.

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

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Dale Layer's Henry     Kathy Luque's Kahlil       Doug Robinson's Nicky

        Click each drawing for full image

  Nicky travels to heaven.  Now read their stories below. . .

If you would like a drawing of your animal companion to frame and hang in a special place in your home, call Agreka Books for details: 1 800 360-5284.

Stories    Nicky's Life Was Way Too Short   Kahlil, Our Siamese Cat   Henry, My Parrot

Nicky's Life Was Way Too Short
by Doug Robinson, Deseret News columnist

Pardon me if I don't feel like writing today.

I don't feel like trying to be funny, or entertaining, or informative.

I lost an old buddy today. He was my running partner for twelve years. He was my constant companion while I worked in my home office. He followed me around the house so close to my heels that if I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten something and reversed course, I tripped over him.

He didn't have much to say, but he was always good company and always in a good mood. Wherever I was, that's where he wanted to be.

He liked to watch me eat – and vacuumed any crumbs that fell to the floor. He liked to do the dishes after dinner.

He didn't like to wait for me while I wrote my stories – occasionally, I could hear a big sigh – but he bore it with patience. He liked to ride in the car with me and watch the world pass by the window.

Most of all he liked to run. As a high school track coach, I took him to the track for my team's daily workouts. It was his idea of heaven. He liked to race alongside one group of sprinters, and as they crossed the finish he raced to the other side of the track to catch up with another group that was running, and on and on he went.

If I picked up my running shoes in the closet, he paced the floor and whined. We covered a lot of miles together in all kinds of weather. On a couple of occasions, I jogged home carrying him in my arms, his head bobbing up and down. You'd need help, too, it you were running in July while wearing a black fur coat.

I know it's probably not seemly for a grown man to be so attached to a dog, but there it is. Dogs are some of the best people I know, you know what I mean – guileless, happy, eager to please, affectionate. A long time ago, somebody sent me one of those unsolicited e-mails we all get these days, and I thought of it today. It said:

If you can start the day without caffeine or pep pills; if you can be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains; if you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles; if you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it; if you can understand when loved ones are too busy to give you time; if you can overlook when people take things out on you when, through no fault of yours, something goes wrong; if you can take criticism and blame without resentment; if you can face the world without lies and deceit or drugs and liquor . . . then you are a dog.

We didn't even want him to begin with. He wasn't the prettiest or biggest pup of the litter. He was the runt, a tiny black-and-white sheltie. But while his siblings were disinterested in their visitors, he vied for our attention. We gave him to our kids on Christmas morning 1990.

He has been with us ever since, except for a few times when we left him behind during an extended vacation. While we were gone, he howled, we were told. When we came home, he raced in circles around us. Our kids grew up with him, dressing him in doll clothes, playing hide and seek and ball games with him (he was useful for retrieving a ball that got away and rolled down the street).

There's just one thing wrong with dogs – They don't live long enough. On Monday afternoon, I took him to the vet. He was very sick with no warning. He could hardly stand. The vet left me alone in the room to say goodbye. I held him in my arms for a long time, talking to him, recalling all the good times we had together.

It was the right thing, the vet assured me. I watched the needle disappear beneath the skin and his eyes slide closed for the last time. We placed him in a box, and I carried him out the back door into a rainy gray day.

Today I'll go for a run. Guess I'll have to go it alone.

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Kahlil, Our Siamese Cat
by Kathy Luque

We first saw him on a cold winter night at my mom's house. We were dropping our kids off to Grandma's while we saw a movie. Suddenly a young, very beautiful pale Siamese looking cat was next to our car and he began "talking" to us. "It's cold, let me be with you." My husband said "If you are still here when we get back, you have a new home." And he was there and he happily cuddled up with my daughter and rode home.

Kahlil, we named him, was an exotic beautiful creature with deep blue eyes set against a dark mask and very pale fur. He had a regal bearing and he knew it.

Girl scouts and their moms came to our house for a meeting – he moved out to the front room and sat where everyone could see and admire him. As his compliments came, Kahlil would meow like he was acknowledging the remarks.

Women from my church came over and out came Kahlil. My book club came over and out came Kahlil. He knew he was rightfully the center of attention because he was so beautiful and so very friendly.

Kahlil had a few rough times. My daughter's friend caught his tail in a door and broke it. He was so busy purring and talking to us, we didn't even notice it at first. Even at the vet's office when part of his tail had to be amputated, he still talked and purred loudly.

Kahlil also loved to knead people and the other pets with his paws. At first he would only knead you through three songs – he liked the Beatles. Like all masseuses he knew what was best for you and would meow like he was scolding if you tried to move during his massage.

He loved our lilacs and would enjoy just sitting out in our yard by them while we were outside together.

Kahlil had always been very good about using a litter box, so when he had wetting accidents on our floor we took him to the vet. Diagnosis – diabetes. He was a very big cat – twenty five pounds at his peak and taller than my miniature schnauzer Kari. Who knew that the food he loved would make him so sick?

Even though I had never given shots, for him I learned to give twice a day injections of insulin. We watched his diet closely and fed him a prescription diet – which he hated. Things were looking good so we decided to board him while we were on vacation. At first Joe, the animal care person, was worried and yet when we came back all he could do was praise Kahlil, who had purred and talked all during his shots. What a guy!

We also had a cat named Saavick who, at almost twenty years of age, became very thin and frail. Kahlil would lay by him, and wash and groom him just like a devoted nurse for the last two months of his life. I know Kahlil's love helped sustain Saavick.

For two years Kahlil’s diabetes was regulated. Then one day when I came home, he was having a seizure. I took him to the vet only to find out he was severely dehydrated and in insulin shock from an overload to his system. He weighed fifteen pounds.

I learned how to give him subcutaneous fluids. His IV bag was always in our family room hanging from a ceiling fan. Again he talked to me and even purred in spite of the bigger needle I now had to insert.

It was hard to keep him going. We were often at the vet clinic trying to monitor him, but his weight kept slipping. He had once loved to eat but would now barely take a mouthful of food. We tried everything from turkey baby food to any cat food known to mankind. Nothing tempted him.

Then the saddest day ever. I came home from church and Kahlil had not come up from our basement. Usually he was always there to greet the family.

I went down the steps to find him. He was unable to move his hind legs. Since it was a Sunday my vet was closed. I knew it was time to do the right thing and not let him suffer any longer. I called my cousin Alan who is a very caring vet and he drove to our house and gave Kahlil the final shot. My husband, my son, and I talked to Kahlil as he slowly passed away.

Do cats know when their time is limited? Kahlil seemed to – he started sleeping in our bed on my pillow where he would purr, talk sweetly, and knead my head. He made sure to include my husband in his gentle massages.

I know he was a saint in cat's clothing – always loving and patient. A special friend who always curled up by our blind schnauzer Lou and kneaded him too.

Rest in peace my gentle friend – I know heaven will be a more beautiful place because you are there. Kahlil 1990 to Nov. 10, 2002.

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Henry, My Parrot
by Dale Layer

A sack of small birds captured in Sao Paulo, Brazil, was brought into town to sell.

Our son was a missionary in Brazil at the time and thought it would be a fitting gift for his parents when he returned to the states. He knew he would have access to the bird for six months before his return home, so he could satisfy the quarantine on birds being brought into the U.S.

Our son Dave is a character, and named the bird "Hemorrhoid" because he was a "pain in the rear." I'm sure the reason had to do with his care and the inconvenience in transferring him, and his registration during the six months before leaving. Needless to say, his arrival in the states was as "Henry," and his original name never surfaced again.

Henry was a small bird and the few words he had in his vocabulary were Portuguese, which is spoken in Brazil. He repeated the word 'Loro' (meaning Bird) many times, but did pick up my wife Ruth’s and my name Dale very quickly. The strange part was that Ruth's name was always in my voice and my name in her voice. This is natural when you think of it since they mimic not only the name but duplicate the sound of the voice, so Ruth was referred to in a low voice resembling mine.

Ruth took "Henry" to school during class time to the delight of her second grade children. Unfortunately, his tenure was short-lived since the rule of "speaking out of turn" was violated so many times that by lunch time he was expelled.

His other downfall at school was his bath in his water dish, which made one end of the schoolroom like a rain forest. In addition to attending school, he also went with us on church outings. He was a riot. The kids loved him and said he was one "fat" bird.

He also identified us by sounds of entry into the house – car engine noise and even walking steps when we were out of sight. When hearing my car enter the driveway he would get excited and loudly call "Dale, Dale, Dale" for attention.

When returning from work I would spend time talking to him and do his favorite things: Having his stomach stroked as he lay on his back with his feet in the air, or scratching the back of his neck while his head was tucked on his breast.

Our next door neighbors had three teenagers and many pets, and often cared for Henry when we were on vacation. On one occasion, however, Grandma volunteered to watch Henry while we were gone for a week. She lived alone and looked forward to his company and "chatter."

Unfortunately Henry died while we were gone and we were all devastated. We were told that it could have been from loneliness or from being over-indulged with grapes or other offerings. Whatever the reason, we came home to an empty, quiet cage.

We understand that parrots frequently live many years and had hoped that Henry would follow that trend. He was with us two years.

I was devastated and for months missed my excited greeting of "Dale, Dale, Dale," and play sessions with my "buddy." He was always cheerful when we were "down" and looked forward to our arrivals.

Henry was not just a pet but an important part of our family.

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