Prayers and Passages

Simba -- the cat who found a home...

The cat Simba had a reputation for being there when needed and, in one notorious walkabout incident, for not being there and setting off a desperate cat hunt.
And, now, as is the case with all things, he and his antics and affections are great memories with prominent places in the hearts of those who loved him.
Andy Allen and her husband, John, were Simba’s people and he was their steady cat. It was a good partnership. Andy explains it best in this memorial recollection of the great cat Simba:
She wrote to friends,
“John and I spent the holiday weekend mourning our beautiful Simba, who has gone to the Rainbow Bridge. Now we’d like to honor the memory of our beautiful boy by sharing a few words and photos with you.
“We think Simba was about 15, perhaps a little older. He came to us in early 1998 – one of the many smart kitties who noticed the shin-high welcome signs out front and in the alley: ‘Food, Water, Shelter, Unlimited Veterinary Coverage Here – No Exclusions!’
“Simba led a long, happy life with us, with very few aches, pains or inconveniences until recently.
“Last August, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. His illness was short; in fact, he did pretty well until the past month. We had him put to sleep, here at home, on Friday. It was a beautiful, sunny day – the kind he loved to spend by the pool – and he passed away in his very favorite place: Daddy’s lap.
“From the very first day, Simba was king of the castle. By the time he came knocking, we had two dogs, many cats, and a couple of fosters.
“This being the case, we did make an attempt to find him a new home. But when he was returned, less than an hour later, on the grounds that the resident cat was incensed, we agreed: Simba was staying.
“Simba was simply the most stunning cat ever, with a personality to match. His fur was long and silky, with perfect buff tabby markings; his face was elegant and chiseled; his eyes, a clear green-gold. Truly, he looked like a tiny, storybook lion.
“He was patient with kids, dogs and other cats, and while he was highly independent, he was also very affectionate with anyone who was comfortable around cats. He was smart, spirited – everything you could ever want in a cat.
“On top of all that, Simba was fiercely loyal and loving to John. I’ve never seen a cat respond like this to a human – nor a grown man act like this toward a cat. Every time John came home from anywhere, Simba greeted him at the door. Every time he had a free arm, John carried Simba in that arm. Every time he traveled anywhere, John instructed me on how to take care of Simba. The two blondies were inseparable, and Simba is very sorely missed.
“Many of you know that Simba went on a four-night walkabout in October 2010. John was working in the garage late at night, and Simba slipped out.
“For the next four days and nights, we dropped everything to search for him. We would not wish this ordeal on anyone, certainly not our dear friends. So please, consider this advice Simba’s parting gift to all. If this ever happens to you, immediately go to missingpetpartnership.org and do exactly what they say.
“In Simba’s case, they said to set a humane trap, the same kind you’d set for a feral cat. Would you believe it worked? That’s how we got our Simba back.
“Simba stayed with us another year before joining our departed ‘kids’ at the Rainbow Bridge. We know he was especially glad to see Joey, his frequent partner in mischief and mayhem, as well as Sam, Sylvia and Carly, whom we lost earlier this year. We miss Simba terribly, but we’re grateful for all the years we had him, and for all the little lives entrusted to our care.
“Thanks for reading about our Simbee. Please enjoy his photos.
“Love,
Andy & John”

(The photos are Simba and Joey on the fence; Simba and Sam on the patio, Simba and John playing and Simba in the middle of a dynamic cat stretch.)

A Tribute to Shiloh

            Lynn and Tony Gatlin have the rescue Project Pawz at Corsicana and one of the inpirations and a partner in their work was Shiloh, a fellow who helped guide other dogs into safe havens.
            Here is Lynn's tribute to their great partner and family member:
            "On November 25, the day after Thanksgiving, a single event brought the last 13 years to an abrupt close.  My dog Shiloh fell gravely ill and in an instant, he was gone.
             "Shiloh had an undetected tumor on his liver that apparently ruptured, causing him to bleed internally, and further injuring his liver.  Cancer.  Shiloh had a fast growing cancer that was non symptomatic and we had no idea.  Dr. Wilson and Dr. Boyd did everything they could to save him, but it was not to be. 
            "Shiloh lost too much blood and his tired body simply couldn’t recover.  And just like that, I’m faced with the devastating realization that I’ll never see Shiloh again. But how can that be? Shiloh was ALWAYS available.  He was always there when I needed him.  Shiloh and I still had things to do.  More 4 wheeler rides to take.  More steal-away trips to Sonic for his beloved plain and dry children’s cheeseburger.  More walks.  More rides in the country.  More trips to our land.  More time together doing absolutely nothing.  I want more time. 
            "And yet, he’s gone.  Very suddenly, and much too soon, Shiloh is gone.  The sadness is immeasurable.  The guilt…. Even more.  I save dogs. That’s what I do.  But I couldn’t save my own.  I couldn’t save my very own dog that’s been my unfailing constant for the past 13 years.  Didn’t I owe it to him?  After all, he saved me time and time again…. Mostly from myself.
            "Tony and I certainly weren’t looking for another dog when Shiloh showed up on our doorstep all those years ago.  We even tried to find a suitable home for Shiloh rather than take in yet another dog.  Looking back, I realize now Shiloh was placed in our lives for a reason.  He was the catalyst that sparked my desire to rescue other homeless animals, just like him.
            "Shiloh and his pal Buzz, both rescues, are the very reason I do what I do. 
            "Time passed and Shiloh settled into our home and gained our affection. He was one of those remarkable dogs with the most generous, loving heart.  He only wanted to please.  He was smart, faithful, and completely devoted to our happiness. In the beginning, he was this frightened, innocent creature who was extremely shy and noticeably unsure of himself.  Through the years, Shiloh developed into a self-assured gentleman of a dog with the most amazing, devoted spirit. 
            "I’m not exactly sure when the tables turned, but somewhere along the way, WE became the pupils.  It’s only in Shiloh’s death that I’ve come to realize this… To truly recognize and appreciate all the things he taught me. If only I could have one more day…  Just so I could appropriately thank him.  I’d thank him first for being a good listener.  Countless times Shiloh was my sounding board.  He’d sit quietly and listen to everything I had to say, occasionally giving me that look with his head cocked to the side as if to assure me, on some level, he understood and agreed.  I’d thank him for being obedient.  Shiloh was the envy of our friends.  The perfect dog.  Well behaved.  Affectionate.  Appreciative.  Wonderful with children.  Loved other dogs.  Shiloh was even nice to cats.  Shiloh saw no differences and held no prejudices.  He offered equal opportunity acceptance and never once waivered. 
            "His heart was pure, and so was his love.  He made no demands whatsoever.  For years, he welcomed scads of foster dogs into our home and patiently taught them to use the doggie door, to potty outside, and that jumping up to greet someone is inappropriate no matter how excited you are to see them.  He rallied behind the slow learners and always shared his treats.  Shiloh wasn’t a pushover though… Oh no.  He just managed to always strike that perfect balance between maintaining his place in our pack and being kind to the newcomers.  He did it in such a way that the newbies loved and respected him.  In fostering dogs, he offered me his guidance.  He helped me with difficult dogs.  He babysat them while I was at work.  I’m convinced he may have even cleaned up their messes before I got home.
            "I wonder now, how will I continue to rescue without Shiloh??  We’re a team. And we were a good team. Time and time again I brought many a wounded soul home and handed them directly over to Shiloh.  Without fail, Shiloh transformed each and every one into a perfectly well-rounded and highly adoptable pet.  I’m not sure I can continue to be a successful rescuer without him. Shiloh played an important role in our home, and he did it dutifully, without even realizing it.
            "There are so many things we can learn from a dog, if only we allow ourselves….
            "Without a forethought, and by simply living his life, Shiloh has left me with many fond memories.  Time spent with Shiloh was ALWAYS time well spent, and a surefire guarantee to emerge feeling better.  He was my sidekick on 4 wheeler rides. He excitedly jumped on behind me even if I was simply parking it inside for the night.  It didn’t matter to him if we were traveling for 1 minute or 1 hour.  He was up for the trip.  He was my constant co-pilot on the mule.  A single crank of the engine would bring Shiloh running from wherever he was, to take his assigned position on the passenger side.  We had an understanding, he and I.  He exhibited sheer delight in a simple afternoon jaunt around the neighborhood, always watching for any sign that today was the day for a drive.  If I even so much as headed for the mule, his face lit up as if to say, “Save me a seat!!”  It simply won’t be the same without him.  I have a feeling everything we shared will now be plain vanilla without Shiloh.  He added so much fun and flavor to my life. 
            "Tony and I buried Shiloh today.  We agree we buried a piece of our hearts right along with him.  What we wouldn’t give for just a little more time.  To share.  To appreciate.  To love.  Our pets are only here for a short while.  Cherish and savor every precious moment, realizing that one day there will be no more.
            "Rainbow Bridge received a true gem of a dog this weekend. Our loss is most assuredly their gain…. And I have a feeling Shiloh has already made quite an impression by assisting some stray puppy through Heaven’s great doggie door.  Atta boy Shiloh!!  Wait for us there.  Be well.  And know that we love and miss you so very much.
            "And Shiloh….  Save me a seat!"

Gator -- a big-hearted fellow who loved the chase...

            The story of a good dog would never be known without the love of a human.
            No one would be around to tell us of the dog’s majestic nature, of his adventures, of his affect on their lives.
            Readlarrypowell.com got a note Monday from Cari Weinberg about her old pal Gator.      We’d written about the handsome dog before in our weekend feature “Let Sleeping Dogs Lie & Napping Cats Nap.” Gator was an accomplished snoozer. (See our January 30, 2009, report HERE. 
            As you can tell from these photos, Gator also had some gray in his whiskers. No spring chicken, but, still....well, Cari said it best in the opening paragraph of her note to us:
            “My old black Lab, Gator, passed away on Saturday. He was such a happy and eager guy, that I just didn’t’ see this happening the way it did even though he was at least 15 years old.
“He fell and broke his leg. The emergency vet thought cancer was behind the weakness in his bone. He was scared and there was no other option so we let him go. My boyfriend Dave and my rescue friend, Paige Anderson, got him to the vet. I was in Marfa and following the rapidly unfolding events over the phone, feeling heartbroken that I couldn’t be with Ol’ Man Gator (we always sung his name to the tune of Ol’ Man River). That night there was an amazing West Texas sunset and the next morning on my friend’s ranch, I woke to the best sunrise I’ve ever seen. I’d like to think he was part of them both.”
            As Cari says, “It’s tough to lose a good ol’ dog; writing his story helps member remember some of my best Gator moments.”
            Here is Cari’s tribute to the magnificent Gator, a good ol’ dog:
            “Gator was a character. He was adopted from a Little Rock, Arkansas rescue group (CARE — Central Arkansas Rescue Effort for Animals) in 2002 or 2003. My elderly Lab had passed away and I decided to adopt another one. Gator’s grey muzzle, sweet face on Petfinder and easygoing description made me realize that this 7-8 year old lab was ‘the one.’
            His original name was ‘Harry.’ A volunteer with the rescue group had seen him at the Cabot, Ark., pound and when a spot in her rescue came open she and her young daughter raced to get him. When they arrived, he was minutes away from being put down.
            In response to his narrow escape, the young daughter said, ‘Mom, he’s magic! Just like Harry Potter!’ To my knowledge this was Gator’s greatest escape."
            [How did Harry become "Gator"? Cari explains that she'd picked out a bunch of grand names for him, but he changed her mind on the road home, "When I adopted him, I met the CARE volunteer halfway at a truck stop in Texarkana. Gator hadn't been in a car much at that point and insisted on riding shotgun and keeping a paw on me the whole time. That paw thing got in the way of steering, so I actually held his paw with one hand and steered with the other, switching off from time to time. Because he was so anxious, he drooled all the way from Texarkana to Frisco and my arm and the armrest were sopping wet when I pulled into my driveway.
            "He puffed and chuffed the whole way home. His heavy breathing his love of gobbling food in a Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom kind of way and his good ol' boy demeanor all added up and I realized this dog was more of a 'Gator' than anything else."]
            Cari continues, "After a few weeks of settling in and impressing me with his happy and easygoing demeanor, Gator showed me that he actually had much more in common with Harry Houdini than with Harry Potter.
            “A door, blown open by the wind led to my first ever ‘Gator Chase.’ No matter how close I got or how loudly I called his name, Gator just liked to run free. The first chase involved me following him with the car, slowly rolling behind him with his frame in my headlights while herding him to my house where a friend waited to pounce on Gator and get him back in the house.
            “He went on to have other great escapes. Once, he took off during an ice storm that struck during evening rush hour.
            “At the time I lived three houses off of Preston road in Frisco where cars were slipping and sliding. I tried to catch him and then decided to hire a group of neighborhood kids to help me corral Gator before he dashed in front of a car on the slick road. There was lots of running and hustling and sliding involved in that Gator Chase. He slept for an entire day after that one.
            “During another escape that took place on one of the hottest summer days, Gator headed for a nearby creek. He was around 10 at the time and tired quickly. My roommate found him wallowing around on the muddy creek bed in the shade. And when she found him, he acted as if he couldn’t walk (this was a patented Gator trick when he knew he was in trouble).
            “As she tried to drag him back home, a group of neighborhood kids spotted her heaving an uncooperative large dog and said, ‘Hey, lady, put him in our wheelbarrow!’
            “ She wheeled him a quarter of a mile home with a gaggle of kids in tow. Gator must have felt like the Pied Piper.
            “There were other great escapes – the time he visited a friend’s lake house and managed to slip out of his harness in under 10 minutes (he jovially returned a few hours later and stuck close for the rest of our visit).
            “After I moved to Little Forest Hills in East Dallas, Gator was older and slower, but he still liked to ‘go walkabout’ when the chance presented itself. There were several times that cars of neighbors traversed the neighborhood looking and calling for him. Like clockwork, as soon as he was caught he’d act like he couldn’t walk – sneaky fellow.
            “In between the escapes, there were lots of walks and occasionally a jaunt to the country where he could run and swim to his heart’s content on a friend’s land. He loved those visits.
            “At home, Gator was as laid back as could be. He loved eating and lounging. He was a master napper but was also sly when it came to stealing cheeseburgers from your hand.
            “He enjoyed watching me make dinner, always on the lookout for a fallen morsel. Soon after he was adopted, he figured out that the comfiest bed in the house was the bed his person slept in. I would often wake up to an ear full of snores and ¼ of a pillow – the rest of it occupied by Gator, of course.
            “Throughout my dating career he usually warmed up to the nice guys and ignored those who would prove themselves otherwise.
            “After a teary phone call that signaled the end of a relationship, Gator came over to the spot on the floor where I was lying and laid next to me for hours.
            “When I started dating Dave four years ago, Gator quickly dumped me and pledged allegiance to Dave. While my feelings were a little hurt, I took it as a sign that Dave was a good guy and it proved to be true. Gator became Dave’s dog just as much as he was mine.
            “They enjoyed many quality naps together and during Gator’s twilight years, Dave would often put all of the other dogs in the backyard and keep Gator inside to ply him with extra treats and solo attention.
            “As the double digit years progressed, Gator’s escape attempts tapered off. He liked snagging a warm spot in front of the fire place or a cool spot in front of the AC box unit – depending on the season.
            “He was a good friend to his Jack Russell/Beagle/Bird Dog sidekick, Lady Bird Johnson, and tolerated the other dogs who we’ve taken in over the years. He was gentle with the puppies and ambivalent when it came to the older dogs. He was passionate about eating and you could always tell that mealtime was drawing near as Gator’s panting grew louder and louder.
            “The spark never went out from his eyes and whenever he saw the nail clippers come out, his Houdini instincts still kicked in. He was kind, patient, observant and quite clever.  I’ve never had a happier dog. He was magic indeed.”
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Bailey Boppins

    The question always is “Did you rescue the animal or did the animal rescue you?”
And, my goodness, the answer is that there's a hole left in your heart.
    This Prayers & Passages honors Bailey – known as Bailey Boppins, according to the memorial sent in by Darlene and Steve Berry.
    Bailey “went back to Heaven” on Oct. 6 – cancer was the cause, Darlene says. “I have many more photos of her but the one at the top is my favorite. They are all of her, I'm just not the best photographer in the world; they were taken with my iPhone so the coloring/contrast is different for oh so many reasons.
    “I got her from Miniature Schnauzer Rescue of North Texas in 2004.  At that time I was told that she was previously a 'breeder', had heartworms, and their vet guessed she was around 6 years old,” says Darlene who adds that “the First Act of her life” is a mystery.
    “I do know she was tremendously loved and treated like the Princess she was, in the Second Act of her life here in the Metrosprawl."
(That's a photo of Bailey catching some shuteye on the arm of the couch.)
    “I somewhere have a 'snoozing' picture of her on an undeveloped roll of film (yeah, old). We had been visiting my parents and would leave the baby girls with them when we went out to catch up with friends.  All of our babies loved going in the car and did not like the fact that they did not get to go, too.
    "When we were packing to leave, I had put my suitcase on the bed and had gone to get the laundry.  I came back and Bailey was curled up in the suitcase, taking a little nap.  It was as if she was saying, 'I WILL be going with you this time."
You can tell in these photos that Bailey had a way of relaxing as well as a way of being “involved” in whatever was going on.
    Darlene says, “Yes, she was a 'relaxer' in the morning. But if there was a squirrel in her yard or you mentioned ‘go in the car’ it was 90-to-nothing.  And then she had that natural tail all up in the air like a radio beacon (i.e. the snow picture) when something caught her attention.  She was a personality!  Quite the 'talker' when she was really excited like when I came home in the evenings.”
    The dog nose poking out of the shrubbery is explained like this: “She was after a critter in the yard that ran behind the bushes – ‘Where's the puppy?’ That was taken just a couple of weeks ago.   She was lively until the very last few days.  Reminded me of one of the ladies in the YaYa Sisters movie, needed the oxygen tank on wheels so she could get on with her daily activities. 
    “I miss her so!”
    And, with that, we turn to Darlene’s formal memorial for the family’s loved one:
Bailey Boppins
    “When I picked Bailey up from the rescue group and she curled up against me for her first ride home, she permanently curled up into my heart.  This precious baby girl was a complete joy and tripped the cute meter daily with her personality.  I am so thankful we were blessed to be with her the last 7 years of her life. 
    “She was such a happy, prissy, precious girl.  Bailey was mostly known by her nickname, Boppins or Bop-Bop.  She liked to be-bopping around.  From the way she held her natural tail in the air, to her ‘you’re-home!’ dance, to her ‘I’m cute, give me a cookie’ prance, she was always such a delight to be around.
    “Bailey was all mini-schnauzer, all 15 pounds of her.  She was the queen of her domain.  How dare that squirrel enter HER backyard!  This is her and her sister’s special running and sunning area; no varmints allowed!   From her royal perch on the back of the couch used to look outside, she barked a warning to any who dare trespass on her front yard. 
    “Boppins is my heart and was my cuddle bunny.  She loved to be held, gave many, many kisses and loved her mom.  If she couldn’t be curled up on my lap or next to me, she had a bed or blankie in every room so she could be near her mom.  Bops would either wait by the gate or nap in her bed on the patio everyday waiting for mom to get home from work. 
    “Although she was a momma’s girl; Bailey also loved her daddy.  She ran to him when he came home from work for a pet and a kiss.  Boppins really liked to lie next to him on the couch while he rubbed her belly.  One of her favorite things was to channel that hunting instinct and help daddy run the squirrels out of the backyard. 
    “We love our precious baby girl so very much.  We were very blessed to be able to share her life.  It ended way too soon, but even forever would not have been long enough.  Bailey Bops is at The Rainbow Bridge with her sister Ashley, waiting for her sister Abbey and her mom and dad to catch up.”
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Magnum: Mortally wounded but a victim of neglect

   This is a story of passage.
    It’s not really a tribute.
    Though, of course, this Bassett fellow Magnum was certainly worthy of tribute just by virtue of being a dog.
    As a dog in neglectful, gun-happy and sometimes downright mean North Texas, Magnum had the odds stacked against him. But there were people who ignored the odds. They thought they’d changed the odds.
    We have gathered the facts of his life – as much as they are known – from Molly Peterson, President of the Collin County Humane Society, the organization that tried to create a safe haven and find a lifetime home for this dog.
Collin County is due north of Dallas. Magnum was in the Granbury Animal Shelter – that’s southwest of Fort Worth. Networking. Word of mouth.  A call here. An e-mail there. Sometimes connections are made.
    A year ago Magnum was on the euthanasia list at the Granbury shelter and described an emaciated senior dog with bad skin issues. You can see in his "before" photos that he was handsome and, yet, had something tragic in his countenance.
    “We took him in anyway,” says Molly. “He turned out to be under a year old and his skin issues were flea allergies. Our foster [Stacy Hague] nursed him back to health and he was adopted just over a month later by this family that clearly knew what they were doing when she posed as the adopter.”
Magnum was 11 months old. Stacy tracked down these photos of young Magnum for us.
    Molly says the boy was adopted a month later “by a family where he was expected to live a long happy life.
    “CCHS received a call Tuesday morning that Magnum had been shot and killed.”
Who shoots and kills a Basset? And why?
    And how did his original rescuers come back in contact with this tragic dog? The little fellow was still wearing his Collin County Humane Society tags.
    Those tags may have been symbols of the only time Magnum was ever treated with love and respect in his all-too-brief life.
    The story continues from Molly: “We tracked the tag on him back to the adopter who explained that she had decided to ‘loan’ him to her daughter for companionship while her husband was away for 3 months. During that time, the daughter decided to allow him to roam the streets as he pleased.”
         This is in Valley View, north of Dallas. Let him roam as he pleased, she said. 
    Roaming was a death sentence. A death sentence.
    Magnum had, Molly writes, “joined up with a pack of stray dogs who were injuring and/killing a local mini-horse farmer’s miniature horses. The dogs were reportedly cornering the man’s horses and attacking their legs, leaving them lame [and] needing to be put to sleep.
“Being that Magnum was the slowest in the group, when he [the farmer] caught them in the act Tuesday morning, he shot him in the chest, killing him on the spot. Magnum was wearing his CCHS tags so that was when he contacted the vet and traced him back to us.
    “We are all completely and utterly devastated by this news. This is the prime reason that CCHS (and most rescue groups) have a very strict adoption contract that stipulates that all adopters must return the dog to CCHS if they are no longer able to care for him/her so we can use our resources to find them a home that they deserve instead of being cast out to the pasture to fend for themselves. 
    “This is also why it clearly states on our contract that dogs cannot be allowed to roam free and must be kept in a fenced yard when they are outside.|
    “Where does the law lie with Rescue when we are faced with this horrific news that the adopters violated the contract and Magnum suffered a horrific fate due to their neglect.
    “It doesn't matter if they ‘loaned’ the dog to a family member or if they gave him away (the details of which are currently under investigation). The adopters are responsible for the dog until his last day or until he is rightfully surrendered back to CCHS (per the adoption agreement). “Tuesday morning was Magnum's last day and I can assure you that CCHS will pursue this to the fullest degree to ensure that Magnum’s death will not be brushed under the rug. CCHS wants to ensure that no other horses are harmed, that the adopters are held accountable and the dogs doing these acts are stopped.
    “This all could have been easily prevented and is sickening that he is now deceased due to the careless neglect of the adopters by placing him in the ‘care’ of this family.”
    Molly has a plea for other rescuers. “Please help us spread the word and awareness about this issue so that we can work to prevent this from happening to other dogs. Adopters need to take the adoption agreement seriously.”
    She says that CCHS has established a “chip-in” for Magnum's legal fees “to pursue this family in court and get Magnum (and all of the other dogs that wind up in unapproved adoptive homes) the justice he/they deserve.”
    That chip-in link is HERE. You can contact the Society at its link HERE . Write to the society at PO Box 2733 McKinney, Texas 75070. The Facebook link is HERE.
    Money, of course, cannot change the key elements of this story. It won’t buy more life for the dog. It won’t buy a do-over for the Collin County Humane Society – now upset at having tried hard to help Magnum and having placed him with a family that, ultimately, betrayed him.
    Yes, that is a photograph of the lifeless body of Magnum, his magnificent ears now draped unnaturally into the grass on which he has fallen, his eyes open and seeing nothing and his body irreversibly stilled by a gunshot.
    A man protecting his animals may have fired that shot, but that’s not what killed Magnum. No, the actions of someone who didn’t care killed this dog. 
    In retrospect, as we bring this to a close, perhaps it actually is more of a tribute than it is a passage. It is a tribute to Magnum because he touched people. He inspired them to try to give him a life – he inspired them to hunt for good people to love him. 
    Sometimes people cannot be trusted to love. And isn’t that a sad thing.
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Officer Iris -- partner and friend...

            Perhaps it is fitting that someone she protected and served told us about the death of Iris, the Police Officer.
            Our pal Della Wallace wrote, “This wonderful dog passed away. This is the saddest thing. Her name was Iris and she was the Little Elm Drug K9 until she recently retired.”
            How did Della the Realtor meet Iris the police dog?
            “They were having a fund-raiser in Little Elm to buy Iris an alarm for her police vehicle in case of overheating.  I went to that and fell in love. I don't know what it was about her, but she stole my heart.”
            Della says that Iris’ partner is Chris Ford, named Officer of the Year in 2006 by the Little Elm Chamber of Commerce.
            Iris also was an exemplary officer. She “took second place in the national competition her first time out and only missed 1st place by a few seconds,” Della says. “I knew her very well and she was a sweetheart to all but drug dealers and people she found with drugs on them.
“In her home life she was a pussycat, but let that girl work and watch out. She was very much loved and admired by all who knew her and will be very much missed.”
            The note was signed, “Tearfully, Della.”
            Della was not the only person touched by the dog she called “Officer Iris.” But some of those people are not available for a photograph unless you can get the warden’s permission. For all her good nature and sweet posing, Iris was a working officer, a Belgian Malinois who was a trained and determined drug dog.
            “I will miss her very much,” Officer Ford told Della. He and Iris weren’t just co-workers, they were partners and friends.|
             You don’t lose a friend and partner without feeling the kick in the heart.
            Officer Ford said that Iris had “some type of cancer causing her to bleed internally. She died peacefully with no pain while I was rubbing her head telling her it was OK to go and that I would be OK. As soon as I uttered these words, within 60 seconds, she passed away.”
            These decisions are never easy, but sometimes they are helped by the grace within the animal’s heart.
            “It was very moving and the way I wanted it,” Officer Ford said. “I didn’t want to come home from work and find her dead.... She helped and touched a lot of people during her career. She was an amazing partner and friend who accomplished things many police dogs never do during their lifetimes.”
            As you can see in the photographs, Officer Iris had many facets – she obviously loved being in her patrol car, enjoyed being with her partner and, of course, proudly posed with her medals and wore her badge with honor.
            She was 9 years old when disease stopped her -- it did what criminals couldn't do.
             Della notes that the “toothy” expression came during a demonstration at a county club and says “that pussycat could look really scary.”
            After Iris was gone, Officer Ford took her to Toothacres in Carrollton and, he said, “They did an amazing job with her – and me.”
            As you can see, on the box that holds Officer Iris’ ashes, there is a brass plate that reads “K-9 Iris Little Elm Police Department.”
            Beneath that is the inscription “E.O.W. August 29, 2011.”
             E.O.W.
            As Officer Ford explained to Della, it is “sacred law enforcement terminology used when an officer dies.”
            It means “End of Watch.”
            Officer Iris’ watch has ended, but you get the feeling that she is ever vigilant in the hearts of those she touched.
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Daisy, a beloved dog ...

     When we learned of the passing of Daisy we asked her human Sherrie Finch to send us a photo.
    This picture “is one of my favorites of her,” says Sherrie. “She is patiently waiting to come back in the house. She never liked to be alone outside.”
    Inside, she was never alone – but now there’s a new loneliness in the house. Sherrie speaks of it in this tribute to Daisy.
    Back in April, Daisy was the spotlighted dog in our weekend feature Let Sleeping Dogs Lie & Napping Cats Nap. Daisy’s story was one of rescue and reward.
    She was quite the beloved dog.
    In mid-July, Sherrie says, “we had to say goodbye to our sweet Daisy.... She had another occurrence of vestibular disease, and on Monday morning, she lay herself down and was not able to get back up. Over the next few days, we realized this time, she would not recover.  She quit eating and drinking on her own, and her back legs became paralyzed. She was resting calmly on her memory foam bed at the vet, and we said goodbye.
    “We were so lucky to have her almost 17 years, all but the last 6 months in good health. It's quiet here now, even though we still have a houseful of rambunctious, spoiled rotten cats.  It's not the same - no morning and evening walks, looking under my desk before I roll the chair, begging food at the table, greeting visitors, etc. Sometime in the future, when the number of cats is lower, we intend to adopt an old black dog who wouldn't have a chance at a shelter.
    “In the meantime, we're all adjusting to life without her.”
    Perhaps it is the greatest tribute you can pay to an animal – that you’ll keep giving your love to other dogs and cats.  That is Daisy’s legacy.
(FYI: You can read about Daisy and her cats, by clicking HERE.)
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Baby Jane Doe -- a bus stop dog on a great journey...

             We knew the end was coming for Baby Jane Doe. She’d been on special kidney food for nearly six years and had lately run into some rough patches.
            Still, the end is always a beating.
            And, the end always reminds you of the beginning and, of course, the journey.
            She and I had a lot of journeys together – most of them from the house to the park.
            That's Baby Jane in her later years, when gray took over her black coat. We have puppy pictures, but they're on photo paper -- snapshots -- that's how far back we go with this dog. Before everybody had a digital camera.
            For us, the Baby Jane story began when she was about 5 weeks old – too young to be dumped, but, nevertheless, there she was, sitting in the southbound traffic lane of Marsalis Avenue at Colorado Boulevard in Oak Cliff. She was square in front of a bus stop and blocking the right hand lane, a little black puppy as effective as any orange traffic cone.
            I was on my way home from work one August evening rush hour in 1997 and the cars ahead of me slowed dramatically and swerved around something. When the traffic cleared I saw a big ol’ puppy with giant. Uncontrollable ears paying absolutely no attention to anything except sitting on her furry bottom and letting the world go around.
            I stopped my ol’ Bronco II, got out, walked up to her with my spare leash, slipped it around her neck and bent down and picked up this jet black pup – in later years, she grayed like, well, like an old newspaperman. She probably weighed six or seven pounds, most of it those big ears and a magnificently coated tail.
            (Before I left the bus stop that day, I looked around figuring that people might have dumped a litter and not just one puppy. I was pretty careful with my search. No other pups were there. The next morning, on my way to work, I saw the body of an identical puppy – a boy – on the grass behind the bus stop. I don’t know why that dog died or wasn’t clearly visible to me the evening before, but I know that all puppies are innocent and the hereafter probably was designed for them, the Happy Yappers of Heaven.)
             Now, Baby Jane Doe got her name because she was a foundling. No tags, no collar, no nothing. Just a dumped dog. Baby Jane Doe seemed appropriate. (She always seemed to have a tolerance of other dogs. In this 7-year-old photo, she's putting up with baby Annie, the heeler mix who is the daughter of Calamity, the dog in the photo with me at the top of Readlarrypowell.com. Calamity, finally trapped because she'd had puppies and  now fixed, lives with my brother and sister-in-law, Garry and Brenita.)
            Martha had just sold her business – PetPowell Petsitting – and was enjoying her first day with just our one dog, Nicki, and a handful of cats and no schedule to meet with other peoples’ dogs’ bladders.  One of Martha’s ex-clients was a wonderful, big terrier mix in Kessler Park, just a real sweetie named Baby Doll whose ears and tail had been mutilated by some jerk. Baby Doll was special and sweet. I loved Baby Doll so much that I thought naming the new pup in honor of her would be good karma. It was.
            Baby Jane Doe’s nose was one of those long pointy muzzles that inspired my sweetspouse Martha to write a song. Martha, who talks to animals, also sings to them – this will not surprise anyone who knows my zanyspouse. In this case, she wrote and sang (to the tune of Second-Hand Rose) a song that starts, “O, everyone knows, she’s got an anteater nose.” She’d sing it as she was putting on makeup and Baby Jane was sprawled on the bathroom tile. Baby Jane seemed to know at an early age that she was a special dog.
            When I brought Baby Jane home, I got out of the Bronco and lifted Baby Jane out and put her on the front lawn. Martha heard me arrive and came to the front porch to greet me. She saw Baby Jane and said, “I can’t believe you’ve brought me another dog to housetrain.”
Baby Jane caught on pretty quickly.
            The first time I took her for a long car ride she thanked me by hurling all over the front seat, the console and the floor-mounted gearshift.  Good dog, I thought. But Martha said it was indicative of my driving and not the dog’s weak constitution.
            In the hours that have passed since we watched our Baby Jane go on, I’ve thought about the assorted aspects of her life. She was an undeniably gentle dog not given to disputes, though she would hold her ground.
            And she had shrill bark that she used to wake me every morning. Honest, it made my ears bleed, but there was no doubt that it was time for me to get up and feed her.
            It turns out that Baby Jane was with me at several key points in my life. She was with me walking in Kiest Park when I found Hambone Jack who would become the third member of our walking party. For years we rode to Kiest Park, got out, and hiked the loop. Sometimes it was a smooth walk. Sometimes it was “yank-the-arm-out-of-the-socket” time because they’d spot something to sniff or want to go in a different direction.
            Jane was with me and Hammy when we found nearly hairless Inky, now the Cocker Laureate of the State of Texas. And she was with me and Hammy when we rescued Rosie the Chihuahua from some kids who were throwing rocks at the mange-stricken dog. She was stinky and hairless but she managed to ride home with us without passing along the mange.
            Other things you should know about Baby Jane Doe:
            --She is the only one of our dogs who was ever treated for ringworm.  She caught it from our rescued kitten Griffin who came into the house at about 12 ounces and now weighs about 27 pounds or something like that. He’s huge. He was cured, Jane was cured – they spent time in quarantine but both got lots of treats and I think every now and then kind of longed for quarantine again. (FYI: When her original vet, Dr. Catherine Marr, and her staff at the now-closed Cabeen Clinic bathed Baby Jane, they declared in awe that “We’ve never seen such a clean dog.” Nothing but pure water rolled out of that dog’s coat – we can’t explain it. But she was known as “the clean dog.” And she was adored.)
            --She was the reason Martha had special business cards printed for me. They read, “My name is Larry Powell. Please do not give me a dog.” (They didn’t work. And that's a photo of Jane romping in the Feb. 2010 blizzard -- she's involved in a chase with younger dogs -- all gleeful in the snow.)
            -- Baby Jane chewed up one book in her life. One book – she had plenty of opportunities in our house but chose only one book. She gnawed a big corner off a hardback copy of Matthew “Uncle Matty” Margolis’ best-seller Good Dog, Bad Dog. Makes me tear up thinking about it – I’d love to watch her gnaw it up again.
            -- She was easy to love. Too bad humans couldn’t follow her example. But she was such an easy-going dog. She loved her grub, but she wasn’t all that yippy about it until recent years when food was the only thing that made her feel better and she thought she ought to be fed first. She was, just never fast enough.
            --Baby Jane was a great counter-surfer. But a couple of years ago we came home to find that one of the cats had shoved a round box of oatmeal off the kitchen counter and when the lid popped off, Baby Jane stuck that pointy nose in and her face went all the way in up past her eyeballs. We don’t know how long she’d been trapped in the big round oatmeal box, but she was patiently waiting for one of us to come take it off her head. When we did, she expected a treat. (She weighed about 100 healthy pounds at her peak – never fat, always fit. Another good example I can’t follow.)
            -- In the old days, when I would grab the leashes for our walks in the park, Baby Jane and Hammy made a beeline for the door. Hammy caught on later that he could beat Baby Jane to the door by watching me and if he saw me putting on my walking shoes, he’d immediately go to the door and sit waiting while Baby Jane sat waiting for me to motion toward he with the leash. They were a pair and I’m hoping that in the hereafter they’re showing some angel with elastic arms how great they can be at walking in a park where nobody dumps dogs.
            --As her health began to fail, we watched her carefully. We cut many a social event short to keep from leaving her stressed inside for too long. Our animal friends understood and our other pals accepted such behavior as “just the way they are.” Yeah, we’re “animal nuts.” A good dog like Baby Jane will elevate your heart to “animal nut” status.
            -- Every now and then, in a backyard romp with the other dogs, she’d throw out a ligament or tendon or something and we’d confine her to her kennel. Inactivity healed the hitch in her gitalong and she didn’t mind it as long as we kept the treats coming and she was able to look out into the general area where the other dogs and cats played and offered better entertainment than basic cable.
            -- Baby Jane had been diagnosed years ago with failing kidneys, which we monitored and treated with a proper diet. She had a cancer that worked its way into her bladder and, apparently, into her hips and lower spine. At the end, she could barely stand long enough to eat. And she had trouble standing after a night asleep in her spot next to my side of the bed. No longer will I reach down and pat that anteater nose or stroke those big pointy ears. I may need the Kleenex box.
            -- Over the weekend, the “spark,” as Dr. DeJong calls it, had gone from her eyes, except when she thought she might get a treat. She never lost her desire for a treat – not even at the end as she lay on the table at Vet Stop, Dr. Vladi DeJong’s office. She’d been tranquilized so she wouldn’t feel panicky at the end and Martha and I each gave her treats which she took with enthusiasm until the tranquilizer made her too drowsy to chew. Then, she put her head down and we petted her and our wonderful veterinarian gently found a vein and administered the fluid that would end her suffering. Swiftly. Mercifully. Just, by God, indeed, mercifully.
            As Martha was petting Baby Jane’s head and talking to her, I was petting her shoulders and side and I rubbed her big ol’ pointy nose with my hand so she’d know I was there.  It was wretchedly difficult. Martha and I both grabbed the Kleenex.
            This wasn’t our first farewell. Dr. DeJong has cured our animals and he has helped us with those that can’t be cured. He knows how we are. We know how caring he is.
            He knows the depth of connections between people and their animal friends.
            As he put his stethoscope to Baby Jane’s chest and softly said, “She’s gone.” Martha looked up and, mindful of the way this gallant dog had lived her life, said, “That was a great heart that just stopped.”
            The perfect summation for a wonderful dog.
            We humans can talk and write the words. Our dog Annie, a 7-year-old heeler mix who had never known life without Baby Jane, was able to demonstrate the loss.
             Usually when I work at my computer, Baby Jane Doe curls up against the front door and enjoys the cool entranceway tile. Annie will find a chair or flop in the hall.
            Today, Annie would sit on the hallway threshold and look at that front door for a few minutes, then get up and walk to Jane’s spot, nose around and lay down. A few restless minutes later she would get up and return to her spot at the threshold, sit down and watch the door.
            Later in the afternoon, I looked around and Annie was curled up asleep on the threshold but with her nose pointing toward the door, as if she were expecting to see her old friend come home.
            I told Martha about this and, at that moment, I wished we’d kept a couple of those tissues from the vet’s office.
            When we’d go away from home for an afternoon or just a few minutes, Baby Jane Doe would go to her favorite spot at the door and nod off.
            In later years, as we tried to open the door to come in, she’d lay there waiting to be coaxed out of the way or waiting for us to gently push the door and slide her across the tile.
            From now on it’s going to be easier to come home – it just won’t be the same.
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Shelby, an inspirational friend...

Deanna Hanson of Weatherford and her husband, Jim, are regular tipsters to Readlarrypowell.com and they have such soft hearts, especially for animals who might have "special needs." When you read this tribute to their girl Shelby, you’ll see.
As Deanna explained when this arrived earlier this week, “It took me a while to get to where I could write her story.” That is a tribute in itself.
Here is that story:
“A few months ago Shelby started having swelling .Her vet said she had a tumor on her spleen. Because Shel was about 16 and had epilepsy her vet did not think she could survive surgery. So we brought Shelby home and tried our best to give her anything she wanted.
Shelby went to Heaven April 13, 2011. Here are our memories of her life with us.
“We adopted Shelby Lynn from Pet Rescue Society in the Ridgmar PetsMart when she was a young dog. She and her siblings had been rescued from under an abandoned trailer. We nicknamed her Barbie because she was beautiful. She loved kids and they loved her. She was the second dog we adopted and her best friend was our cocker spaniel Valentine.
“When Shelby turned 5 she began to have epileptic seizures and severe allergy problems. The vet got the seizures under control with pheno and she lived a long and happy life. The vet also finally suggested we move to the country and sure enough Shel's allergy problems went away. She is the reason we adopted so many other special needs dogs. She taught us they can do fine if given a chance.
“We cannot even find words to express how much we miss her. She watched over us and
kept us safe.”
This loving tribute to an inspirational dog is signed “The Hanson Family.”
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When journeys end...

We have this Prayers & Passages page at Readlarrypowell.com for a couple of reasons.
One is to honor beloved companions who have gone on for one reason or another. Now and then, it is, quite simply, time. Mercy has a special place in the pantheon of prayers.
Another reason is to give comfort to people who have encountered a staggering, perhaps sudden and completely unexpected twist of fate.
In this edition, we hope to offer comfort to some of those people by reminding them of the ways of dogs and cats and the risks that are taken in rescue every day.
People outside the arena think rescue is easy. Just get the dog and find it a home. Take the “free kittens” and hand them over to a rescue group.
There is one immense, sometimes insurmountable variable to animals – they will do what they want to do when they want to do it. They take advantage of situations. They change directions. They change behavior.  Yes, they are nearly human.
Except that they need human help to survive in the world. Humans try. Animals are sly. Sometimes the mix proves fatal.
When that happens, the sadness is overwhelming. People who dealt with the animals – people whose hearts are forever affected by these animals – find themselves suffering a new discomfort, a deeper pain, a frustration that will live on because an animal slipped through an open door, figured a way out of a yard, jumped from loving arms at the wrong time and fled into uncertainty.
That uncertainty is rough on the humans. Certainty can be devastating.
In the past couple of weeks, we have, on our Readlarrypowell.com news site, written about two animals that vanished in northern areas of Dallas.
Jill, an older cat, managed to slip away from a veteran rescuer by discovering an “exit” from an exercise pen. Farley, a rescued Aussie, bolted through an open garage door and raced away into an unfamiliar neighborhood.
The people who were working with these two rescued animals have been reeling all weekend after their worst fears were confirmed.
Jill the Cat “is now at peace,” her guardian has told us – she is so shaken she cannot go into the details. And Farley, a victim of Dallas’ traffic, is one of the rescued dogs who took advantage of openings and used his great canine tendencies to get into a fatal situation. His guardian’s world has been rocked by shame, guilt and deep sadness.
The people involved in these cases don’t know each other.  But they do know each other’s despair.
The comfort we offer is that many a rescuer’s heart will recall how these two people feel – not every rescuer has a perfect record of saving animals. There are those who got away. There are those you saw on a freeway and by the time you made an exit-ramp u-turn in rush hour, it was too late. There are those you find in such agony that they die before you can help them. And there are those you saw in a city shelter and you could not help them because of the sheer overwhelming numbers.
The people who worked with Jill and Farley are in pain. It will disappear, but it won’t go away. They can expect to see it again – another cat may spark a memory of Jill, another Aussie may bring Harley racing to the front of the mind.
There is a common goal in rescue – philosophies may be different, but the common goal is to be kind to animals. Sometimes we need to be kind to humans, too. There is terrific pain in a broken heart.
The story is simple: Farley and Jill – a dog and a cat –  take separate paths and arrive at the same destination. Unlike many animals who never get the blessing of rescue, Jill and Farley encountered love on their journeys. The people who tried to help them should remember that.
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