grew too dark for him to see.

I believe I know exactly when Harry became an old dog. He was about 9 years old. It happened at 10:15 on the evening of June 21, 2001, the day my family moved from the suburbs to the city. The move took longer than we'd anticipated. Inexcusably, Harry had been left alone in the vacated house-eerie, echoing, empty of furniture and of all belongings except Harry and his bed-for eight hours. When I arrived to pick him up, he was beyond frantic. He met me at the door and embraced me around the waist in a way that is not immediately reconcilable with the musculature and skeleton of a dog's front legs. I could not extricate myself from his grasp. We walked out of that house like a slow-dancing couple, and Harry did not let go until I opened the car door.

He wasn't barking at me in reprimand, as he once might have done. He hadn't fouled the house in spite. That night, Harry was simply scared and vulnerable, impossibly sweet and needy and grateful. He had lost something of himself, but he had gained something more touching and more valuable. He had entered old age.

In the year after our move, Harry began to age visibly, and he did it the way most dogs do. First his muzzle began to whiten, and then the white slowly crept backward to swallow his entire head. As he became more sedentary, he thickened a bit, too.

On walks, he would no longer bother to scout and circle for a place to relieve himself. He would simply do it in mid-plod, like a horse, leaving the difficult logistics of drive-by cleanup to me. Sometimes, while crossing a busy street, with cars whizzing by, he would plop down to scratch his ear. Sometimes, he would forget where he was and why he was there. To the amusement of passersby, I would have to hunker down beside him and say, "Harry, we're on a walk, and we're
going home now. Home is this way, okay?" On these dutiful walks, Harry ignored almost everything he passed. The most notable exception was an old, barrel-chested female pit bull named Honey, whom he loved. This was surprising, both because other dogs had long ago ceased to interest Harry at all, and because even back when they did, Harry's tastes were for the guys.

Still, when we met Honey on walks, Harry perked up. Honey was younger by five years and heartier by a mile, but she liked Harry and slowed her gait when he was around. They waddled together for blocks, eyes forward, hardly interacting but content in each other's company. I will forever be grateful to Honey for sweetening Harry's last days.

Some people who seem unmoved by the deaths of tens of thousands through war or natural disaster will nonetheless grieve inconsolably over the loss of the family dog. People who find this behavior
distasteful are often the ones without pets. It is hard to understand, in the abstract, the degree to which a companion animal, particularly after a long life, becomes a part of you. I believe I've figured out what this is all about. It is not as noble as I'd like it to be, but it is not anything of which to be ashamed, either.

In our dogs, we see ourselves. Dogs exhibit almost all of our emotions; if you think a dog cannot register envy or pity or pride or melancholia, you have never lived with one for any length of time.
What dogs lack is our ability to dissimulate. They wear their emotions nakedly, and so, in watching them, we see ourselves as we would be if we were stripped of posture and pretense. Their innocence is enormously appealing. When we watch a dog progress from puppyhood to old age, we are watching our own lives in microcosm. Our dogs become old, frail, crotchety, and vulnerable, just as Grandma did, just as we surely will, come the day. When we grieve for them, we grieve for
ourselves.

From the book Old Dogs, text by Gene Weingarten and Michael S. Williamson, based on a longer excerpt that originally appeared in The Washington Post. C2008 by Gene Weingarten and Michael S. Williamson. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster Inc.