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    Small, hairy housemates

    13 year old Yorkie called Kokee, we rescued him fromgoing to a shelter (doggie death camp).

    As soon as we got him, we realized he had bladder stones and needed an operation. Two years later, he was diagnosed with diabetes and cushing's disease. We've been giving him insulin injections twice a day for three years now.

    He's now completely blind and mostly deaf in one ear. No matter what part of the room you call him from, he always turns to the right (his good ear).

    We've put a fair amount of money into his health over the years. Most people might not have, but we made a commitment to him. The end is probably near for him, but I think he's had a good life with us.

    Any pets you'd like to brag about?
    Attached Files

    #2
    aw, vm, that's a heartwarming story!

    My fave is Ellie. In' she spesh?

    a
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      #3
      After months without Nelson I finally got him back.

      I had to leave Nelson at my parents' place since Christmas. My car broke down on the way there and I couldn’t get him back. They ended up flying him down with my parents last weekend. We gave him 2 valium in an attempt to calm him. I don’t think it worked. He arrived in Melbourne very pleased to see us and minus a kilo of fur (shedded due to stress). I’m ever so happy to have him back, and I think Nelson is ever so happy to have me back. But he seems shorter and fatter than when I left him.
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        #4
        Nice story VM. I'm sure when you think about what could have happened to Kokee, it must be rewarding to see how well he is doing now in, thankfully, a good home.

        Ellie does indeed look like a lovely dog, her eyes and face are so expressive!

        And Jamie's photo with Nelson, such a clear bond between them.

        SF
        Last edited by sweatyfox; 15 April 2004, 10:28 AM.

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          #5
          Dude, thats a great dog. My dog (Terrier ? mix) named Decker was about his size. I got him when I was in 3rd grade (in the States). Everyone told me he would never make it, he was the runt you see. Well, Decker lived until he was eighteen years old. Man, what a great dog. When I got out of the US Army he was my buddy, we would drink beer together and I would tell him my war stories. He never said anything back, be he sure was a good listner. I miss him dearly.
          I smiled when I read your story Smith. Don't let anyone take him away from you, your dog is very happy and loves you. I can tell.
          Last edited by redtwo; 15 April 2004, 10:08 AM.

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            #6
            This is Sam. He is my time-share cat. He is an indoor/outdoor cat and he belongs to my neighbors. He is like a friend who just stops over, hangs out for awhile, and then leaves before you get tired of his company. I give him a can of Fancy Feast cat food and a bowel of cat nip then he takes a nap. I have a piece of cord on a stick and he will chase that for awhile. Sam will often sit on the sidewalk watching for me to come home. He is one cool cat and a very low maintenance pet. My neighbors are cool but they are pretty old and they go to bed early so it works out well. I watch Sam when they leave on vacation.
            ratty
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              #7
              Originally posted by Jamie
              I’m ever so happy to have him back, and I think Nelson is ever so happy to have me back. But he seems shorter and fatter than when I left him.
              I'm glad you have your buddy back, Jamie. There's nothing like a happy dog to cheer you up when you have a crappy day.

              Funny thing about males, we tend to get shorter and fatter as we got older!

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                #8
                Hi, this is my first post, so here goes. I do administration/reception here at the wonderful World of Abby, just thought I'd join the party...

                This is me with my cat Manic. My boyfriend and I are his third (and last!) owners.
                He was the runt of the litter, as well as being a real 'hill tribe' cat. His uncle is also his dad, or something.
                His last owner was a friend of ours, who was pretty abusive towards him. As a kitten he'd be held down by the scruff and not let go. His owner before that was also pretty neglectful, he didn't get regular feeding times and stuff.
                Manic still has issues (ocassionally throws tantrums for no reason) but has mellowed out a lot since.
                We love him very much... crikey, how sappy...
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                  #9
                  Hi Kitsune!

                  I'm glad my thread was able to convince you to participate!

                  When my wife and I learned that my dog Kokee was nine, we hesitated to adopt him for a moment. We were really looking for a cute puppy, not some middle-aged dog, but we just couldn't say no to him. It's funny how quickly animals adapt to new surroundings, especially their much nicer new guardians.

                  I like to think that after we took Kokee from his situation where he wasn't wanted anymore, he never looked back. He's given us a little bit of frustrataion, been expensive and commited us to a schedule of care, but I really wouldn't have had it any other way. I feel good knowing that we've made a real difference in his life.

                  From the picture, Manic really looks like a content cat. I hesitate to say happy, because I have never seen a cat look happy the way a dog does. Cat's always have an aire of indifference, so I imagine that their only emotion is the equivilent of "whatever.."

                  In any case, welcome to the boards! I'm sure we would all like to hear from another AW.com staff member on our seedy little discussions.

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                    #10
                    NOTE TO MY PETS

                    Dear Dogs and Cats:

                    When I say to move, it means go some place else, not switch positions with each other so there are still two of you in the way.

                    The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

                    The stairway was not designed by Bathurst and is not a racetrack. Beating
                    meto the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help, because I fall faster than you can run.

                    I cannot buy anything bigger than a king size bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue to sleep on the couch to ensure your comfort. Look at videos of dogs and cats sleeping, they can actually curl up in a ball. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximise space used is nothing but sarcasm.

                    My compact discs are not miniature Frisbees.

                    For the last time, stop worrying...there is not a secret exit from the toilet. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. In addition, I have been using toilets for years. Canine or feline attendance is not mandatory.

                    The proper order is kiss me first, then go smell the other dog or cats' backsides. I cannot stress this enough. It would be such a simple change for you.

                    To pacify you I have posted the following message on our front door...

                    Rules for Non-Pet Owners Who Visit and Like to Complain About Our Pets:

                    1. They live here. You don't.

                    2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.

                    3. I like my pet a lot better than I like most people.

                    4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.

                    5. Dogs and cats are better than kids. They eat less, don't ask for money, are easier to train, usually come when called, never drive your car, don't hang out with drug-using friends, don't smoke or drink, don't worry about buying the latest fashions, don't wear your clothes, don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and if they get pregnant, you can sell the results.

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                      #11
                      My pussycat, about 18 years old now. Her mother (a stray cat) left her in my care (she placed her in a rolled-up carpet in my house, about to be thrown out, because I always fed her leftovers and other tasty stuff when she passed by, dignifying me with a visit .. I could not deny her this implicit but well-understood request ("Please care for one of my kittens, I have too many to care for myself!"). She's been with me ever since, moved with me wherever I went, and still considers me to be her mother (I got her when her eyes weren't even open yet and the concept 'father' never entered her mind). She follows me around the house all day long, sleeps on my bed, sits down when I ask her to (anywhere within 24 hours). She is still a virgin, or, fitting these surroundings, a teen pussy with a full bush.

                      Here's Miepje.
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                      Last edited by Quartz; 11 May 2004, 06:16 AM.

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                        #12
                        And another.
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                          #13
                          Adorable! And fascinating story too. I've not known a cat to give away her kitties before.

                          How do you pronounce Miepje? When I try to say it phonetically I sound like the Road Runner.

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                            #14
                            Originally posted by quartz
                            My pussycat, about 18 years old now. Her mother (a stray cat) left her in my care (she placed her in a rolled-up carpet in my house, about to be thrown out, because I always fed her leftovers and other tasty stuff when she passed by, dignifying me with a visit .. I could not deny her this implicit but well-understood request ("Please care for one of my kittens, I have too many to care for myself!"). She's been with me ever since, moved with me wherever I went, and still considers me to be her mother (I got her when her eyes weren't even open yet and the concept 'father' never entered her mind). She follows me around the house all day long, sleeps on my bed, sits down when I ask her to (anywhere within 24 hours). She is still a virgin, or, fitting these surroundings, a teen pussy with a full bush.

                            Here's Miepje.
                            She is absolutely beautiful! What an inquisitive face! It is wonderful that her biological mother entrusted her to you, and that you've been together since. There are a lot of great rewards to being a pet 'parent'.

                            Animals are so cool...

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                              #15
                              Originally posted by Vid Dude
                              How do you pronounce Miepje? When I try to say it phonetically I sound like the Road Runner.
                              I would say 'Meep-yuh'' comes closest. The yuh part is a diminutive .. so, "little Miep". Miep(je) being a very old-fashioned Dutch name, but also an appropriate word for "fussy little thing".

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                                #16
                                Originally posted by Kitsune
                                She is absolutely beautiful! What an inquisitive face!
                                She's certainly fond of my webcam. Sometimes she sleeps with her chin resting on it, or her nose right in the lens. I'm sure Jamie does something like that from time to time ..

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                                  #17
                                  Originally posted by Vid Dude
                                  Adorable! And fascinating story too. I've not known a cat to give away her kitties before.
                                  BTW: me neither. But I checked. I knew her mother was frequenting a nearby toolshed, and I took the kitten with me to put her back. But then I saw the nest (or whatever you call it), a wriggling bunch of 8-10 kittens, covered in fleas and dirt, with an exasperated mother looking up at me with a quiet desperation spelling P l e a s e . . . n o m o r e . .

                                  Since I'm a sucker for exasperated mothers looking up at me, the Quartz Kitten Orphanage[tm] saw the light.

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                                    #18
                                    Originally posted by Jamie
                                    To pacify you I have posted the following message on our front door...

                                    Rules for Non-Pet Owners Who Visit and Like to Complain About Our Pets:

                                    1. They live here. You don't.

                                    2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.

                                    3. I like my pet a lot better than I like most people.

                                    4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.

                                    5. Dogs and cats are better than kids. They eat less, don't ask for money, are easier to train, usually come when called, never drive your car, don't hang out with drug-using friends, don't smoke or drink, don't worry about buying the latest fashions, don't wear your clothes, don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and if they get pregnant, you can sell the results.
                                    Jamie

                                    You have made my day.
                                    As parents to a 8 year old cat and a 6 year old dog we continually have people looking sideways at us with an expression like why don't you have some real kids, as if our 'babies' are some sort of sick joke!

                                    I live by the old quote, "The more people I meet, the more I love my dog."
                                    We are such a happy family with them and everyone knows their place, mine is at the bottom of the pecking order.

                                    Long may furry friends live amongst us in loving environments.

                                    Bertie

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                                      #19
                                      You people rock. All of you.

                                      Come late this summer, it'll be two years since my first pet passed away. I'm reluctant to call him my best, since I don't like to play favorites, but he was, in many ways, better than any other animal I've ever met. I don't have a picture on my hard drive, unfortunately, so I'm afraid that I'll have to describe him, at least for now. He was about 60 centimeters tall (that's roughly 2 feet), but he had this long tail that made him a good foot taller, at least. You know how horse's tails, if the horse is well-kept and well-fed, can stick up and sort of 'flow' behind the horse when it moves? He had that kind of tail. He was, we think, an English Setter / English Springer Spaniel mix, but he was close to being an albino. Aside from his freckled snout, he had maybe three or four spots in his fur. He had plenty underneath his fur, but strangely few that grew with the fur itself and so he was named, appropriately enough, Whitey. Later, he was given the middle name Hoover for his ability to suck up any edible which fell to the floor (though he didn't often stand around and beg). He was nearly seventeen when he passed away, we think, but we can't be sure.

                                      The story of his life, as far as we know it, goes something like this: He was an abused dog from early on, mistreated, beaten, and ill-fed. At some point, either he was driven off to some point in the middle of nowhere and left to die, or he ran away and never looked back. Either way, he ended up in a farmer's rifle sights one day in the winter of 1990. The farmer found him on his field, and was going to shoot him both because he had some small livestock in the area and because it would put poor Whitey out of his misery; there wasn't a single gram of fat left in his body, and his muscles had atrophied badly as his body absorbed them to keep itself alive. He'd been alone in the back-country for a long time.

                                      Somehow, though, Whitey was able to change the farmer's heart with a look, or so the story went, as told to us by the humane society shelter manager. The farmer took pity, went over to Whitey, picked up his frail body, and set him in his truck. About an hour later, Whitey was getting his first meal in a long time.

                                      He was at the shelter only about a week or two when my parents and I pulled into the shelter's unpaved driveway. I'd been wanting a Golden Retriever, and there'd been one there, but my parents overruled me after they'd had one look at Whitey. He'd somehow managed to stand on both his hind legs and put his paws in the chain-link door to his cage; he was being kept in solitary because the shelter manager was afraid that the other (two dozen or so) dogs would tear him to pieces. Whitey didn't make a sound, and the shelter manager had tried to convince us not to even consider Whitey, because of his poor state of health, but my father convinced her to take him on a "test walk." Whitey performed beautifully, and we asked to keep him.

                                      The manager was so shocked that we would choose such a malnourished--and quite frankly, ugly because of it--dog that she paid for the license, and we only had to pay for the immunization shots he immediately received. We also were given a bowl and a sack of starter special dog food designed to get him back on his feet, seeing as we hadn't been prepared whatsoever to actually take a dog home. We'd only intended to go "window-shopping."

                                      We brought him home, of course, fed him, and then tried to get him to lay down for a nap. He was too excited, though, and it took all three of us to lie down in the back room with him, pretending to go asleep for him to calm down and start napping. He slept for eight straight hours, starting at five in the afternoon. (He showed a habit that continued with him for the next decade or so, then, something that he could only have picked up from living out in the wilderness for a prolonged period of time. He would only lie down after stamping a circle in the ground at least three times.)

                                      When we'd brought him home, he'd still been dangerously underweight. Some of his fat reserves had started to build up, again, but the fat pad on the top of his snout was only barely present---it lead to an appearance of his snout being bent upward. It took about six months for the fat pad to build back up to the point where his snout no longer seemed to curve upwards. Eventually, his fur started growing out, too, and it thickened. After about a year of care, he started looking like he should have from day one.

                                      Well, there is an exception to that. The psychological scars ran deep, and never were completely healed. For years, holding a hand anywhere above his head, stepping near him, and, for a little while, even looking at him would cause him to shrink back and cower in fear. It took a few years for him to lose these traits. Perhaps even more evident of the damage that had been done to his mind is that it was over a month after we had picked him up at the shelter before he'd made any sort of sound. My mother nearly jumped out of her skin when he'd quietly "woofed" at her, one night, waking up my father from across the house (somehow, I'd slept through that incident). He cowered back at her shout of surprise, of course, but all of us had thought he was mute until that point.

                                      Still, the next two years were good for him, and one of my fondest memories is remember him leaping and bounding through the alfalfa field behind our house, after a swim in the local canal. He was happy doing it--we could always tell what his emotions were because he had such an expressive face, especially with his eyebrows.

                                      We moved during those two years, closer to town--onlysixteen kilometers (10 miles) out from the dinky town of three thousand, instead of seventy-two (45 miles)!. During the third year, though, we made a mistake... we got another dog, hoping to give him company. She, another abused dog, was about twice his size and, unlike Whitey, Sadie (her name) had neither manners nor much intelligence. Between her size, her... jealousy, nosing out Whitey whenever he was being petted, no matter whether or not she was being petted at the same time, and Whitey's own inability to stick up for himself, at that point, Whitey quickly took lost his alpha-dog status, knew it, and showed it by never allowing his tail to stick straight up, again, except when he "pointed" at a bird (or was really, really happy).

                                      Don't get me wrong, very I'm glad we got Sadie, but all of us think that Whitey would have been happier had she not been around. Nevertheless, he got along with her well enough, after a few months, and certainly got used to her. He was always the smarter dog, by far, but this meant that he had to find ways to tolerate and get around her, not the other way around.

                                      Not long after getting Sadie, a television show helped him demonstrate to us just how much more intelligent than her he was by demonstrating a few tests of intelligence for dogs (as if we'd needed an IQ test to tell us that he was, as far as dogs go, a genius, and probably as intelligent as a developmentally-challenged human). Whereas Sadie scored fairly low, Whitey scored off the charts--literally. For example, one of the tests was to show the dog a ball, then take the dog a few meters away, not letting him or her see the other person hiding the ball underneath a blanket. Sadie took half a dozen or so seconds to figure out that mother didn't have the ball, and then to figure out where it had went. Whitey went right for the ball, figuring out where it was, unburying it, and happily presenting it to mother less than a second after he'd arrived at the blanket. He took the test first, and at no time did I allow him to look back; actually, he was too busy appreciating the petting I was giving him to look anywhere but down with his eyes half-closed, now that I think about it.

                                      Anyhow, I suppose the short of it is that he was a damn fine dog, and a damn fine friend. I miss him badly.

                                      Rest in peace, pal. If there's an afterlife, I hope I'll join you there.

                                      ~Plato

                                      [Note: attatched is a picture of Sadie, looking very patient with my father's digital camera antics.]
                                      Attached Files
                                      Last edited by Plato; 12 May 2004, 10:25 AM.

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                                        #20
                                        That's a moving story, Plato. It goes to show that people and their pets can bond in all kinds of ways.

                                        Since you have now officially opened the Pearly Gates of Pet Heaven, I will introduce my first pet (the first in my own house, that is). He died in 1992, after a sudden kidney failure that caused a toxic shock (he basically poisoned himself) and turned a seemingly healthy cat into a whimpering ball of fur in less than two days. "Fortunately", he died when under observation at the vet's practice (and drugged), so I did not have to watch him die.

                                        We got acquainted about 8 years before, when I used to record programs (I was a radio DJ at the time) at a friend's house, with the studio door opening to the back yard. This cat used to wander in almost every day, scouring for food and attention. He immediately took a liking to me, head-butting my legs and jumping on my lap whenever he could.

                                        This produced some interesting results during recording ("The time is now six twentymeow"), especially when head-butting the microphone ("You're listening to Bump Thump Radio!"). This was still the needle-to-the-groove age, so you can imagine the rest. This cat invented scratching, though he lacked in rhythm.

                                        Anyway, my friend told me that this cat had been around for ages, so he was obviously not being looked after. So I took him home (the cat; the friend had his own place) and called him Charlie. He was an affable cat, always sleeping on his back with his furry fat belly in the air, paws sticking out in all directions, and noisily chasing all kinds of creatures in his dreams.

                                        The name Charlie did not register. Whenever I called him by that name, he would immediately go belly-up and fall asleep again. It probably struck some kind of hypnotic nerve. The name Dikkie (dik = fat in Dutch) produced far better results.

                                        The interesting thing about Dikkie was the fact that I could strike up a lively conversation with him. All I needed to do was catch his gaze (for some reason, animals like to stare at me, although I do win in the end), produce some guttural noises, and he would respond enthusiastically for hours on end. Then I would just say "Charlie" to end the conversation in a polite way and get some rest myself.

                                        The best anecdote about Dikkie has to be this one: I had a few people over for my birthday, and the conversation turned to pets, especially cats and their indifferent lifestyles. When I told them that Dikkie was not indifferent, and that he actually obeyed my commands (which he never did, of course), I was challenged to prove my claim. So I got Dikkie's attention, looked him in the eyes, and said 'Sit!". He sat down immediately. Most of the guests were rolling on the floor laughing seconds after that, enhanced by Dikkie's straight face that appeared to reflect the wish to hear the next command from his master.

                                        Here's a picture of Dikkie with Miepje (who were co-pets for about 5 years - Miepje used to sleep with her head on Dikkie's belly or back - no pictures of that, alas). Rest in Peace, pal.
                                        Attached Files
                                        Last edited by Quartz; 12 May 2004, 06:30 PM.

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                                          #21
                                          Very touching story Plato, you renewed my faith in mankind.

                                          I always clench my fists and nearly cry everytime I see a story of animal abuse on the evening news. I wish harm upon the perpetrators, and thanks heavens for people like you who devote themselves to an animal to revive and restore it.

                                          I'm drinking a beer in your honor tonight.

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                                            #22
                                            Thanks so much for Whitey's tale, Plato. You put a lump in my throat (at work, no less!) It's wonderful to know that he was cared for so lovingly.

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                                              #23
                                              Sad day

                                              My little buddy lost his battle with his failing health today.

                                              He's had a very bad 48 hours, everything that we were treating him for got worse. My wife and I knew this was coming soon, but it still didn't make the decision any easier. We ended up at the vet's office as soon as they opened, and after they examined him, we decided that the best thing for him would be to put him to sleep.

                                              I agonized over the decision since midnight last night, hardly getting any sleep while I listened to his constant coughing. I did my best to comfort him, but there was nothing I could do. I feel like a terrible person.

                                              After we made the decision, I prepared myself emotionally to go through with it. Before we arrived at the vet's office, I honestly thought my wife would be the one to break down. I was wrong. As soon as we got into the examination room, I lost it. I was crying like a baby while my wife was the strong one.

                                              I think we did right by him, not many people would have put the money and dedication into a sickly pet. I still feel like crap, like I let him down, but I'm trying to remember that we made a real difference in his life. I think he was happy with us, and that's comforting. I know he's just an animal, and some people may not feel the same way. He was a part of our family, and that's good enough for me. He will be missed.

                                              I'm sorry to be a downer, and post such a depressing message. I'm trying to cleanse my emotions and typing them out feels good. I'm also not fishing for any sympathy, though I'll probably get some from the membership. There are are a lot of good people here, it's too bad we'll never meet IRL.

                                              Give your pet a hug today.

                                              Thanks for reading,

                                              -Smith

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                                                #24
                                                Oh no... big hugs to you, vm.
                                                You and your wife gave Kokee the best life he could. When a pet passes, it may be actually more traumatic for the owner than much-loved pet.
                                                I know someone who cried more when her cat died than when her father did, so your devastation is not unusual! Kokee was loved very much, and you did the right thing by him.
                                                Any pet would be glad to have an owner/friend like you.

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                                                  #25
                                                  Originally posted by vmsmith
                                                  My little buddy lost his battle with his failing health today.
                                                  I wish you strength. In time, fond memories will prevail.

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                                                    #26
                                                    Hey vm,
                                                    Hope you feel a little better in the writing.
                                                    You feel like crap, ... and you will always feel a little that way now without your little buddy.

                                                    But that's what makes you a good person.

                                                    It is the memories that will survive strong now.

                                                    Thanks for sharing your story here. Though you are in Pennsylvania,...
                                                    here in australia, I shed a tear for Kokee tonight.

                                                    Take care,
                                                    macalister

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                                                      #27
                                                      Hi VM,

                                                      I'm sorry for you and I'm not lying when I tell you that, when I've read your post this morning, I had a couple of tears in my eyes, and I had to come back (a lot) later to post my reply.

                                                      As other friends here have already written, going away is part of the life of every creature and I think you gave a lot to your buddy and you made the last time of his life as happy as it could be.

                                                      Chin up! Your life goes on, something is missing but you'll always keep your memories.

                                                      lxm

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                                                        #28
                                                        Thanks for the kind words everyone, it really means a lot to me.

                                                        We decided to have him cremated, and I've had a piece of walnut wood that I was saving for something special. I'm going to use it to make a container for his ashes.

                                                        Time will heal the hurt, and I have lots of fond memories of the little guy.

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                                                          #29
                                                          Originally posted by vmsmith
                                                          Give your pet a hug today.

                                                          -Smith
                                                          I surely will. I am sorry for your loss.
                                                          yealith

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                                                            #30
                                                            Who ate mine?
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