Memorials
We always miss the canines that we have helped mend or care for and ultimately place in a loving permanent home environment. We feel that those are success and we wanted to share them. However, rescue is not without it's sadness. The inability to squeeze another canine in when it is life or death situation, the inability to find a home for a senior or special needs canine, and last but not least is when a beloved animal crosses the bridge.
If you have loved and lost any fur-child our hearts our with you.
Click the name of the doberman below to view their memorial.
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Tommy
Tommy Cook The Doberman
I have faltered on Tommy's story long enough.
Tom had to leave me and my earth-life on March 8, 2010. It wasn't that Tom wanted to leave, nor that I wished him gone. No, it was much more than that, but I'm getting ahead of myself. First, you deserve to know about Tommy where he came from, why he was like he was, and why he enriched my life. There's no way I sit here, typing away, without tears running down my face. As are all our furkids, Tommy was extra-special in his own way. My heart broke apart, and fell to pieces when he left as it always does when I lose a furchild. Some leave bigger paw prints on our hearts though . Just as Henry did when he left.
Tommy was a rescue when he came to me, along with his little girl friend, Sara. He and Sara were picked up on the streets of Spartanburg, SC as strays. Both were Dobermans, and they came to me together. It was soon apparent they were a pair, as Tom watched after Sara like her big brother. Tom's pattern each night before he went to bed (in the house of course, as do all the other Dobes) was to go to Sara's crate and make sure she was alright. After checking and reassuring himself everything was right with the world, Tom would trot off to his bed and go to sleep.
Tom and Sara hadn't been with me too many weeks when Sara found her furever home. The family who adopted her had to understand the adoption would not be complete unless Tom was fine with being on his own (so to speak, with Sara elsewhere), and being alright with Sara's new home. Apparently Tom was absolutely fine with both, as he and I visited Sara a couple of weeks after she went to her new home, and Tom greeted her warmly, then went off to explore for himself. They said their goodbye's as we left, and neither were anxious or upset. Tom had given his approval.
Tommy had one shot at being adopted, but it didn't work out at all. See, shortly after Tom came to me, I had to have his docked tail repaired, and that whole process traumatized him to the point he trusted only me to handle him. I could see his point, yet I wished he'd accept other people as well. Grudgingly, he considered my ex, Bill, only if Bill and Tom were in the house. (Bill and I remain friends) Tom had an ingrained fear of being hurt again as he was when his tail was repaired. Very slowly, I gained Tom's trust in showing him the difference between my handling him in the "accepted manner" he liked, and handling him in the manner NEEDED if there was another "owie" that had to be attended. Over time, Tom came to trust me almost completely. I say "almost completely" for a reason ..
On one occurrence, Tom had hurt his foot, requiring some salve and a bandage. Without thinking I simply took his foot, slathered some salve on it, and wrapped it up. He and I were in a hurry to get to town to finish an errand, so off we went. As the errand was finished, getting back in the car I saw that Tom had chewed on his bandage to the point of it needing to be replaced, so I picked up his foot for a closer look (where IS the Bitter Apple when you need it??). He said nothing. I closed the car door, got in the car and drove home. Arriving home, I got out to close the gate, and started to get back in the car Tom (who always rode "shotgun") met me at MY door and growled threateningly. Frankly, he surprised me, and I was almost instantly ticked off with him. It took about 5 minutes for him to "allow me" to get in the car and move it up to the house, where we both got out and went inside. His growling at me got me pretty rattled, and I called my Spiritual Sister, explaining to her what'd happened. I told her I was afraid I might have to put Tom down if this kept up, but it WAS the first time he'd really shown his teeth to me. She asked that I give it some time, and let her connect with Tom to see what was going on in his head. She can do this in situations I cannot she can get into their head, while I have to just watch their outward actions and reactions. Within a couple of days my Sister explained the anxiety in Tom over him thinking I was going to grab his foot again, without hesitation, as I had in the car. It was at that point it became crystal clear I had to change my perception of a situation with Tommy, and explain to him what I was going to do, then move slowly so he could watch what (exactly) was happening. From that time on until the day he left we had no issues with confrontations.
Tommy watched over me fiercely, and each day he was with me. I had 5 years, 9 months and 8 days with Tom in total. He listened attentively to me as I stood at the stove, cooking spaghetti, and explaining my day and some of the crazy things that happened. Tom would sit looking me straight in the eye, ears up, tongue hanging over his lower teeth, cocking his head as if he completely understood what had gone on, and how it all figured into our canine/human family. He was amazing.
On occasion, I'd take Tom to town with me to do errands and he would get to "guard" the car. I really felt badly a couple of times when an unknowing, innocent human would venture too close to my parked car, and Tom would explain to them LOUDLY how it was HIS car and NO ONE was going to mess with it! For a few weeks out of some years when the weather was absolutely right, Tom would go to work with me, and then opt to stay in the car to guard it. I usually remembered to park away from everyone else, and to warn my co-workers that Tom had come to work. I offered to let Tom come in the office a few times, but he was not interested he stayed in the car, contentedly taking care no stranger drove off with it, and him!
At lunchtime, Tom and I would go home where he could exercise a bit, get a drink of water, then back to the car he'd go. One would think he would quickly get bored staying in the car for up to 4 hours at a time, and opt to stay home where his brothers and sisters were company. Nope. Not a bit. If I DIDN'T allow Tom to come back with me after lunch, he'd pitch a fit he'd run the fence as I left, barking and trying to get my undivided attention. I felt badly, but some days it was just too warm, or too cold for him to remain comfortable. Tom didn't see it that way. And he was vocal about it.
In mid-December of 2008 I found a lump under Tom's jaw. Palpating it, my heart fell. The lump was firmly attached to muscle underneath, so I feared the worst; a few days later those fears were confirmed.
The options given for Tom included a lot of misery for him, as well as not giving him any real extended time. I saw no sense in putting him through the chemo and radiation treatments, as it really didn't add to his life on this earth. Instead, on my vet's advice, I opted to simply treat Tom's illness with prednisone alone. At least that way I could help him control the symptoms, as well as help him feel a bit better when the disease was taking its toll. Over the next months that treatment worked for us both, and bought us time together it gave me time to "get ready" for Tommy's leaving my side. When Tom showed he felt "yucky," I raised his pred dosage. As he showed he felt pretty good, I'd slack off the dosage a little, as prednisone isn't something you want to put in an animal's system unless absolutely necessary. Between Tommy and me, we made the best of a horrible situation. Anytime I could take Tom with me to town, he went. He rode shotgun. He "guarded" the car. He spoke his peace with strangers.
I fed him pretty much whatever he wanted, and of course he gained weight terribly. As his weight rose, he slowed down. More lumps appeared all over his body, just as the vet said would happen. To the best of my knowledge, Tom was never in any pain. I could not have allowed that!
March 8th, 2010 the day came when I could no longer let Tom remain with me. Even with all the extra time he and I had together, this day was awfully tough. Tommy had come to the point where he could hardly swallow anything except water. The night before, he struggled to get his head in the right position so his throat would remain open enough for him to breathe. A nightmarish thought kept crossing my mind, wherein I would return home from work, finding Tom had suffocated because his throat finally closed up on its own! I could NOT LET HIM SUFFER!
To the bitter end, Tom was NOT READY TO GO! He made that perfectly clear to me, the vet, and the technician. Tom bared his teeth and offered to bite me, and everyone else around. I finally RELUCTANTLY had to muzzle him for our safety. The last glare he gave me broke my heart, but I couldn't do otherwise. Tom did not want to go, because he trusted no one else (humans or Dobermans) to "take proper care of me." It was only after Tom had been at the Bridge for a few days he saw I was being watched carefully, lovingly, and almost up to his own standards. I say "almost," as there IS no other Tommy there never will be. Tommy is on the other side now.
I talk to Tommy frequently always reassuring him I'm fine, and that the others are doing their best to "keep me safe." He knows he did a remarkable job of caring for me, and that I miss him terribly. Tom also knows the day when I will be by his side again, and we will greet all the others, and then cross The Rainbow Bridge together, continuing on our journey so filled with perfect love.