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. On Angels Wings –
Stories About the Passing Away of Beloved  Animal Companions

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Table of Contents  Read Story One

Table of Contents        50 Drawings in the book

Introduction
Angel by Alan Cunningham
Only a Dog Author Unknown
Asia, Beware of my Sleeping Dog by Virginia Treptow
Beau by Laura Taylor
Cassie by James P. Lamoreauz M.D.
Dollie Author Unknown
George by Ann Shields
Gringo by Tracey Jones
I’m Not Here Author Unknown
Heidi, Like a Person In A Gray Fur Coat by Debby McMullen
Henry, My Parrot by Dale Layer
St. Peter Author Unknown
Herzog’s Midnight Energizer by Andalynn Hansen
Jessie Saves the Day by Wes Treptow
Judy, "My Beautiful Girl" by Debbie Pedersen
Kahlil, Our Siamese Cat by Kathy Luque
My Gift to Jesus by Jane L. Sears
Katie by Kathy S. Howell DVM
Kujo, The Little Warrior by Tracey Jones
Dogs & Heaven Author Unknown
Letter to Nicki by Rhonda F. Rhoades
Nicky’s Life Was Way Too Short by Doug Robinson, The Deseret News Columnist
Oso by Ann Shields
Our Beautiful Sophie by Marisa McKinnon and Michele McKinnon
Perry, My Prairie Dog by William H. Edwards, Ph.D.
Puffer by Jane Meyer
Four Feet In Heaven Author Unknown
Reggie by Laura Taylor
Shadow and Pepper by Ashley J. Sprankle
My Best Friend Pepper by Ashley J. Sprankle
Taggard by Douglas Slama DVM

Service Companion Animals.

WAR DOGS
The Dogs of War by Alan Cunningham PhD, DVM
The Bridge by Tracey Jones
Mr. Paper by Alan Cunningham PhD, DVM
Bruiser by Alan Cunningham PhD, DVM
Treatment of War Dogs Today
Letters to Congressmen about War Dogs

POLICE DOGS
Officer Remembers Fallen Comrade by Ann Shields
Mike, Reality Check by Tracey Jones
Kai, A Special Bond by Tracey Jones
Greyfriar’s Bobby Author Unknown

Euthanasia & Hospice Section
Cute As A Button by Mike Motschenbacher DVM
The Price of a Dog by Dr. Neil Moss
A Peaceful Goodbye by Jennifer Rutherford
When the Time Comes Author Unknown
The Challenge of Euthanasia: The Hospice Approach to the Dying Pet
   by Cheryl Scott, RN, MS, DVM
Euthanasia by Alan Cunningham
Dog’s Prayer by Beth Norman Harris
The Pain Assessment & Management Scale
   by Karol A. Matthews, DVM, DVSc, Dip ACVECC
Ways to Cope with Animal Companion Loss
Perpetual Pet Care, Foster Care
Hotlines for Grieving Animal Companion Owners
Rainbow Bridge
Wings to Fly by Alan Cunningham PhD, DVM
Author Bio

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Story One

ANGEL

by Alan Cunningham

  My Boston Terrier, Pug, quietly left me six months ago. I deeply miss her still and probably always will. Daily I visit her grave in my yard and talk with her. Sometimes I shed a few tears. And I thank Pug for sharing her precious life with me for nearly eleven years.

Pug. Click drawing for full image.

In July, 2002, Pug was diagnosed with a blood clot in her right front leg. With aggressive anticoagulant therapy, daily bandage changes, and pain medications, we were able to restore circulation to her leg, although she lost her toes.

Selfishly I fought to restore Pug to health. When I removed the wraps from her leg and debrided the dead tissue I could detect the pain in her eyes. Large, almond-shaped eyes that once danced with innocent mischievousness and happiness were now dulled with agony. Pug looked at me as if to say she had enough. But I refused to listen. I would not let her go. For nearly a month she patiently endured without complaint.

  Since I was a veterinarian at a nighttime emergency clinic I was able to take Pug to work with me and provide her medical care. One of my other dogs, C.C., also a Boston Terrier, accompanied me to work as well. Pug and C.C. were best friends. Pug was like a mother to C.C.

C.C.   Click drawing for full image.

At the veterinary clinic I have my own bedroom to rest in when work is slow. Around five a.m. Pug awoke and gazed over the side of the bed.

"Are you okay little girl?" I asked.

She just quietly peered over the side of the bed at her food and water dish.

I helped her down and she slowly drank water.

"Let's go outside to the bathroom, you two."

I carried Pug, and C.C. followed. Afterwards we returned to the bedroom. When I placed Pug on the bed she began to breath laboriously and then suddenly collapsed. Before I could do anything Pug had passed away. She was now free from physical torment and had angel wings to fly.

I reflect back and graciously realize that she awoke one last time to say goodbye. At the time I was devastated and heartbroken. Pug was my angel, my joy, and my strength.

"When Pug leaves, I will too," I had repeatedly announced to myself.

If not for my other animals, dear friends, and family, I would have given up. I anguished over returning to work and being in the same room and bed that Pug died in. How could I relive such a distressing experience?

"On the other hand," I thought, "the room has become almost sacred and inspirational to me."

"Upon returning to work I can either continue to grieve or I can utilize my energy in a more productive manner," I contemplated.

I pledged to remember the beautiful times with Pug and with unstoppable energy chose to share them with other people by writing her story as it intertwined with my life.

At night, when the clinic was quiet, I would record her memory. I feel Pug was with me, directing the thoughts while I wrote them on paper. In three weeks her remarkable story, "Sleeping With Angels," was completed. It became a book.

Sadly, as a veterinarian, I witness animal deaths. And I recognize many pet owners experience extreme sorrow from the loss of a beloved animal companion. Tonight at work, for example, I euthanized an eight year old Keeshound with kidney failure. The single, elderly owner sobbed that she could not bear to watch her dear friend, Cleo, suffer. She decided, after the euthanasia, to have Cleo privately cremated and the ashes returned. "Please take good care of her," she wept.

"May I share something special with you?" I asked as I handed her a copy of my book. She eagerly looked at it and read out loud, "Sleeping With Angels." She then looked at me with a tearful smile and gently announced, "Now I know what we will have engraved on Cleo's epitaph-Cleo, ‘sleeping with angels’."

Not only did I deeply remorse over Pug's death but so did C.C.. Her youthful four year old face seemed to turn prematurely gray almost overnight. Instead of playfully passing the day with Pug as she used to she now laid sadly in the recliner chair that her and Pug once shared together.

Pug and C.C. used to good-naturedly compete for my affection. When Pug died, C.C. quietly stood back and allowed me to grieve privately while I held Pug. Little did I realize the pain that C.C. also experienced.

"She is grieving more than we realize," Mom announced.

Regretfully, in my own sorrow, I had forgotten C.C..

At night C.C. would stretch herself across my pillow and protectively push tightly against my head. Aspen, my three-legged Black Labrador Retriever, comfortably slept at my feet.

"Goodnight angels," I would whisper and then sadly realize the absence of Pug. She used to cuddle snugly next to my stomach. As I started to cry C.C. would immediately stand up and begin to lick the tears from my face. Perhaps she was grieving as much for me as for the loss of Pug.

When on various occasions I would leave home on my quest to visit the "wonders of the world" Pug would eagerly follow me to the door.

"I have to go by myself this time little girl, you need to stay home."

Dejectedly she would turn away from me and slowly retire to her chair. She made me feel extremely guilty without saying a word.

"I'll be back," I called to her as I begrudgingly left.

Mom frequently informed me that Pug would seldom leave the sanctuary of her recliner chair when I was gone. She seemed to mourn my absence and would spend most of her time sleeping.

As a result, whenever I left for distant countries, I would phone home to talk with Pug. The sound of my voice seemed to cheer her up.

"How's my little girl? Are you being good?"

According to mom, Pug would twist her head, perk up her ears, and open her eyes with alert attentiveness as I talked with her.

Wherever I went: China, New Zealand, Australia, Turkey, Jordan, Zimbawbwe, Peru, India, Brazil, Italy, any place in the world, my first priority was to call home and talk to Pug after I arrived at my destination.

Pug, how I yearn to call you again. But I can only imagine the brightness in your eyes and the eagerness in your body as you intently listen to my voice.

Now you have left me and I eagerly await to hear from you. And I realize that in your own way you are sending me daily greetings.

I received your wonderful Christmas gift. She was a bundle of brown and white fur only weighing one pound and nine ounces. The crested fur on her head centrally curled inwards like a chrysanthemum.

  I have long admired the attentive, large eyes of Shih Tzu dogs. Their curious, thoughtful glances seem to look deep into the heart of your soul.

Angel. Click drawing for full image.

Forgive me Pug, but I don't understand why you sent her to me in such a tattered package. She seemed to enter the world experiencing much the same physical pain and torment that you left behind. Perhaps you want me to understand that everything valuable is worth fighting for.

She arrived at the emergency clinic the morning after Christmas, only six weeks old. Her owner puzzled over the constant pain she seemed to endure. Not only was she in continual severe pain, she was also blind. Unable to pay for necessary treatment of a pup with an uncertain future, and yet unwilling to euthanize the poor little soul, the owner relinquished her to the hospital.

Pug, can you imagine the fear the delicate little pup must have felt experiencing a dark world full of pain. When I arrived at work that night and saw her and heard of her plight I immediately asked the charge veterinarian if I could have her. "Yes," he returned. "Now try and figure out why she is so painful."

Even with pain medications the fragile pup moaned in severe agony. The radiographs showed nothing abnormal. I debated that euthanasia would be the kindest thing for her. While I quietly and sadly watched her suffer, a thought came to me. Had they considered spinal meningitis? Quickly I researched the disease and realized that it was worth a try. And my thought was correct. I knew it might take several days or even weeks, but she could recover. After all, she was my responsibility now and she deserved a fighting chance. Pug, somehow I felt you were helping me with this battle.

I took the poor, mournful, tiny creature home. And I fought for her almost as hard as I fought for you. I made a resting place for her next to my bed, close to where you used to sleep. Yes, we still sleep on that old, thin floor mattress. The one that was low enough for you to climb upon after you broke your leg nearly two years ago. This is where you rested so peacefully after you died. It took a few hours before I could bury you. I wanted to sleep with you, my angel, one more time before losing you to the cold, dark grave.

Every four hours I tube fed the tiny pup. She received pain medications and antibiotics as needed. Unfortunately over the next several days she seemed to remain the same.

One more day, I bargained, then I will mercifully euthanize her. That night, for a short while, she seemed to be more quiet and peaceful. I feared that she had died. But when I felt for her I discovered that she had moved from her bed and nestled next to my stomach. At first I thought you had returned, Pug. Then I realized that the little thing must be getting better.

The tiny bundle of joy and enthusiasm is now twelve weeks old and full of puppy freedom. She and C.C. cavort together like you and C.C. once did. Her ulcerated eyes are nearly better and she now looks at me with a cocked head and intent stare much as you used to.

Aspen has even fallen in love with her, or at least she patiently tolerates her. The little girl loves to play with Aspen's tail while Aspen just lays there with a grin on her face.

  I've introduced her to the big boys–Brownie, Golden, and Moose. But since she is only a four pound morsel I will allow some more time before integrating her with them.

Moose. Click drawing for full image.

One of her favorite activities is to steal mom's shoes and hide them in my bedroom. By the way, mom visits your grave every day and talks with you. She tells me, "I had a good talk with Pug today, and she is doing fine."

You know how much I miss you, Pug. You are always in my heart. I trust you and dad are enjoying each other, spending time together in the fragrant meadows.

Please prepare a place for Aspen as I fear her time on earth is nearing to an end. With three legs, and debilitating arthritis, I have to carry her most of the time now.

Pug, thanks for giving me the tiny package of Christmas joy. She does so many things that remind me of you. Because of her petite flat nose she snores at night, only not as loudly as you did. You know how much I love flat-nosed dogs. She also loves to cuddle up next to my stomach as you used to. And I still feel like I'm sleeping with angels.

Do you know how refreshing it is to occasionally view the world through a puppy's eyes? I'm sure you do. That is why you sent her to me–to remove me from the grief of your loss. She has become a precious gift. Thank you Pug.

And one last thing, my beloved. I have chosen a name for her. Her name is Angel.

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