Doing okay.  Been pretty consumed with work and volunteering (even though I'm only going once a week – guess I was going twice a week for a while there…). 

I don't think I posted yet that I got Yoda's ashes almost two weeks ago and then a pawprint that they make at the Vet School a week later.  Getting the ashes was rough and I kept having spurts of pretty fierce denial from the time they called that they were ready until a day or two after I picked them up.  The pawprint was calming though, when it came.  I had trouble putting it down.  It really did feel like his spirit was imprinted on it, not just his paw.

Buried his ashes in the backyard near one of the rabbit entrances/exits in the fence.  My dad decided to go get a big ol' rock at the last minute to mark the site.  He brought brown and white paint too and had the idea to paint it brown and write Yoda's name in white, so it would match Yoda's color scheme.  It was very sweet of him, so I went with it, even though I thought the rock's natural color would be just fine.  Though I haven't done the white yet for Yoda's name.  Being rather perfectionistic about it.  Not sure how big I want to write it, or where to place it, etc. 

Seeing the pups at the shelter isn't too heartwrenching.  They seem to get into foster homes and forever homes pretty quick, so I don't worry for them too much.   I tell you what was heartwrenching tonight though – seeing a couple who had to come in to give up their dog.  They were trying to be very matter of fact about it, but you could see they were really struggling under the surface.  And the dog was so anxious, knowing something wasn't right, and you could see they were seeing it too and trying not to or they might break down.  Yeah, even now it's hard to think about, so let's leave it at that.  I'll take that hug now, Angel Jake's Mom – thanks!

There is a chance I'll be able to adopt him myself, and I would certainly love to, but I'm not going to try to make that decision until he's through recovery.  He isn't a tripawd yet, but amputation has been recommended due to an irrepairable knee injury.  I'm waiting on pins and needles for confirmation that the vet-friend-of-the-shelter's vet-orthopedic-surgeon-friend, who is in town on a vacation, will perform the amputation pro bono (paws crossed!!!).  In the next day or two or three, I hope to have time to sit down and crank out Gerry's story for everyone.  Maybe I'll have good news about an amputation date by then too (knock wood).

Oh, and Debra… he's a doberman mix

We hope that all works out well with Gerry(?).  It does sound as if the Spirit of Yoda will have to help train on how one catches rabbits as a TriPawd.  It took me three years after loosing "The Girls" before I was able to bring Cherry home.  They are never a replacement to our loved ones who have passed on.  They will form their own personalities, create their own memories, but most important they will fill that canyon of a hole so that you will be able to remember Yoda with a smile and not just a feeling of lonliness.

We have full faith that everything will work out for the best.  After all, you were the very best pawrents possible for Yoda.

Bob & Cherry

Yoda, when I prepared to adopt a dog from the Humane Society a little over three years ago, foremost in my mind was picking the lowest maintenance homeless dog possible. I had always had an entire family of folks to share dog duties with in the past, I expected being the sole caretaker, even of the best dog, would be fairly challenging. So, when we met, I immediately appreciated how nicely you walked on a leash. I noted that your hair was very fine, so perhaps my mother (who was plagued by our first dog’s shedding for 17 years) wouldn’t mind your visits, or get on my case about vacuuming when she visited us. You were so mild mannered, I thought maybe even my cousin’s son, who was afraid of dogs would be okay with you. (He was until you started trying to mount him). Both he and my mother would also love that you didn’t lick.

I had no idea whether you even liked me when we first met and I walked you – I felt a bit ignored. But then, when I sat on the bench, you didn’t pull on the leash to keep going, you stopped and stood next to me so that I could pet you for a while. And then you stepped on my foot and stood on it and it hurt like heck, (which was almost surprising given how underweight you still were) but I took it to mean that, in your own way, you were reaching out, saying, “Let’s do this.” So we did. And it just so happened that the soonest I could take you home was on Labor Day weekend. And I realized that 18 years earlier, on Labor Day weekend, my family brought home our first and only dog.

Low maintenance… ha… you really were born a low maintenance dog, I think, but …

You destroyed all the window blinds in the house before you got used to being alone while I was at work and that destructive chewing would flare up after housemates moved out. Poor boy. And then there was the time, three weeks after I brought you home, that my dad came by to walk you while I was at work. You both pulled in different directions and, because he had accidentally clipped your tag ring rather than your collar’s ring, you broke loose and took off, disappearing for 12 hours. After dad told me about how you stopped traffic on University Ave. before he lost sight of you, I knew that, if I got you back, the end of our time together was going to be uncomfortably dramatic. You weren’t going to leave this world easily. But I was overtired and worried and certainly that’s why I was having such negative thoughts.

You came back the next morning. You waited outside the gate to be invited back, even though the door was wide open. I wasn’t even sure you had bonded to me yet, but your return declared that you knew where home was.

When we first started going to the dog park, you would either spend the better part of an hour hunting voles in the field, ignoring my calls, or you’d find a tennis ball and proceed to try to ingest it. Apparently, my desperate lurching and leaping at you one day to get a ball away from you before you could swallow any more pieces of it, finally persuaded you that it wasn’t healthy, or embarrassed you enough to decide that it wasn’t worth it. That incident and learning how to play fetch with tennis balls seemed to convince you that eating wasn’t the most fun that could be had with a tennis ball after all.

Then you began catching rabbits and so I had to learn how to get the bodies from your mouth, to make sure you wouldn’t get worms or something, and then dispose of them somewhere safe as well. Not really a low maintenance task at all. But you were so darn proud of yourself every time, how could I begrudge you for it? And then you went and pulled it off on three legs with lungs full of cancer and I couldn’t have been prouder. Though I did sadly suspect you caught that one because it was then or never if you were going to cross that off your bucket list.

Cancer. Not a low maintenance disease. But you took your chemo with mild side effects. You always seemed happy to go to the UW Vet School (at least the waiting room). You adjusted to your amputation as quickly as just about any other tripawd I’ve read about. My mom bought a bunch of extra rugs for the floor all for nothing, because you were good on smooth surfaces from day 1. You were back at the park playing chase just about a month after your surgery.

When it was time to go, you were honest with me and didn’t try to hide it. That was the only thing you could do to make it any easier on me. Good boy.

All the amazing things about how you coped with your cancer and lived your last four months to the fullest were testified to on the Tripawds Forums. All your accomplishments, as well as everything we learned to cope with, will be of help and inspawration to others even since you’ve moved on. You’ll even be an inspawration and help to me a second time as the universe, I suspect with your help, has put another Doberman mix in my path who needs an amputation. Only about a month after I had to say goodbye to you – you sure had a lot of faith in me, buddy. But you know I try to live by that bumper sticker on the car: “Lord, help me to be the person my dog thinks I am.” So I say to myself, if Yoda thinks I’m ready for another dog in need of a home and an amputation already… okay I’d better not let him down.

Honestly, though, it’s been much more a gift than a challenge to have Gerry placed in my path so soon. It was just too hard going from caring for you so intensely for those last few months to not having anyone to take care of at all. I don’t miss you any less, of course, but after you passed there was a loneliness and a helplessness that have since been appeased by having Gerry to look after.

And Yoda, while in a sense, it was cute that you taught him to attack the blinds when left alone, that really wasn’t necessary. Thank you for not showing him that until I was nearly home, so that he didn’t get far. The Doberman traits you two share are enough, you don’t have to convince me of how much he is like a little brother to you. Also feel free to not help him with rabbit hunting. You’re so not listening to me right now, are you?

I love you, buddy. You were an incredibly loyal, sweet and strong companion here on earth and it was an honor to have been chosen by you.  You won the hearts of so many, including your Grandma and Grandpap, which is not such an easy task. There’s so much more I could write about our times together and how important you are to me, but you know it and I know it. This is enough for an official so long to your earthly life here with me.

Now get back to your day job and help Codie Rae out with her skwirl problem!

Wonderful letter.  Yoda's spirit lives on!  I am so happy that Yoda has put Gerry in your path.  I can't wait to call you Yoda's & Gerry's Mom.  Kind of long isn't it  If you change your name to Gerry's Mom nobody will think you are replacing Yoda.  He will live in your heart forever.

I am so happy for you and hope everything works out with the amputation and the adoption.  

Debra & Angel Emily (Dobie power!)

What an incredible letter.