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MAYNARD G. KREBS
Five years ago, I agreed to take a stray cat into my household. I thought I was getting the black and white cat with a little goatee under his chin like Maynard G. Krebs on the 1960s TV show "Dobie Gillis" as a companion for my other cat Shadow. It turns out he was really for me. As soon as I went into the bedroom at night, he'd settle onto the blanket at the foot of the bed and snuggle beside me once I'd gotten under the covers. He was also a good friend to the young frightened collie I adopted a few years later, and really made the four of us into a family. This spring he started sleeping during the day on the living room couch near the dog, and I thought this change in habit was out of love. Then he lost interest in food, and started dropping weight. I tried to tease him with treats including baby food, but it didn't help. I kept hoping he would get better and I felt angry at how skinny he was. He was leaving me and I didn't want him to go. This is the hardest feeling, not wanting them to leave.
S.B.
Hazel
Hazel, my cat, was lost through an accident on a night when I forgot to get her back inside before going to bed. A friend's dog was in the yard and in the morning I found her body next to the fence, her neck broken. I cried and felt guilty for years about her death. It was the hardest I had ever grieved over anything. I miss her.
S.R.
BANJO
Attached is the last picture we took of Banjo. This was his 14th birthday on Oct. 27, 2003. We were at Cannon Beach, Oregon. We had promised him that we would celebrate his 14th birthday at his favorite place. This picture is a true gift that he left us with. He passed on 2 weeks later. The sky in this picture is the most amazing thing. Those little white lights..........I swear they were angels he was looking at. No other picture in the entire roll of film had anything like that on them.
Ann Erickson
BLONDIE
You came to me as my pseudo-cousin, making me smile, along with my mom, each time you'd tilt your head with a look of anticipation, glee and pure goofiness that said you were just plain happy. Your easy demeanor made me love you like a sister and friend (which is to say I do not feel that way about many other hounds!). You will be greatly missed but I know you will always be around, bounding with us in the fields and mountains, waiting for another toss of the ball with your sweet smile and tilt of your head.
C.
FRANKIE FERRET
I had never had a relationship with a small animal before. My entire life has been filled with affectionate dogs, independent cats, beautiful birds and magnificent horses. A stop in a local pet store nine years ago forever changed my perspective on the depth of love, commitment and relationship that humans can have with the 'littler guys' in the animal kingdom. My husband and I were in the animal store to pick up supplies. In the store there was a big cage filled with six young ferrets. I had never had an interaction with a ferret before and I remarked to my husband about how cute they were, and he said that we did not need any more 'cute' animals to join our family. As I watched them from a distance, the smallest of the ferrets left the group where it was playing and dozing with its siblings, and climbed up the side of the wire enclosure. She put her little hand out of the cage and motioned to me like a person waving and saying, "Hey, come on over here." I told my husband that the ferret was bidding us to come over and he noticed it too. We asked the store manager if we could hold her. She was soft, smelled distinctively different, and kept nuzzling my neck. I was hooked. I could go on for pages telling of all of her talents, joys, and loves. She would try to tease us into playing with her. She understood so many things that made her such an important part of my life. I learned a new respect for 'little' animals. I really did not have any idea that they were every bit as able to interact with humans as traditional 'pets' do. When she was eight years old, she developed adrenal problems. She had a loss of hair and slowed down a little. We decided that she had had such a wonderful and long life compared to other ferrets that she would not undergo adrenal surgery. She died during the day in her furry pouch made from a car-washing mitt. I carried her around in the mitt for several hours; I needed to accept that she was dead. I have not gotten another ferret. I want one, and my husband and I go into animal stores looking. We each hold up all of the ferrets in the cage, one at a time and then look at each other and say, "No, not any of these." It's not that they are not all beautiful and smell the same way that Frankie did, it is just that they do not have the same essence or sparkle or recognition of us that she did. How do you describe something that weighs only two pounds and has all of the love and joy in the universe within them?
W.C.
MR. JONES
When I was a small boy, my family lived on my grandparents' farm in rural
Mississippi while my father was serving in World War II. My grandfather had this
big, gentle, brown mule that he used to plow the fields with. He would set me up
on the mule's back and I'd ride for hours holding the harness collar while my
grandfather walked behind holding the leather reins. I always carried the memory
of that warmth and joy that I felt in those fields with my grandfather and his
mule. Life was slower there and everything was more appreciated. Someday, when
I grew up, I would have a mule just like my grandfather's. I first saw Mr. Jones,
the mule, in 1975 when a neighbor bought him. He was big and dark brown with a
light colored muzzle, huge ears, and big soft brown eyes. As fortune would have
it, my neighbor had to relocate and Mr. Jones was put up for sale. Mr. Jones
joined our family as a pack animal to help carry us into the mountains for camping, fishing, and hunting in the beautiful Idaho wilderness. He excelled so much in everything that I would ask him to do, that I soon moved him up to the place of my favorite riding mount. I always knew that anyone that was on him was safe. Mr. Jones took his job very seriously. He seemed to know that he was responsible for the person that he was carrying. We survived snowstorms, mudslides, and mountain blizzards. When the going was tough, I would always tell him to find our way and I would let him make the decisions about which path to take. When he was in his early thirties, he was given the new responsibility of teaching my grandchildren how to ride, love, and respectfully care for riding animals. He was like a proud grandparent with each of the three kids. He would move so slowly for the small child and act like a frisky colt with the 10-year-old boy. Mr. Jones died last year. He had been a part of our family for 27 years. The friendship and the love that I felt for him cannot truly be described in words. During his last year of life, he began to get very thin. I decided, bec ause of his age, that no extra measures such as surgery would be taken. He would live out his life with his four horse friends, near the house with the humans that loved him so dearly. One morning last winter, when I went out to feed, he was lying down in his stall all sweaty and very uncomfortable. I called our veterinarian to come and give him a euthanasia shot. While I waited for the vet to arrive, I sat on the ground with him and told him how much that I loved him. I thanked him over and over for all of the joy that he had given to our family. I reflected on all of the years that we had been friends. When the needle went into his neck, before, during and after the fluid was injected into his wonderful brown body, I just kept saying, "Thank you Mr. Jones, thank you so much, thank you so very much for being you and sharing your life with me and my family."
B.C.
MOLLY & GOOBER
My husband had two fan-tailed goldfish that loved him deeply. Every time he'd come into the room they'd dance. They even enjoyed Sparky our cat. Sparky would sit right next to their aquarium like a babysitter. You could really feel the love in the room. When Dan fed Molly and Goober he would stick his finger in the water and they would both scoot up to touch him, with the gentlest of affections. He had a special connection to those golden beauties.
S.S.
CLARRY
Clarry was a sent to us by my husband's sister who called one day and said that, the vet said she was going to have to put her eight puppies to sleep, because the mother had a breast infection. I ran down there and by mid-afternoon I had found homes for all but one. They were not even one week old, which meant in addition everyone had to bottle feed these little ones. I took the last one, a little girl. I was going to get her strength up and then find a loving home for her when my Auntie Clara & Uncle Harry came to visit. They couldn't see how in the world I could find another home better than this one for this tiny little dog. So, they were her namesakes as I named her Clarry. When she took her almost last breath I revived her with mouth to mouth resuscitation, yet she was only able to come back long enough to tell us she loved us which, later I was so grateful for. I waited four years before another loving animal energy was attracted into our lives. Clarry made me realize that even if I only got to have her love for one day, that that one day would be accepted in gratitude.
S.S.
ANNABELLE
Annabelle is a dog and yet she is known to me as "My smallest girlfriend with the Biggest Heart." Unconditional Love in Progress is what happened.
S.S.
While AHCC is unable to cure an animal's disease or reverse the aging process, we can share with you connections to other people who have gone through a similar loss and difficult time. Some of our friends have shared special memories of their animal friendships and we encourage your submissions, too.
Whether it's three of us reading your story or thousands, we have found this format of writing about a cherished animal helpful in preventing grief from settling around the heart.
We are convinced bonding between a human and an animal is a true form of love. This bond becomes more deeply apparent during times of illness or death, as can feelings ranging from denial, guilt, anger, loneliness, grief or loss. We are collecting stories that show this range of feelings.