May 2013

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5 comments on this post.
  1. Chrysti M. Smith:

    As a lifelong dog devotee, and as one who has said final farewells to several of my canine companions, I extend my condolences to you and Kathy on the loss of your Pokey. Our dogs and cats provide such comfort to us as writers (I am one of those also), sleeping nearby as we labor away, and leaping up in glee when we decide that everyone needs a walk.
    I am sad with you.
    Chrysti

  2. Craig Scheir:

    Very sorry to hear about your doggie. We, too, lost our little doggie in February. He was 17 and while we feel blessed that we had him for so long, the house is too quite and we miss him. We feel that pain of loss along with you.

  3. Victoria Ayers:

    We had three dogs and lost them one after the other at two week intervals, of cancer, heart disease and kidney failure. We swore never again to give our hearts away like that and we stuck it out for a good six weeks during which we were awash in depression. Then one little rescue pup showed up, and another, and now we are a happy family again, with hair on the furniture, no leftovers in the fridge, a medicine chest full of dewormer and anti-tick goo, the occasional slippery patch on the kitchen floor and a lot of laughs. My heart goes out to you, and I hope Pokey and Brownie send you a comforter, the way Duffy, Cricket and Humphrey did for us.

  4. Sarah Henson:

    I’m so so sorry to hear about your loss. Losing a pet is losing a family member. My sincerest condolences.

  5. Lynne:

    Sorry to hear about Pokey. She reminds me of the sweet dog we had while I was growing up, Sherry. A happy, friendly little girl, she loved to go for walks, ride in the car, and whenever my Dad played his electric organ she would stop whatever she was doing and curl up under the bench. Nominally my brother’s, she looked a lot like Pokey, the golden color, sweet face, and plumed tail. She also had the same bouncy enthusiasm for her dinner.

    We fed her kibble mixed with canned, which didn’t fool her a bit: She picked up each kibble, sucked all the good stuff off it, then spit it out on her placemat. Once she had cleaned out her bowl and consumed all the “good stuff” she ate all the kibble.

    We knew it was her time when dinner no longer evoked any enthusiasm. She was by then aged, near blind, incontinent, senile (if she missed the steps to the back porch she would stand, with her chest against the porch looking up in confusion as to why she couldn’t get into the house), and had been partially paralyzed for years in her hind legs in an unprovoked attack by a neighbor’s dog. But dinner was always an event, until the day she just stood there, too tired to bounce.

    I still miss her.

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