Dogless

I'm not certain that I am ready to do this just yet.  As I began writing this, the tears started.....again. 

In 1997 I was down to one dog, Cassidy.  In the fall, with the help from a friend, I managed to catch a neighborhood dog who had been roaming our street for over a month.  He was extremely timid, but would kiss my face and let me pet him, with one hand only.  I named him Caleb.  Shortly after catching Caleb, I had to euthanize Cassidy due to a large cancerous tumor. 

Because Caleb was so timid, I thought another dog would help him become less shy.  When I took Caleb to my vet and mentioned this idea to him, he told me they had a 5 month old puppy that needed a home.  The puppy had been brought to him by a woman who was moving out of town.  As this woman was leaving her bank, after closing her account, she noticed a car ahead of her slow down and throw a puppy out of the car.  Fortunately she stopped and picked up the pup.  She was near the vet's office and took the puppy there, not knowing what else to do with her.  My vet, Dr. Ken Sundberg, agreed to help find her a home.  He spayed and vaccinated her, and Celie became part of my family in early 1998.  Within a few months I rescued two more dogs from the street - Cuinn and Cordelia. 

Life with the four of them had its ups and downs but, for the most part, the ups far outweighed the downs.  Now, all of them are gone.  Celie was a lab/chow mix.  She was 15 years old.  In the past year she developed fatty tumors on her stomach and behind her right front leg.  She also suffered from degenrative disc disease, and had a couple of episodes where she had trouble walking.  With some medication she pulled through those occurrences.  She was, however, slowing down.  Her sight wasn't as good as it once was and neither was her hearing.  Although she had always tended to ignore me when I called her.  Lately she even did it occasionally when it was dinner time. 

Friday morning (Feb 9th) I knew something was wrong.  I have to admit that after losing Cordelia last year, I knew Celie's time with me was coming to an end as well.  Celie woke me up before 5AM to go outside.  I let her out and she stayed out longer than usual.  Then around 7AM, she asked to go out again.  When I called her to come in she was lying in the yard, not by the back door as she usually did.  She looked at me from the yard but wouldn't get up.  She had never just laid down in the yard and I began to worry.  I walked out to her, about 40 feet from the door, and I coaxed her to get up.  I started walking back to the door and she followed for about 2 steps and then stopped.  I came back to her and had to walk along side her to get her all the way into the house.  As soon as she came in, she laid down on the floor, breathing heavily as though she had over exerted herself.  My internal alarm bells were ringing loudly. 

I was on a deadline at work and had to get everything completed for a couple of mailings, so I couldn't miss work.  I continued to get ready to leave.  When I was about to leave, Celie had moved to the living room rug.  I found two piles of diarrhea.  Obviously she was sick.  I put her back outside, cleaned up the messes and called the vet.  Although their schedule was full, I was told I could bring her in at 5:30.  It was obvious that her back legs were giving her trouble when I brought her back inside.  When I left Celie was lying on her side in the kitchen.  Needless to say, throughout the day I continued to worry about her and wonder what I would be coming home to.

I had noticed a month or so ago that Celie seemed to have put on weight and was concerned, so I had taken her to the vet at that time.  Her weight had not changed significantly.  The vet didn't think the fatty tumors had gotten larger since her last visit, and pronounced her fine. 

I left work about an hour early.  Celie was in the living room when I arrived.  She had two more "accidents" in the kitchen during the day.  I let her outside again.  When she came back in, I offered her a treat, as I had always done.  She wasn't interested, which was unusual.  I sometimes thought she only went outside so she could get a treat when she came back in.  Not this time.

Before leaving for the vet, we walked over to Barbara's house.  Celie, as always, was happy to see her and busily wagged her tail.  Of my four dogs, Celie had always been Barb's favorite.  Barb had gone with me when I had taken both Celie and Cordelia to training classes.  She worked with Celie and I worked with Cordelia (definitely the smarter of the two).  Then off we went to the vet.  Dr. Porter checked her out and although he was concerned about the tightness in her abdomen, prescribed medication for her diarrhea and a probiotic.  She wasn't to be fed on Friday night.  That wasn't a problem because she simply wasn't interested in eating.  In fact, the most telling sign is that she had no interest in cleaning up any remains in the cat food dishes.  She had always raced to get to them as quickly as possible. 

I have to say that I had figured Dr. Porter would tell me that Celie had stomach cancer when I took her in.  With the prescriptions, I found a ray of hope.  She just wasn't feeling well and we'd get through this.  It wasn't her "time" yet.  Deep sigh of relief.  He did ask, at the time, whether or not she had been vomiting, which she hadn't.  However, after giving her the medication for the diarrhea, she threw up within about 30 minutes.  I chose not to give her the probiotic.

There were no accidents overnight.  She went outside and came in, but still only sniffed at the treat.  I gave her the medicine and within 10 minutes, she threw up again.  I called the vet to clear up confusion about administering the meds and to let Dr. Porter know that she was now vomiting and not interested in food.  I got a call back in a few minutes and was told that Dr. Porter wanted to do blood work and x-rays so I should bring her in then.  They would work us in between other appointments. 

When the young vet tech came to take her into the back for the diagnostics, she balked and didn't want to go.  I walked along with them and she went more easily.  I went outside to smoke a cigarette and thought that the x-ray should be done first.  If it showed what I suspected, blood work would be a waste of time and money.  When I returned inside, another vet assistant told me they were doing the x-rays and depending upon the results may not need to send out the blood to the lab. 

Needless to say, the x-rays confirmed my worst fear.  Dr. Porter apparently had come to the same conclusion between her Friday visit and the next morning.  Celie had an enormous mass in her spleen, to the point that it could burst at any time and cause internal hemorrhaging. He recommended putting her down, then and there.  My problem was that I had been ready to hear this news Friday evening and when I didn't I had become optimistic that this was simply an episode we could treat.  I wasn't ready to give up and give in.  Dr. Porter was amazingly patient with me as we talked through this.  In the end I didn't want to witness her suffering with little I could do to ease her pain.  Worse yet, I would have to manage to get her into the car and take her to another vet at the Emergency Clinic to have her euthanized.  I have had to do that with other animals and, although, the staff at the Emergency Clinic had been kind and understanding it wasn't my preferred option. 

I made the decision to put her down.  The three of us, Celie, myself and Dr. Porter sat on the floor of the examining room while he injected the anesthetic and then the Fatal Plus that would end her life - forever.  She went peacefully as I held her.  I made arrangements with Terry, the truly kind owner of Pine Castle Pet Crematory, to bring her to him for cremation.  I know it was the right decision to make, but it never gets easier no matter how many times I've gone through this. 

Regardless of the sorrow that accompanies the loss of a loved and cherished dog or cat, I do not regret having taken them into my life and heart.  The joy is so much greater and longer lasting than the pain of loss.  Although I miss each and every one of those who are gone, I am glad they were a part of my life, of who I am.  I cannot understand people who say they loved their dog or cat and cannot get another after losing that dog or cat.  The lives who are extinguished for no other reason than they don't have a home weighs heavily upon me, each and every day.  These dogs, cats, puppies and kittens deserve a chance to love and be loved.  They deserve to experience joy, good food, attention, hugs, play time and everything else they need to lead full lives.  Who better to provide these things than the very people who have had cherished companion animals?  What better way to affirm the lives lost than to extend those same experiences to those who are unwanted?  For me, it's a way to pay tribute to those who have come before.  Share your love with another - both you and the animal you save will reap the benefits for however long each of you have left. 

It has been about 36 years since there hasn't been at least one dog in my life.  Although I have more than my share of cats, I know that sometime in the near future there will be another dog.  During those 36 years, I haven't had to go looking for a dog - one or more have always seemed to find me. 

Below is an old photo of Celie and Cordelia - The Girls:

DECEMBER, 2009 – JANUARY 9, 2013

       The last couple of years have been a bit difficult for me.

1. DECEMBER, 2009 – Caleb has tumor removed from his intestine
2. JANUARY 1, 2010      – went into hospital due to a cat bite on my foot
3. FEBRUARY 25, 2010 – Clark euthanized (11 years old)
4. MARCH 19, 2010 – Charlotte euthanized (9 years old)
5. JULY 30, 2010 – Cammie euthanized (15 years old)
6. AUGUST – SEPTEMBER, 2010 – me back in hospital for 5 surgeries, including a skin graft
7. DECEMBER 10, 2010 – Chase found dead (7 years old)
8. FEBRUARY 12, 2011 – Chaz euthanized (12 years old)
9. MARCH 11, 2011 – Colin euthanized (rescued from the street 1998 – adult cat)
10. APRIL 22, 2011  - Caleb euthanized (15 years old DOG)
11. MAY 21, 2011 – Cagney rescued from the street
12. JUNE 14, 2011 – Charlie euthanized (12 years old)
13. JUNE 24, 2011 – Cissy euthanized (16 years old)
14. NOVEMBER 11, 2011 – Claudia euthanized (rescued from Animal Services 2005 – older cat)
15. NOVEMBER 28, 2011 – Campbell has all teeth removed
16. DECEMBER 12, 2011 – Colt euthanized (8 years old)
17. JANUARY 12, 2012 – Courtney euthanized (13 years old)
18. FEBRUARY 16, 2012 – Cordelia euthanized (14 years old DOG)
19. FEBRUARY, 2012 – Cashew (kitten) + Contessa (about 1 year old) rescued from street
20. JUNE 29, 2012 - Chandler euthanized (13 years old)
21. AUGUST 2, 2012 – Crockett had all his teeth removed
22. JANUARY 9, 2013 – Cassandra having surgery to remove all of her teeth

Prior to having to put so many of these cats and dogs to sleep, there were extensive veterinary bills for treatment in an effort to save or, at least, prolong their lives.  It's not just about "pocketbook" issues but also the emotional distress that goes along with dealing with watching so many cherished loved ones die.  

While I know that most, if not all, of these animals would have died long before had I not brought them into my home, my life and my heart, it stills takes a toll.  My own health struggles helped erode my coping skills as well.  These were choices which I made and, therefore, are mine alone to bear.  

My apologies to friends if I've been more short tempered or less communicative in the past couple of years.  It's not always easy to exude sunshine and roses through personal trials and tribulations.  

Another One Bites the Dust

In 1999, when I was relatively new to the feral cat “community” and Trap/Neuter/Return I answered a call from a very nice woman who needed help trapping a litter of 8 – 10 week old feral kittens.  She had managed to trap the mother cat and her semi-grown kittens from a previous litter and get them all fixed through Orange County’s CARE program.  In 1999 I had recently become the president of CARE and we did not normally go out and do the trapping.  She was a very sweet woman and desperately worried that the homeowner’s association would call either animal control or critter control and the kittens along with the ones she had already fixed (and bonded with) would be trapped and killed.  I talked at a meeting of the homeowner’s association and convinced them to hold off on trapping, explaining that CARE worked in partnership with Orange County Animal Services to trap, alter and vaccinate cats.  My intention was to trap the kittens and return them “to the wild.”  

I only managed to catch one kitten on my first attempt.  She was absolutely beautiful, but completely wild.  Being a novice I felt she was too old to try to tame/socialize her.  So, once she was spayed and recovered, I returned her.  She died within 2 days, which devastated me.  I decided once I trapped the rest (actually 4 remaining littermates and 2 from the litter of another female), I would make every effort to socialize them and find homes for them, although CARE did not do adoptions.  I felt I had enough contacts in the rescue community that I could easily find a group who would handle the adoptions.  I was ridiculously lucky, trapping all 6 kittens at once, something I never managed to do again in the following 8 years of trapping expeditions.  

After dropping the little ones off at the clinic in the morning, I saw a kitten blithely walking across a normally very busy road as I was driving home.  Of course, I stopped and picked him up and took him home.  He was about the same age as the kittens, but he was the friendliest kitten I had ever seen.  He cuddled on my chest and purred all the way home.  

Within two days of bringing the 6 kittens home, I noticed one of them (Chaz) had a beard of bubbles on his chin.  I called my veterinarian and she told me to come in the next morning with all of the kittens because, at least, Chaz had calicivirus, which was/is highly contagious.  No doubt they had contracted it at the animal services clinic and that is probably what caused their sister’s death.  Charlise, Chaz’ sister was the only one in the 2 litters who got sick, seriously sick.  However, Clark, the sweet boy I picked up off the street, got deathly ill as well, along with one of my adult cats, Catherine.  All were bundled off to the veterinary clinic, where both Charlise and Catherine spent 2 weeks for treatment and force-feeding.  Clark was the sickest and spent a month at the vet’s office before he began eating on his own.  Whew – we had dodged a bullet.  It is always dreadful to lose one of my animals, but losing kittens is the worst by far for me.  As of tonight, Charlise is the last of this little family of kittens/cats.

CISCO

I lost Cisco suddenly on February 16, 2008.  I had taken him to my vet because the nictitating membranes (third eyelid) in both of his eyes were partially up.  He had no other signs of illness.  He hadn’t lost weight, he was eating, so I didn’t suspect there was anything seriously wrong.  Within 2 or 3 days, he had died.  The vet suspected either liver or pancreatic cancer.  

Darling Clark, the kitten rescued from the 6 lane highway died, after a long wasting, undiagnosed illness, on February 25, 2010.  He had grown into a Velcro cat.  He would leap through the air, almost like a bird, to be in my arms.  He would leap from the floor, from a countertop, the bed or the arm of a chair, flying into my arms without scratching me or digging in with his claws.  Turning my back did not do any good in dissuading him from his goal, so there were many times he would end up on my back, much like a living backpack.  

CHAZ

Chaz first developed plasma cell stomatitis, a common result of having had calicivirus in early 2008.   I had most of his teeth removed in April, 2008.  He was fine for awhile.  By the end of 2010 it was obvious he had a problem with one of his ears.  Cordelia, one of my dogs, would continuously clean Chaz’ ear, while Chaz would lie there seeming to enjoy the cleaning, grooming process.  I took Chaz to my vet and she found that he had a cancerous, inoperable tumor in his ear.  His health deteriorated and I had to have him euthanized on February 12, 2011.  

CHARLIE

As Chaz was going through his illness, his brother Charlie, another sweet, extremely affectionate boy began losing weight much like Clark   He would lose weight, and then seem to recover and start putting some of the weight back on he had lost for a period, and then start losing weight again.  I took him to the vet on numerous occasions, had tests run again and again to no avail  X-rays, blood tests, nothing revealed what was causing the weight loss.  I had to force feed him from time to time, as well as give him sub-cutaneous fluids to keep him hydrated.  Finally, it became obvious that he wasn’t going to recover and his weight loss was decimating him.   I had often brought him to work with me, and everyone on staff fell in love with him.  He was happiest in someone’s arms.  I let him go and had him put down on June 14^th, 2011.  

At that point, I had only 3 cats of the original 6 remaining.  Of those one had never become tame, Chandler.  Over the years, I had only managed to get a quick “pet” of him while he was eating.  Generally, If I got within about 3 feet of him, he would hiss and take off.  Courtney, one of Chaz’ and Charlie’s sisters who was among the three, had remained feral for the first year after joining my herd of cats.  Then, surprisingly, she lay on the edge of the bed, rolled onto her back and looked up at me, asking for a belly rub.  At the top of my can’t resist list is a kitty tummy.  Regardless of the potential danger, the soft fur of a kitty tummy is totally irresistible to me. From that moment on, I could pet her and love on her and she never failed to offer me her tummy for a rub.  

COURTNEY

Courtney developed a snuffing noise during the time I was dealing with other seriously ill cats.  I assumed it was an upper respiratory problem, so I used a vaporizer to try to clear it up.  I tried a nebulizer, but neither did any good.  I took her to the vet, who insisted it was, in fact, an upper respiratory illness despite my insistence that wasn’t the problem.  In late 2011 she spent a week at the vet’s office, but she continued snuffling when I took her home.  I did some research on the internet, the vet did x-rays because I was certain she had a nasal tumor.  I ended up taking her to the area veterinary specialists, where they did a CAT scan.  Unfortunately, I was right.  She has nasopharyngeal carcinoma.   It was an inoperable, fatal condition.  She was fine for a while, but one morning she started having seizures.  I rushed her to the vet and had her euthanized.  That was on January 12, 2012.  

About a month or two after losing Courtney, Chandler began losing weight, much like Clark and Charlie had done.  After visiting two different vets, both of whom failed to diagnose either Clark’s or Charlie’s conditions, I saw no need to go through the frustration and enormous costs just to be told either “don’t know” or “can’t treat”. Chandler continued to eat, quite a bit, being the first cat with his head in a bowl of food.  As he continued to lose weight, I called my vet’s office to alert them that I would be dropping him off, explaining he was feral and would have to be sedated to be examined.  The problem?  I couldn’t catch him.  After making several attempts, I gave up.  Then one day, to my great surprise, he allowed me to pet him.  Within a week or two, he allowed me to pick him up, and even carry him around.  I took him into the vet and she postulated, due to feeling a mass in his abdominal region that he either had a kidney tumor or one in his spleen.  By this time he had lost a considerable amount of weight and certainly could not withstand a major surgery.  

CHANDLER

I refuse to sanction surgeries to remove tumors, especially internal ones.  Every time I’ve had that done to other dogs or cats, the cancer spread like wild fire throughout their bodies.  I had put Cricket through 5 surgeries for mammary cancer, many years before.  After the 5^th surgery, the tumors returned within 2 days.  The vet suggested subcutaneous fluids daily for Chandler after giving him an antibiotic injection. He lasted 2 weeks.  Although he ate a small amount yesterday morning before I left for work, and the fact that I knew his remaining time was very limited, I chose not to take him to the vet on Thursday to have him euthanized.  I wasn’t ready to give up and he didn’t seem to be ready either.  However, when I got home from work, it was obvious that it was time. He’d spent the day in a carrier.  When I first looked at him, lying with his head in a awkward, unnatural position, I feared he had died while I was at work.  He was alive but terribly weak, so I arranged to bring him to the vet in the morning.  It became obvious within the hour that he probably wouldn’t last the night.  He was uncomfortable and probably in pain. I took him to the nearest emergency clinic and had him euthanized.  At least, after 13 years of longing to touch him, pet him and hold him, I had the opportunity to do that for the final weeks of his life.  It was a special gift he gave me in the end that I will always treasure.  To hear him purr for me when I petted him and hold him was a reward that I shall always cherish.  

Little, petite Charlise, stunted by her early illness, remains the last of the group of kittens saved from a shorter, more difficult life on their own.  May she live many, many more years.  

CHARLISE

A Cat Like No Other

I took a slight hiatus in college and went to work, driving a catering truck, in 1972/73.  As I was pulling off the lot in my truck one morning, I spotted a white cat near the office.  It was apparent he was beat up, with injuries that made him walk with great difficulty.  Throughout the day, he was on my mind.  I feared another truck would return to the lot and he wouldn’t be able to get out of the way, and would get run over and killed.  When I pulled in at the end of the day, I saw he was still there and was greatly relieved. 

At the end of the day, it was necessary to pack up any of the sandwiches and other items that needed refrigeration and take them up to the office.  We’d also turn in our money for the day.  As I turned to head up to the office I saw the kitty had managed to drag himself all the way down to my truck.  Needless to say, I knew he’d be going home with me. 

I turned in my stuff, picked him up and put him into my car with me.  Of course, I had no cat carrier in the car, and he proceeded to lie down on my thigh.  Off we went to the vet’s office to see what could be done to fix him up.  For the entire trip, he calmly slept on my leg.  The vet determined he had been hit by a car some time ago and the bones in both his back legs and his tail had healed, but not in their proper positions.  He felt that if the cat wasn’t able to get around that the best solution would be to amputate one of his legs.  He said it would be easier for him to get around on 3 good legs. 

I named him Chester, after Dennis Weaver’s character on Gunsmoke.  Chester was a blacksmith who walked with a severe limp.  My Chester’s tail was bent at a 90 degree angle and both of his back legs were bowed, so that he looked like Charlie Chaplin’s little tramp from the rear.  He immediately got along with my other cats and soon regained his strength, thanks to regular meals and plenty of love. 

Chester came into my life when my other cats included Casey (the beloved), Cerulea, Cinnamon, Cricket and Corky.  Casey preferred to be held and would jump into my arms from the floor or anywhere he happened to be.  Chester wanted to do the same, but his back legs weren’t strong enough.  He learned to jump into my arms from counter tops.  And, a college friend taught him to climb up our legs.  That was fine when we were wearing those old fashioned Levi men’s jeans that were heavy duty denim – nothing like today’s jeans.  Of course, Chester didn’t discriminate.  It didn’t matter whether you were wearing jeans, or shorts, or a nightgown with bare legs.  If he wanted UP, he was going to get there. 

Chester was the most laid back, trusting cat that I’ve ever had.  I could hold my arms in front of me, and he would fall asleep on them.  I would grab both his back legs with one hand and his front legs with my other and put him around my neck, where he would also fall asleep.  He could sleep anywhere.  After spending at least 30 minutes putting together our artificial Christmas tree one year, making sure all of the branches were just perfect, I left the room for about 15 minutes.  When I came back into the room, I noticed that the tree looked a bit lopsided, with one branch hanging low right in the middle of the tree.  I didn’t understand how I could have missed that branch.  But, I didn’t.  While I was gone, Chester had climbed into the tree, straddled the branch and fallen asleep.

Chester gave me one of the biggest scares of my life.  We had a phone installed in our kitchen and I didn’t discover that the technician had left our back door standing open when he left.  It never occurred to me that someone would simply leave a door to the outside wide open, especially when there were cats and dogs in the house.  After counting noses, I discovered that Chester was missing.  At the time we lived a block off U.S. 441, a major highway in Miami.  My mother, a neighbor and I walked the neighborhood calling Chester to no avail.  I feared he would either get killed by a car or a dog.  Our dog, Cody, loved Chester.  She would “mouth” him, up and down his back.  Chester loved it.  Maybe he thought he was getting a massage.  But Cody would leave him with wet, spiked hair running down his spine.  He had no fear of dogs because of Cody and if he encountered a dog while outside, he wouldn’t run or even defend himself.  It wasn’t until hours later that I found him, across the street lying in the grass.  Fortunately, he was fine. 

I called Chester my football cat.  Many years ago, I was a big Miami Dolphins football fan.  I had a tendency to get a bit excited when watching the game and would yell quite a bit.  Once the screaming started, Chester would dash into the room from wherever he had been, and jump into my lap.  Seeing that I wasn’t in danger and didn’t need him to rescue me from an attacker, he would curl up in my lap and go to sleep.  I don’t know how he slept through my hollering, but he slept contentedly throughout the game and commotion.  I lost him to kidney disease when he wasn’t much older than 10 years old.  Football watching was never the same and not as much fun, once he was gone.  He was certainly one of a kind and a true delight.  It’s been about 30 years since his death and I still miss him to this day. 

Casey

In 1971, I turned 21 and was old enough to drink and vote.  Not at the same time, mind you, but for people of my age, 2 of the most important things ever to happen in our lives.  Little did I know that in June of that year something that would forever change my life would happen.

From the day I was born my family always had animals -a dog, a parakeet, a turtle, a bunny and even fish.  I never had a cat because my father DID NOT like cats.  He considered them “dirty animals.”  When I was 14 my mother took our boxer Cherie, who was 2 years younger than me, to the vet and had her put to sleep.  Cherie had cancer.  When I arrived home from school, the deed had already been done.  I never got a chance to say goodbye to her.  I was devastated.  On February 16^th, 1965 I went into the bedroom to wake up my father to take me to school and found him dead.  My father had been the center of my universe and he was gone.  My mother and older brother fell apart.  I was forced to be the adult in the home.  The loss of my father was a pivotal moment in my young life.  But, unbelievably to me,  something and someone even more pivotal  would be entering my life.

It wasn’t until the summer of 1968 that my mother got me a cat.  Chara Amani was a beautiful seal point Siamese kitten.  In October of that year, I left for college in Orlando.  By the time I returned for Christmas break, Chara was obviously my mother’s cat.  I lived on campus and couldn’t have “a pet”.  By the summer of 1971, home from college, I desperately wanted a blue point Siamese cat of my own.  One of my mother’s co-workers had rescued a blue point Siamese from outside a restaurant she and her husband visited.  This kitty was pregnant when rescued and in early May she gave birth to 2 kittens.  We went to her home to see the kittens.  I was so disappointed because neither of the kittens was Siamese.  Despite that fact, I chose the 5 week old boy, a gray and white tuxedo.  I named him Casey.  He rode home on my lap. 

Chara and our white boxer, Clipper, accepted Casey immediately.  Casey was a delight and so very smart and loving from the very beginning.  When not much more than 3 months old he decided he wanted to be held.  He leaped up to me, only making it as far as my stomach as I stood in front of him.  I looked down and he was hanging by one claw from my stomach.  Once bigger and stronger, he would leap from the floor into my arms.  He did this all his life, and amazed everyone who saw him do it.  He was fearless and like no other animal I had ever had in my life.  He had a mind of his own.  From him I learned what it was like to have a relationship with an animal that overcame the species barrier.  I wasn’t his “master” and he my “pet.”  He viewed me as his equal, a peer. 

When I went back to school, I lived off campus and took him with me.  He astounded me by opening any closed door.  It didn’t matter whether it opened away from him or toward him.  He would leap up, wrap his paws around the door knob (he knew that it required the door knob to be turned to open the door) and shift his weight backwards to cause the door to open toward him.  He’d then drop to the floor and use his paw to open the door wide enough to go inside.  He taught himself to fetch, just like a dog.  Unfortunately, he preferred the more expensive natural bristle makeup brushes to the cheaper sponge applicators.  And, I tried repeatedly to substitute the sponge brushes.  He finally got me trained – I let him have the brushes he wanted.  He would also fetch Hartz Mountain balls with bells inside.  Of course, they could only be the ones that were like a small cage all the way around.  He wouldn’t fetch the ones that were solid plastic on one half and “caged” on the other.  He would pick up the ball in his mouth and carry it back to me to throw over and over again.  I can’t tell you how many friends he would entertain by fetching.  The friends didn’t believe me until they witnessed it for themselves.  I never had to rely on an alarm clock to wake up.  Shortly before the alarm was set to go off, he would lie on my chest and stare at me.  If that didn’t work, he’d nip my nose.  If that didn’t work, he would repeatedly jump back and forth through the Venetian blinds until the annoying sound finally made me get out of bed. 

The biggest impact Casey had on my life was in 1988.  That was the year that South Korea hosted the Summer Olympics.  At that time ABC was the official U.S. network to televise the Olympic Games.  As a lead up to the games, ABC ran a special about Korea.  I was so disturbed as they showed the markets where cats and dogs were sold as food.  Live dogs and cats were shown with wires tying their legs behind their backs.  The dogs had empty aluminum cans fitted over their muzzles, likely to keep them from crying, barking or biting the vendors.  I could not believe that anyone would eat “pets.”  I was enraged, especially when the narrator told that cats were boiled alive.  Cats?  The most wonderful animals on the planet?  That someone could possibly do something like that to my Casey, to any cat?  I was enraged.  It was the first time in my life that I felt hatred for an entire group of people.  But, hatred just wasn’t in me.  What came next to mind was an epiphany for me.

The Korean culture views dogs and cats as food.  That certainly was foreign to me as an American.  We shared our homes, our beds, our lives with these beings.  We loved them.  They were family, friends.   Our culture, on the other hand, viewed cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, lambs, fish, even rabbits as food.  How could I, in good conscience, object to the culture of another country without examining our culture.  In that moment, I became a vegetarian.  To be able to criticize the customs of one culture without being a hypocrite I would have to reject our culture of eating the flesh of any animal.  The thought of anyone eating Casey or any of his relatives appalled me.  But weren’t the lives of cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, lambs, fish and rabbits just as valuable?  Of course they were and are.  Casey and the love that I had for him opened my eyes and changed my view of the world and transformed my lifetime love of animals into a respect for the lives of all non-human animals. 

On January 10, 2012, Casey will have been gone for 22 years.  I have lost numerous cats and dogs since that time.  Both of my parents are gone, as is my older brother.  Despite that, the loss of my beloved Casey was the greatest loss I have ever suffered.  I miss him as much today as I did the day that I had to euthanize him.  He was 18 ½ years old.  Not only did I stop eating the flesh of animals, but I have rescued many, many cats and dogs since 1990.  Casey helped me realize just how precious each life is and every animal deserves to live in an optimal environment and to realize the full potential of their own individual personality.  Each of them has a distinct personality, no different from each human.  They deserve a chance to experience joy and share joy with another who loves them, someone who will care for them, will protect them and make them a part of their life.  Although Casey is gone, he remains a part of me and I am forever grateful to have had him in my life.  I am a better person because of his love.