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Brandy

The following is written with the deepest gratitude to Brandy, a rescue Weimie that I recently lost to cancer, after being blessed by her presence for almost 2 years:

It never ceases to amaze me how so many of the heartfelt joys that we find with each pet is truly unique to that pet. So I suppose t

hat it shouldn’t surprise me that the heart rending sorrow that we feel at the loss of each pet is also so very unique.

In background, Brandy had come into rescue as an unknown, a Weimaraner left running unattended in a bird dog training field. She was a beautiful specimen of what this breed was originally meant to be – 60#s, compact, well muscled, strong joints…and had obviously been used heavily for breeding. She had multiple mammary tumors that, tragically, had not been removed while small. They were found to be malignant, and 9 months after surgery to remove the masses, we found that the cancer had metastasized to her lungs. With excellent care, a noble spirit, and lots of luck, Brandy was able to live an entirely asymptomatic additional 13 months before the cancer simply went crazy. I euthanized her this past Wednesday.

(Parenthetically, for heaven’s sake, if you are going to need to give up a pet because of a medical condition, that’s unfortunate but it happens. It does not necessarily reflect on your love for your pet. But please don’t delay – talk to your vet about it, talk to the shelters - any time lost can often make the difference between a full recovery and an early death.)

But to move back on point (like a good Weim J), every dog is truly and absolutely the ‘best dog’ – but Brandy was hands down the ‘goodest’ dog that I have ever owned. Her one ‘problem behavior’ was that, right after adoption, she wanted to snuggle too much. I’m serious! (I always imagined that her former owner was a good old boy who would wrap her up in burley arms and pull all 60#s of her onto his lap – despite the lack of medical care, and even several birdshot in her, it was always obvious that Brandy had felt loved in her previous home.) In the 48 hours when it became apparent that I was losing her, I tried to turn back the clock on discouraging her ‘over-snuggling’. (I’m not exactly proud to admit that, during euthanasia, I held her so tightly that I am pretty sure I slobbered on her head. I should probably ask her forgiveness for such an indignity, as even at her pushiest, she had never slobbered on me J)

Which brings me full circle back to the simple fact that, with every loss, some aspects of grief are so very unique to that pet alone. Among the jillion things that I’ll always miss about Brandy, perhaps the most profound is simply that…we shared a secret. Ever since I learned that Brandy had something inside of her that was simply, inevitably, going to kill her (unless she was hit by a car first), I had a partner in a shared secret, as due to a commercial plane crash, I also have some damage inside of me that is simply, inevitably, going to kill me (unless I am hit by a car first).

As any of you know who are ‘living like you’re dying’, contrary to the popular song, it isn’t an entirely peachy way to live. There is a certain loneliness about it, as especially if the condition isn’t (thankfully) in an acute stage, it makes a whole lot more sense to focus on the blessings of life than to constantly be in the midst of an ‘organ recital’. There is always the gratitude for another good month, another good year, even (for me) another good decade. Yet there is always, in the back of your mind, an awareness of the guillotine hanging over your head – when is the blade gonna fall?

Trust a good dog to be better at this than we humans! With Brandy trotting alongside me, active and happy even while harboring an active terminal cancer, it was simply easier to remain light-hearted and in the moment myself. I know that neither Brandy nor I are unique in this circumstance. But I will greatly miss that sense of walking in step with another sentient being on the same existential journey.

Before closing this testimonial, I want to also add a thumbs up to the experience of adopting an older animal. To anyone who has adopted a middle aged or older dog, you already know just how fulfilling that relationship can be. And if you have not, please consider the benefits of doing so. Sure, they leave us all too soon – but really, isn’t that the case even if you’ve had your dog since a pup? The sense of briefness is the same, and the sadness is the same, whether we have been blessed with their company for 2 years or 10. (And to be honest, missing out on the ‘joys of puppyhood’ can become a great motivator in itself J)

In conclusion, everyone deserves a song of their own! So I offer the following song for Brandy - sung to the tune of The Ballad of Davey Crockett. (Now that’s a test of your age! And yep, I admit that Brandy’s song does reflect some of my frustration towards owners who breed their pets without regard to their health.)

Brandy, Brandi-licious,

Dog of the wild frontier!

Brandy was a good ol’ dog from Tennessee

Raised by some country boys a’ lookin’ fer a fee.

They thunk’d to themselves, ‘Our dog is so purdy’,

And so she’d had a million pups before she’s even three!

Brandy, Brandi-licious,

Dog of the wild frontier!

Thank you, my dear, sweet Brandy.

07/DD/YYYY Categories: 2014

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Morgan (August 8, 2013)

8-August 2013

Morgan,

From the day your sky-blue eyes skeptically locked with mine- me sitting on the floor after being ravaged by the mountain, you cautiously sniffing, then flopping those velvety soft ears into my lap, it was love at first sight. I often joked “you had me at hello” from that day forward about our first encounter. It was a special bond- you and I-unlike any I’d ever known. Climbing fourteeners, upsetting the downstairs neighbors, DP nights, “chase-skiing,” carpet shredding, poaching butter braids off the counter, frolicking in fields of wildflowers, hunting “wabbits,” and spending countless hours in the mountains exploring- oh, and we can’t forget our “thinkin’ spot!”

Whatever the world threw at us, good and bad, we tackled it together and we beat it BECAUSE we were together. It’s really difficult to articulate just HOW much you mean to me... but a friend shared with me the following words:

“In every relationship with a dog, there is a turning point where that dog becomes something more than just a companion, more than just a dog. At some point in every great relationship with a dog, there is a moment where they become, in whatever small way, a part of your soul. Where you are no longer just you. Where at least a part of you—however small—is defined simply by the fact that they were present in your life for some fixed period of time. This is the point where you are forced to say, “I would not be the person I am without them.” In return, the dog completely defines itself by its owner.”

That is as close as I can get to sharing it with the the world lil man..

You were as much a part of my soul, as I hope I was in yours. We made a deal from day one- and lived life boundlessly- with few regrets.

Then one ordinary day- the vet threw out the word “cancer.” I knew what it meant, you didn’t, but the look you shot at me showed me that you knew that together, we could handle it. We had the surgery, we had the shots, and you were back to your old self, bouncing out of bed each day, meeting me at the door with eyes eager for our next adventure. It was a miracle. My Morgan, was back.

Then a few weeks ago, something changed... You were tired, would rather lay in my lap than go chasing after it, and as time wore on, the disease returned, ravaging your poor little body, until you weren’t able to walk, much less run, without a significant effort. All the while, you looked at me w/those warm amber eyes, “Pop- I got this.. We can get through this together.”

Yesterday those beautiful eyes which I took in the warmth of, told a different story, they asked for help. They said you were tired. They asked me to uphold my end of the bargain. They reminded me that there was a price for all the good times.. for the countless “welcome homes” and “don’t sweat it Pop, we’ll get through this.”

Today, baby boy... as I carried you from the car into the vet’s office, trying to give you a “we’ve got this” look through my not so well hidden tears.. I tried to be strong. To give you the peace you have given me countless times before.

Morgan, my life wouldn’t be a fraction of what it is now without you in it. Though our adventures ended today- with you, goes a part of my soul. I had no right to expect what you gave me over the last 12 years- but am so very thankful that the fates saw to it that we would spend them together..

Rest in Peace my lil’ buddy- you’ll always be MY Captain.

I'll love you always,

BC

05/DD/YYYY Categories: 2013

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Charlie - 2013

When we met for her for the first time we were picking her up from a shelter in Dodge City KS, 6 months old and terrified of the world. Our first rescue dog(thank you Penny for taking a chance on us!) this little sweetheart taught us so much. The first 2 years were a little rough while we helped her cope with her separation anxiety, however the next 14 years were smooth sailing. She never did any of the other naughty things that silly weims do like counter surfing or running away when the gate opens.......she was our angel.

Charlie survived her sister Chloe(her soul mate) and her brother Hunter, she grew old so gracefully, even taking lung cancer in stride. We said goodbye to our sweet girl 2 months shy of her 16th birthday. We will always love her and be thankful for the love and joy she brought to our lives.

With Love,
The Sagliani Family

07/DD/YYYY Categories: 2013

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A Loving Farewell to Baron Von Shotzee, III

Baron Von Shotzee, III was a big boy of 93 pounds when we fostered him in July 2009. We had recently lost our Aussie, Mocha, and our Chancy girl was extremely lonely. We intended to foster Baron until his forever family came along, as we were not yet emotionally ready to adopt another dog. On August 21, however, we realized we could not let him go and we became his forever family.

We got all of Baron’s records, as well as a “tell” sheet about his habits, likes, and dislikes, but we found out his quirks for ourselves. We started taking him to the doggie park on a daily basis to chase the ball and Frisbee, which he loved. He decided to claim the Frisbee as “his” and he didn’t want to share it or give it back. He would drop the Frisbee only long enough to pick up the ball, and then pick up the Frisbee too. When we tried using a second Frisbee as a decoy, he claimed both of them and the ball. He eventually leaned to share ONE of his Frisbees. We thought he didn’t like water, but found out that wasn’t true when he went happy crazy at the doggie pool at CRCG. He howled like a banshee when it was time to go home. Within 8 months, our Baron boy was a healthy, svelte 70-pound Weim, with a distinguishable waist and a lot of muscle.

Baron had very deep “Old Soul” eyes. They were a “tell” that he had been through a lot, even though he was only 4 years old. He was the most calm, empathetic dog we had ever shared our lives with. Even our pushy, assertive, female could not sway him, or make him loose his temper. Only when we adopted our 4-month old pup, Ace, did Baron’s steady calm give way to a warning growl now and then.

Along about December 2012, we started noticing little things. One eye pupil would not constrict completely and was dilated most of the time; he started slowing down and would not chase the Frisbee as long or hard. Gradually, he would not chase the Frisbee at all; his toes started knocking into the front of the stairs. As his symptoms slowly progressed without resolution, our Veterinarian suggested a neurologist was in order. After finally getting him scheduled and seen in a preliminary exam, we then made arrangements for an MRI at the James L. Voss Veterinary Teaching Hospital in Fort Collins. Before we could get Baron to his test, he had a severe seizure.

With hearts breaking, we said good-byes to our handsome Bear Bear on June 10, 2013. He is survived by his forever parents, his 11-year old sister, and his 2-year old brother. We only had 4 years with Baron, but he captured our hearts and filled them to overflowing. He was always there to put a head on a lap when we were sick and lean into our knees when we came home from work. We loved him dearly, and will miss him always.

06/DD/YYYY Categories: 2013

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Cash - 2013

My husband, Patrick, and I adopted a pair of littermates, Cash and Levi, from your rescue in November of 2009.

Carolyn, thanks again to you and your husband for delivering our babies to us in Colorado Springs.

It is with a heavy heart that I write to inform you that Patrick and I had to say goodbye to our buddy, Cash yesterday. I wanted to let you know in case there is any way you can pass the word along to his original owners. I believe he was fostered by the previous owner's parents, if I'm not mistaken. Please let them know that we did everything we could to keep Cash with us and with the greatest quality of life possible. Levi still alive and well. I would want to know if I were in their situation. I'm sure it was a difficult decision to give up their fur kids.

Cash came with us already with hip dysplasia. He was, generally speaking, an "orthopedic" dog. At the recommendation of his Colorado Springs vet, we fed Cash a prescription dog food, Joint Diet (or J/D). In July of 2012, Cash showed signs of difficulty using his front legs by "knuckling" every once in a while. X-rays revealed he had two vertebrae near his shoulders that were very close together, so we treated him with medication (pain killer, anti-inflammatory, and muscle relaxer) and cage rest. This improved his walking ability after about 4 weeks of treatment. During this time, Patrick and I relocated to Manhattan, Kansas in August 2012

During the first week in March 2013, Cash started showing signs of knuckling again with the added fact that his neck's range of motions was significantly reduced. His walk was more of a stagger. Recognizing the signs, we immediately brought him to the K-State vet school for an evaluation. We first tried to treat him with a similar concoction of medications that you prescribed for him in July. After a week, he was still in great pain, and experiencing difficulty moving the forward parts of his body. A myelogram showed that Cash had two cervical disk protrusions of his C5-C6 and C6-C7 vertebrae. The location and severity called for the very invasive dorsal laminectomy procedure. If you Google this surgery, you'll see how complicated it is. Thank goodness we live so close to the vet school. People bring their pets from all over the state to have their pets treated. Our choices were surgery or euthanasia. Even the heavy doses of medications weren't enough to keep him comfortable, and he was rather out of it when he was on the pain killers. I took him to the only AAHA certified vet in town for a second opinion and consulted with a friend from college who is a veterinarian before Patrick and I made the difficult decision to give Cash a chance and opt for surgery. We did this knowing that the surgery could result in paralysis or paresis.

Cash went down after the surgery, and we went through 8 weeks of visiting him in the hospital on week days and bringing him home to care for him ourselves on the weekends (usually Thursday-Sunday). We built up our strength expressing his bladder for him, working his passive range of motion, regular rotations to prevent bed sores, hoisting him into the slinged cart that the school let us borrow, and doing weight bearing exercises on a peanut-shaped yoga ball. He never slept through the night completely, so on the weekends Patrick and I would take turns sleeping on the couch (or floor) with him to keep him feeling safe and to rotate him when he got uncomfortable. I can't imagine how insecure Cash must have felt when he woke up from surgery unable to use his limbs. At first he couldn't even lift his head, but with lots of work--and peanut butter--he built up the muscles in his neck. Unfortunately, his front and hind legs quickly atrophied, and we were not able to rebuild the neurological connections to get him back up on his paws again. He had feeling in his paws, but couldn't flex his muscles to demonstrate a healthy reaction to the neurological tests. He could wag his nubby tail and could slightly move his left paw when we would ask him to "shake." Those were encouraging developments, but he had plateaued since those milestones over the last three weeks of his life.

After a consultation with the veterinarian overseeing his case, she told us what we really needed to hear...that it was ok to let him go. We had been prepared to do this but weren't sure if we had done enough or given Cash the time his body needed to recover. His quality of life had greatly declined. Weims want to be out stalking squirrels and birds, not cooped up inside laying down all day. Cash had three fourth-year vet students care for him during the course of his stay at the hospital. They were all phenomenal! Never once did we feel as though Cash was a burden on them. To show our appreciation we would always buy a box of donuts from the fancy donut shop in town for each girl and her rotation-mates. It was certainly a team effort to take care of Cash. He became a bit of a celebrity at the hospital, right up through the receptionists. Everyone loved him and was pulling for him. With the exception of two or three days, we visited Cash in the hospital every day he wasn't home with us. The vet students were so patient and professional about accommodating our schedules and keeping us updated on his treatments and progress.

Cash had a couple of stumbles along the way. Two weeks after the surgery, his anxiety caused him to lick himself a pretty nasty wound in his left bicep area that became quite infected. Packing it with sugar cleaned out the bacteria and a few staples later, he was good to go. Within the last 10 days, Cash developed some sores on the right side of his body, but we are not sure what caused them. They were not near pressure points, so we couldn't attribute them to bed sores. Maybe he picked up something in the ward at the hospital?

Through all of this, Cash's veterinarian reported that he was a great patient. His temperament was sweet throughout the entire process. And that is what we will miss most about him. His unconditional love and affection. Maybe Levi, a more obedient dog than Cash, will soften a little, but we know she will never be Cash, nor do we want her to be. She was great through this journey as well, although I do not think she understood very much. We feel guilty that she did not receive as much attention when Cash was home with us on weekends, but she will be the center of attention from now on. We will make it up to her.

We fulfilled a bucket list of things during our last 24 hours with Cash. He got steak with his dinner and breakfast. We spent a few hours at the local city park under a shady tree enjoying extra dog treats as well as the breeze before it got too warm and the flies started to annoy Cash. Patrick tossed him popcorn to catch in his mouth--a favorite past time of Cash's--while I held him upright. The best part of Cash's last day were the car rides. Patrick and I took turns holding him in our laps so he could stick his head out the window and let his velvety ears flap in the wind. It was the happiest he had been in a very long time. (Since he couldn't keep himself upright, he was always laying down in the back of our cars whenever we transported him.) Cash's passing was surreal yet peaceful. In true Cash fashion he made saying goodbye as easy as it could be on us in his final moments. We decided to donate his body to the school for research and for practice for the vet students. His way of helping the next generation of K-9 pets in need.

I've included a few pictures of Cash in his slinged full support cart, a Radio Flyer wagon (best Craig's List purchase ever) in which we would pull him around the neighborhood on our walks (he got lots of attention and encouragement from curious passersby), on his therapy ball, and in his glory hanging out the car window.

Thank you so much for all you do to ensure the homes you send your Weims to are filled with love and support. Your organization facilitated the creation of so much joy in our home. We will miss Cash greatly. Again, if at all possible, please ensure this message makes it to Cash's previous owners. They may want to say a prayer for their buddy, Johnny Cash.

Warm regards,

Jessica (formerly Hewitt) and Patrick Dwyer

06/DD/YYYY Categories: 2013

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Shyanne

Shyanne I have been owned by two other weims - one of which I'm happy to say is still with me. While I have and do love them all, Shyanne was by far the sweetest and most gracious dog I think I will ever meet. When I adopted her, she had been in foster care for a year after being given up by her original family. Despite the hardship and confusion I know she must have felt without a home for so long, she gave me her heart right away, and became my constant companion.

I miss her dearly but know that she is out of her pain now, and hope to see her across the Rainbow Bridge.

Maybe this will help people know that adopting a senior weim is well worth it. I loved her so much and will never regret adopting her. Thanks for introducing us.

~The Farnsworth Family~

12/DD/YYYY Categories: 2012

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JC

JC, We miss you every single minute. You were our silver baby that continually needed our love and companionship. When we first fostered you, we could tell that you had been through a lot in the past couple of years. You were a little scraggly and your poor ears were infected. This slowly improved with love and a better diet. Thank you for providing Jorge with friendship, wisdom, and unconditional love. Though he didn’t always show it, Jorge genuinely loved you too.

We hope that we provided you with a second chance at life that you dreamt about in the kennel. Our words cannot express how much you mean to us and how much you will be missed. No more pain, just fluffy cloud blankets to suck on.

~Love You, Karra, Lasse, and Jorge ~

12/DD/YYYY Categories: 2012

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Jager

Jager Nearly 15 years ago, we adopted our first Weimeraner from the Denver Dumb Friends League and quickly fell in love with the breed. This particular dog's name was Jake and he passed away in February of 2008. Jake lived to be 15 years old and in his last few days, I sat on his pillow with him late in January 2008 and stumbled across the Mile High Weimaraner Rescue page. I literally filled out the application and forgot about it for months while tending to our surviving Dalmation, Zoe. We received Jake's ashes in mid February and they sat on our mantel until spring, so we could bury him in rock garden to his tribute.

Strangely enough on a spring day in May, we buried Jake's ashes, planted some flowers, and put a memorial plaque that said "Jake's Rock Garden". Just as I began to water the garden, Darci called me from Colorado Springs and said that she had a Weimer that needed a home. A soldier was ready to be deployed to Iraq, and his wife was about to have a baby. It was a late Sunday afternoon, and I told Darci that we couldn't drive all the way down to Colorado Springs to pick him up. She told us not to worry, as she would deliver him with the appropriate paperwork.

Later that day, she arrived with Jager. When he arrived, our Dalmation did a "triple take" wondering if Jake had somehow returned. She went up to Jager and licked his forehead and that made if official - that this was his new home in May of 2008.

Since then, he has had his fair share of being spoiled. We have a VW van and he truly thought it was HIS van, he just let us drive it. He has been all over this state. And next month would have been his 9th birthday.

Unfortunately, he wasn't himself over the past few months and an MRI this past weekend revealed that he had a brain tumor. He came out of the anesthesia, and made it home the regular guy that he was. The next day, secondary complications occurred and Jager (a.k.a. Weimer) left this Earth this morning. A sad morning indeed. But the ratio of happiness that he brought us to the sad moments was 1 trillion to one.

Thank you Darci and the MHWR for bringing Weimer into our lives. Personally, my life is so much better when there's a Weimaraner around.

~The Gansmann and Pyle Family ~

12/DD/YYYY Categories: 2012

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Paigemaster Colorado Starlight Miller: 11/17/97 - 02/21/12

Paige For my sweet girl. We adopted Paige with Darci’s help in January of 2005. She began life as a show-girl (hence the name) and had two owners prior to coming to live with us. She was 7 and was perfect in every quirky weim way. She had us trained in no time. Paige gave us seven wonderful years, was such an important part of our family and was loved more than I can express. She was our constant companion. Now she is missed everyday. Returning home from work, instead of the familiar jingle of her tags, there exists only hollow silence. Her departure has left a weimaraner sized hole in my heart. I can only hope that we gave her half as much as she gave us.

~The Miller Family ~

12/DD/YYYY Categories: 2012

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Maddie Jo

Maddie It is with a heavy heart that I am writing to tell you that we lost Maddie Jo this last Thurs. She was an absolute love the whole 4 1/2 years we had her. Even with all her medical problems, she was a trooper. She and I worked very, very hard to help her with the loss of control of her back legs, but things just got worse all of a sudden, and we made the decision to give her the rest she so rightly deserved. Shandi K. misses her, and is so very lost without her. The were so close -- like 'me and my shadow'. We know that things will get easier as the days go by, but right now we are hurting terribly at our loss of a girl that absolutely took our hearts and ran with them. She was a special little girl and one that we will carry in our hearts forever. We are so very happy that we were blessed the day you brought her to us. She needed us, and we needed her just as much.
Below is a picture from Granite, MT, (a ghost town) a year and a half ago. Maddie is the one in front, and she looks so good and happy. She loved traveling with us in our 5th wheel and any place we went was just fine with her. There were so many places to see and so many wonderful smells to sniff that she never tired of going.

Thank you, for giving us the opportunity to be Maddie's forever home and a wonderful little girl for us to love. She will be missed so very much every day that lays ahead of us. We just hope that she was finally in a home where she knew she was loved and cherished. The time with her was just too short, but someday we will cross that "Rainbow Bridge" with all our beloved pets (kids) that have gone before us. In sadness