RIP Max September 14, 1995 - December 11, 2009

[rfuerst911sc]

The sad fact is this is part of pet ownership that we sign up for when we get a pet. In my opinion the pain at the end is well worth ALL the joy a pet can bring a family every day. It doesn't make it any easier to say good bye. Our springer spaniel was 13 when we put her down and it was the toughest thing I had gone through at that time in my life. But I was with her to the end because it was the right thing to do for all the loyalty she had shown the family all those years. We now have two mini Daschunds and I don't even want to think about either of them leaving. Cherish the memories and embrace the good times. Each day gets a little easier and some day you will know it's time to get another. Not as a replacement but more of an addition to. Good luck.

[Rikao4]

so sorry Kurt..
I refuse to be without 'critters'
they make this zoo bearable..

Rika

[bigchillcar]

kurt.......i'm so terribly, terribly sorry. i know you're not the kind to wear your 'heart on your sleeve'...so this is just the sort of thing that really guts a man like you on the inside..and i can really feel it. when i lost lilbear back in december of '07 after having him 11 years, it was like losing a child. since i've never been nor will ever likely be one, that was crushing. the guys on here absolutley overwhelmed me with their loving compassion. i'd have never, ever guessed that even this fine group of folks on this forum would show that kind of outpouring of support to a man who simply had 'a dead rabbit'. if i were there...and i'm sorry i just learned of this last night because i rarelly post anymore, what with the car for sale and all..at any rate, i'd give you a big hug of support, whether you'd care for it or not..it's just me. i have a track record for embarrassing friends in like fashion.

i owe you a phone call..no doubt many guys on here. look for it soon. things have changed on very little here..still the longest depressive episode yet for me in nearly 20 years - it's been over a year..man what a struggle..and a hell of a time to be job-hunting when it's hard enough to go out the door.

i did finally get my fiction novel published..that's my good news. it's on amazon for kindle. i've considered writing a thread about it as i could probably use an 'atta boy' or two. i think olsen is the one traditionally noted as 'our author'..guess i'm the nameless one. at any rate, i'll call in the next day or two.
best always,
ryan

[bigchillcar]

and btw, i didn't reply last nite when i read this because..those were some of the most heartbreaking pictures you uploaded. i'm always in need of a good cry..may as well have been watchhing 'born free' or 'old yeller'. man, what a pal you had there..wow..

[DUK]

Our four here say Godspeed Max.

Man that picture is a tear jerker.

[azasadny]

I'm very sorry for your loss...

[deathpunk dan]

Kurt

I am so sorry. Saying goodbye that way is surely the hardest.

[m21sniper]

Originally Posted by Kurt V

I got Max from the pound when he was 8 weeks old. He was with me when I got married and when we adopted our little girl. Would chase deer, but his best friend was a cat. Never really ever got sick or injured. But these last 6 months have really seen him slowing down. My wife said he really was going down hill the week I was in the hospital. I got out on Tuesday and Max was waiting at the door for me. Laid next to me for the next two days as I rested on the sofa. On Thursday he could barely get up and move around. Took him to the Vet and found out he had kidney failure and there was nothing to be done. Almost like he was just holding on waiting for me to get home. I was there for him at the end. One of the hardest things I ever had to do. Goodbye old friend.

One of his usual activities in later years:



Saying goodbye yesterday:



And Max says Merry Christmas to all of you:

So sorry for your loss Kurt.

[Rufblackbird]

Originally Posted by 911Freak

Oh man this brought tears to my eyes

condolences and so sorry for your loss

did the exact same thing to me...sorry for your loss Kurt

[ODDJOB UNO]

sorry for your loss. i care more about my animals than i do most people!

[Skytrooper]

I am deeply sorry to hear of the loss of your faithful companion Max. He was a beautiful dog. I am sure you provided him with a wonderful life.

[NY65912]

Sorry about your loss Kurt. I know how painful it can be to have to put down your "best friend".

Max gave you and your family a lot of unconditional love and there is no price for that.

RIP in doggie heaven Max.

Now you must search for your next man's best friend and I'm sure you'll find a dog that has plenty of love for you and your family.

I had to do the same just before Xmas in 1980 to "Charlie". I had to carry him into the vet's office, very sad. Chuck had congestive heart failure. He was a mutt but the smartest damn dog I've ever seen. So many years ago and I can still feel his bond with me.

How are you feeling from your little Crohn's tune up? I hope better.

Best Regards and Happy Holidays,
Mike

[Tobra]

I always liked Eugene O'neill's dog epitaph, got this off G Gordon Liddy's website

The reputation of Eugene O'Neill as the American Shakespeare was established even before his death in 1953. O'Neill's output was formidable - more than 30 plays, including the posthumously produced classic, Long Day's Journey Into Night. He was a Nobel Prize winner. Reflecting his own tempestuous emotional background - be came from a yeasty but tragic Irish-American family - his plays are rarely engaging.

So his epitaph to his dog is a rarity among O'Neill documents - sentimental, even whimsical, close in spirit to his one major comedy, Ah Wilderness! The dog was acquired at a relatively peaceful period of O'Neill's life. He and his protective third wife, the beautiful actress Carlotta Monterey, looked upon it as their 'child.' O'Neill wrote Blemie's will as a comfort to Carlotta just before the dog died in its old age in December 1940

Last Will and Testament

I, Silverdene Emblem O'Neill (familiarly known to my family, friends and acquaintances as Blemie), because the burden of my years is heavy upon me, and I realize the end of my life is near, do hereby bury my last will and testament in the mind of my Master. He will not know it is there until I am dead. Then, remembering me in his loneliness, he will suddenly know of this testament, and I ask him then to inscribe it as a memorial to me.

I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their time hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value I have to bequeath except my love and my faith. These I leave to those who have loved me, to my Master and Mistress, who I know will mourn me most, to Freeman who has been so good to me, to Cyn and Roy and Willie and Naomi and - but if I should list all those who have loved me it would force my Master to write a book. Perhaps it is in vain of me to boast when I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust, but I have always been an extremely lovable dog.

I ask my Master and Mistress to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long. In my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in time of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that even in death I should cause them pain. Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their love and care for me), now that I have grown blind and deaf and lame, and even my sense of smell fails me so that a rabbit could be right under my nose and I might not know, my pride has sunk to a sick, bewildered humiliation. I feel life is taunting me with having over lingered my welcome. It is time I said good-by, before I become too sick a burden on myself and on those who love me.

It will be sorrow to leave them, but not a sorrow to die. Dogs do not fear death as men do. We accept it as part of life, not as something alien and terrible which destroys life. What may come after death, who knows? I would like to believe with those of my fellow Dalmatians who are devout Mohammedans, that there is a Paradise where one is always young and full-bladdered; here all the day one dillies and dallies with an amorous multitude of houris, beautifully spotted; where jack-rabbits that run fast but not too fast (like the houris) are as the sands of the desert; where each blissful hour is mealtime; where in long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth, and the love of one's Master and Mistress.

I am afraid this is too much for even such a dog as I am to expect. But peace, at least, is certain. Peace and long rest for weary old heart and head and limbs, and eternal sleeps in the earth I have loved so well. Perhaps, after all, this is best.

One last request I earnestly make. I have heard my Mistress say, 'When Blemie dies we must never have another dog. I love him so much I could never love another one.' Now I would ask her, for love of me, to have another. It would be a poor tribute to my memory never to have a dog again. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, now she cannot live without a dog! I have never had a narrow jealous spirit. I have always held that most dogs are good (and one cat, the black one I have permitted to share the living-room rug during the evenings, whose affection I have tolerated in a kindly spirit, and in rare sentimental moods, even reciprocated a trifle). Some dogs, of course, are better than others. Dalmatians, naturally, as everyone knows, are best.

So I suggest a Dalmatian as my successor. He can hardly be as well bred, or as well mannered or as distinguished and handsome as I was in my prime. My Master and Mistress must not ask the impossible. But he will do his best, I am sure, and even his inevitable defects will help by comparison to keep my memory green. To him I bequeath my collar and leash and my overcoat and raincoat, made to order in 1929 at Hermes in Paris. He can never wear them with the distinction I did, walking around the Place Vendome, or later along Park Avenue, all eyes fixed on me in admiration; but again I am sure he will do his utmost not to appear a mere gauche provincial dog. Here on the ranch, he may prove himself quite worthy of comparison, in some respects. He will, I presume, come closer to jackrabbits than I have been able to in recent years. And, for all his faults, I hereby wish him the happiness I know will be his in my old home.

One last word of farewell, Dear Master and Mistress. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: 'here lies one who loved us and whom we loved.' No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.

[Tobra]

I always liked Eugene O'Neill's dog epitaph, got this off G Gordon Liddy's website
---
The reputation of Eugene O'Neill as the American Shakespeare was established even before his death in 1953. O'Neill's output was formidable - more than 30 plays, including the posthumously produced classic, Long Day's Journey Into Night. He was a Nobel Prize winner. Reflecting his own tempestuous emotional background - be came from a yeasty but tragic Irish-American family - his plays are rarely engaging.

So his epitaph to his dog is a rarity among O'Neill documents - sentimental, even whimsical, close in spirit to his one major comedy, Ah Wilderness! The dog was acquired at a relatively peaceful period of O'Neill's life. He and his protective third wife, the beautiful actress Carlotta Monterey, looked upon it as their 'child.' O'Neill wrote Blemie's will as a comfort to Carlotta just before the dog died in its old age in December 1940

Last Will and Testament

I, Silverdene Emblem O'Neill (familiarly known to my family, friends and acquaintances as Blemie), because the burden of my years is heavy upon me, and I realize the end of my life is near, do hereby bury my last will and testament in the mind of my Master. He will not know it is there until I am dead. Then, remembering me in his loneliness, he will suddenly know of this testament, and I ask him then to inscribe it as a memorial to me.

I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their time hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value I have to bequeath except my love and my faith. These I leave to those who have loved me, to my Master and Mistress, who I know will mourn me most, to Freeman who has been so good to me, to Cyn and Roy and Willie and Naomi and - but if I should list all those who have loved me it would force my Master to write a book. Perhaps it is in vain of me to boast when I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust, but I have always been an extremely lovable dog.

I ask my Master and Mistress to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long. In my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in time of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that even in death I should cause them pain. Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their love and care for me), now that I have grown blind and deaf and lame, and even my sense of smell fails me so that a rabbit could be right under my nose and I might not know, my pride has sunk to a sick, bewildered humiliation. I feel life is taunting me with having over lingered my welcome. It is time I said good-by, before I become too sick a burden on myself and on those who love me.

It will be sorrow to leave them, but not a sorrow to die. Dogs do not fear death as men do. We accept it as part of life, not as something alien and terrible which destroys life. What may come after death, who knows? I would like to believe with those of my fellow Dalmatians who are devout Mohammedans, that there is a Paradise where one is always young and full-bladdered; here all the day one dillies and dallies with an amorous multitude of houris, beautifully spotted; where jack-rabbits that run fast but not too fast (like the houris) are as the sands of the desert; where each blissful hour is mealtime; where in long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth, and the love of one's Master and Mistress.

I am afraid this is too much for even such a dog as I am to expect. But peace, at least, is certain. Peace and long rest for weary old heart and head and limbs, and eternal sleeps in the earth I have loved so well. Perhaps, after all, this is best.

One last request I earnestly make. I have heard my Mistress say, 'When Blemie dies we must never have another dog. I love him so much I could never love another one.' Now I would ask her, for love of me, to have another. It would be a poor tribute to my memory never to have a dog again. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, now she cannot live without a dog! I have never had a narrow jealous spirit. I have always held that most dogs are good (and one cat, the black one I have permitted to share the living-room rug during the evenings, whose affection I have tolerated in a kindly spirit, and in rare sentimental moods, even reciprocated a trifle). Some dogs, of course, are better than others. Dalmatians, naturally, as everyone knows, are best.

So I suggest a Dalmatian as my successor. He can hardly be as well bred, or as well mannered or as distinguished and handsome as I was in my prime. My Master and Mistress must not ask the impossible. But he will do his best, I am sure, and even his inevitable defects will help by comparison to keep my memory green. To him I bequeath my collar and leash and my overcoat and raincoat, made to order in 1929 at Hermes in Paris. He can never wear them with the distinction I did, walking around the Place Vendome, or later along Park Avenue, all eyes fixed on me in admiration; but again I am sure he will do his utmost not to appear a mere gauche provincial dog. Here on the ranch, he may prove himself quite worthy of comparison, in some respects. He will, I presume, come closer to jackrabbits than I have been able to in recent years. And, for all his faults, I hereby wish him the happiness I know will be his in my old home.

One last word of farewell, Dear Master and Mistress. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: 'here lies one who loved us and whom we loved.' No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.