Big Paws Only Dog Forums

We will be praying for you here too.

does that work on people too. moskitoes here think I'm a buffet(sp?)

Rachel - they do growup fast, Anna will be 2 tomarrow

I know that Rebel was just a beagle but he always thought he was a big Saint Bernard, The only 25lb dog I knew that could takeup half a king size bed. Rebel past away in june due to cancer. When the vet told me that was what was wrong with him they gave him 4 to 8 weeks, that was on a monday, that friday he was ready to go. It took him fast. Today is Rebel's birthday and he would have been 10 years old. I had he sense he was 8 weeks old and he was my best friend. Here are a few of the last pictures we took of him. I miss him very much and he will always be in my heart. One day Rebel we will be togather again old man.

Sense I haven't been on here for almost 5 months I thought I would post some new pictures.

You might want to check out petfinder too, there are several purebred saint puppies that need a good home. That's how we got molly was from a Saint Bernard Rescue.

How Could You?

A man in Grand Rapids, Michigan took out a $7000 full page ad in the paper to present the
following essay to the people of our community. It  really  touched my heart and I hope it will yours
too.

HOW COULD YOU?
By Jim Willis 2001

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your
child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of  murdered throw pillows, I became
your best friend. Whenever I was"bad,"  you'd  shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?"
-- but then you'd relent,  and  roll me over for a bellyrub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were  terribly busy, but we
worked on that together. I remember those nights  of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your
confidences and secret  dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went
for  long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got  the  cone because
"ice cream is bad for dogs," you  said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come
home at  the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and  more time searching
for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted  you  through heartbreaks and
disappointment s, never chided  you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your
homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I 
welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and  obeyed her. I was happy because
you were happy.  Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was 
fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother  them, too. Only she and
you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent  most of  my time banished to another room, or to
a dog crate. Oh,  how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and  pulled themselves up on
wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes,  investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I
loved everything  about  them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent --
and I  would  have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds  and  listen
to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the  sound  of your car in the
driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you  produced a photo of
me from your wallet and told them stories about me.  These past few years, you just answered
"yes" and changed the subject. I  had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you
resented every  expenditure  on my behalf.  Now, you have a new career opportunity in another
city, and you and they  will be  moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the
right  decision  for your "family," but there was a time when I  was your only family. I was excited
about the car ride until we arrived at  the  animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of
hopelessness.  You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home  for her."
They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the  realities facing a middle-aged
dog, even one with "papers."  You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he
screamed  "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and  what
lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about  love  and responsibility, and
about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat  on the head, avoided my eyes, and
politely refused to take my collar and  leash  with you. You had a deadline to  meet and now I
have one, too.

After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your  upcoming move months
ago and made no attempt to find me another good  home.  They shook their heads and asked
"How could you?"  They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules  allow.
They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At  first, whenever anyone passed my
pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was  you  that you had changed your mind -- that this was all
a bad dream ... or I  hoped  it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.
When I  realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy  puppies,  oblivious
to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. 

I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I  padded along the aisle
after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet  room.  She placed me on the table and rubbed my
ears, and told me not to worry. My  heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there
was also a  sense of  relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was 
more  concerned about her.  The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that,
the  same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my  foreleg as a
tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I  used  to comfort you so many years
ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle  into  my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid
coursing through my body,  I  lay down sleepily, looked into her  kind eyes and murmured "How
could you?" Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She 
hugged  me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better  place, where I
wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend  for  myself -- a place of love and
light so  very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I  tried  to convey to
her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not  directed at her. It was you, My
Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will  think of you and wait for you forever.

May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.  The End

A note from the author: If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to
 mine  as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of  formerly owned pets
who die each year in American and  Canadian animal shelters. Anyone is welcome to distribute
the essay for a  noncommercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the  copyright 
notice. Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on  animal
shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the  decision to add a pet to
the family is an important one for life, that  animals  deserve our love and sensible
care, that finding another appropriate home  for  your animal is your responsibility and
any local humane society or animal  welfare league can offer you good advice, and  that
all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and  encourage all spay &
neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted  animals.