I'm continuing down the road of grief, trying to take a few detours, but I find myself back on it for a while.  I think that often people try to get you "back to normal" too soon.  Some people need to "simmer" for a while and contemplate what they have lost and just reflect on everything.

Last week we got Luna's ashes (cremains) delivered to us by Fed Ex from Crevasse's Pet Cremation Services in Gainesville, Florida where we had Luna put to sleep at UF Veterinary Medical Center Small Animal Clinic on Tuesday, September 16th, 2008.  Even though the package arrived last week, I was unable to open it.  My boyfriend, Dave, was out of town and so I waited for him to get back.  But, even after he got back, neither of us were up to opening the shipping package to check out the walnut box (urn) with the black German Shepherd dog figurine lying on top of it and Luna's ashes inside of that box. 

Finally, last night, I decided to just go ahead and open the shipping box, to make sure that the contents were not damaged and that the right breed of dog figurine was on top of the walnut box.  I put the box on the bed and opened it with Dave watching.  It was very well wrapped with bubble wrap and plastic bags.  After removing all of the padding, we found the walnut box with the German Shepherd on top as ordered, and in perfect condition.  We were told that the ashes of Luna were in a plastic bag which is securely tied and sealed and then put into the walnut box through the bottom of the box and then securely bolted shut.  Looking at the box was really traumatic for us, as it just was so final.  It was so hard to imagine our playful, sweet Luna, now reduced to these ashes and put in this box.  The box was actually very "attractive" for what it was, and actually was perfect for the "occasion" but it was little solace. 

I took the shipping box out of the bedroom and put it outside the bedroom door and then carried the walnut box with Luna's ashes in it to the other end of the house to what had been my dad's bedroom, where he had died last August 2007, and was most recently, Luna's bedroom.  My dad had always loved animals and in particular, dogs, so his spare bedroom in my home was the perfect place for our special dog, Luna.

I put the walnut box on the bed in Luna's bedroom and left it there.  Dave was still in the other bedroom and he looked pale and distraught.  We both decided we had seen enough of the box for one night.  However, my employee, Joyce, who helps with my dogs (I now have 11, it has been hard to change that from 12 to 11), arrived last night and I showed her the box in Luna's room.  As soon as she saw it, the tears started rolling down her cheeks.  You have to understand that Joyce is a "tough cookie", one of those "pioneer" types, but Luna really got to her, they had a great relationship and I credit her with helping Luna live as long as she did, with the great attention and care that she gave her during the past year since Luna's diagnosis on October 5th, 2007.  Of course, I cried again, too, when I showed it to her.  On the side of the walnut box was a little brass plate which read: "Luna", next line: "Luna vom Burghard" her pedigree name, next line, 4-29-2005 to 9-16-2008, next line, which Dave asked to be put on there: "Our precious little girl". 

The walnut box is still sitting on the bed.  I have shown it to two other employees who worked with Luna and plan to leave it there until everyone has seen it.  Then, I plan to wrap it back up carefully and put it back into the shipping package and put it away somewhere safe.  I just can't set it out somewhere and look at it.  I may change my feelings about that in the future, but for now, that is how I feel, so that is what I am going to do.  There is no right or wrong thing to do in a situation like this, it's what feels right to you.

I have read all of the messages here concerning Luna, and I want to say that I really appreciate everyone's kindness.  It has not been my intention to bring anyone down through my posts, but to only have an outlet for my own overwhelming emotions. 

I would like to say, that dogs can live a long time after a serious diagnosis.  During Luna's illness, I researched this topic for countless hours and printed out hundreds of pages of abstracts, articles, and studies.  My dog had hemangiosarcoma, in a very strange and rare presentation, in a 2 and 1/2 year old dog, in the right hind leg, primary bone, etc.  There are other types of bone cancer for dogs, and all are going to be different in various ways.  I know that there are dogs that have lived a very long time, and even been cured.  So, your dog's destiny doesn't have to be the same as Luna's or any other dog's destiny.  Your dog's destiny is its own.  It certainly doesn't mean that your dog will necessarily die from bone cancer.  Sometimes, dogs can overcome these medical challenges.  In Luna's case, even though she did die from her bone cancer (primary bone cancer in her right hind leg/hemangiosarcoma), she won many victories in the year that she survived after diagnosis.  She was given only two weeks to two months to live, and she lived more than a year from the time she first showed symptoms, which is really unheard of.  So, we are grateful for the time we had with her, but of course, had hoped that she might be one of those dogs that would be cured, or live for two or three years, at least. 

Like Jerry with his pawrents, I feel Luna's "spirit" around me, especially in her special section of the yard which we called, "Luna's Garden" and late at night near her bedroom.  She was, indeed, our precious little girl.

Sandra

One thing that helped me after Luna's passing, was writing a "memorial service" for her.  This might be helpful for others in this forum, too.  It an be short, or long, simple or detailed, but it is a good way to get your thoughts and feelings out there and express them and share them, if you wish, with others who feel as you do.  It is also a formal or tangible tribute to your pet, something that you can reflect upon. 

For me, I did the service for the employees who work with my dogs.  I knew that no one would understand more than they did, or care, more than they did.  Writing my feelings about Luna, what she went through, and how I appreciated the care and help from those around me throughout this past year, was very therapeutic for me.  Anyone could write something, and they could simply read it alone, or read it out loud alone, or share it with others, by letting others read it, or by "presenting" it as I did, at a little memorial service. 

Luna had been given her own bedroom after my father passed away on August 27, 2007, at the age of 92.  My father was an animal lover, and was particuarly fond of dogs.  The bedroom used to be his, and in fact, was the room in which he passed away with my holding his hand.  Strangely enough, there seemed to be some kind of "connection" between my father and Luna, because the day after my father's funeral, we learned that Luna had fractured her leg and would need surgery (we were still out of town at the time).  A week later, after we had returned home, on October 5th, 2007, the vet called with the diagnosis of hemangiosarcoma and the prognosis which gave us little hope.  That diagnosis came on my father's birthday.  At any rate, we decided to give Luna my dad's room.  And, strangely enough, it brought this room back to life.  Luna had an extra large cage in this room, in which was a double thick ortho bed and a ton of toys.  She had her own food and water mat, with fresh bowls of water every day, and special meals all prepared for her.  Our one employee, Joyce, became very close to Luna and played with her in this room for hours on end while watching "Little House on the Prarie".  Luna had her own "garden" in the back yard.  We fenced it off because the vets at UF had told us that she should not go to the bathroom in the same areas as our other 11 dogs, due to the chemo going through her body and being present in her urine.  So, we kept those areas of the yard separate for the other dogs' safety.  They told us that once her chemo sessions were done that the chemo would be washed away by the rain, etc.

It was in this bedroom, that I held the memorial service.  I got her very favorite toys and arranged them in the cage and on top of the cage (which was always left open so she could come in and out of it as she pleased.  On top of the cage, I added a small candle and a paw print which they made at UF from her paw after she had been put to sleep.  I also put on top of the cage a small book entitled, "For Every Dog An Angel" which I had read shortly after Luna's diagnosis.  I had been deeply touched by this book, and it had been very special to me and I wanted to include it in the precious items I put on top of the cage.  I then picked a time to hold the service and unplugged the phones in the house so there were no disturbances, and asked everyone to turn off their cell phones.  We gathered in my dad's and Luna's bedroom for the service.  My boyfriend, Dave, and five employees sat in a small semi circle on some plastic yard chairs I brought into the room and the day bed I had put in there (I just couldn't keep the bed my dad had died in, and gave it to one of the employees).  I lit the candle.  I read the service to them, with tears streaming down my face.  There were tears rolling down their faces as well.  I truly felt that my pain was shared and it made me feel so much better to be able to thank them this way and to let them know what I was feeling as well.

I would like to share what I wrote with you here if I may.  Perhaps, it will give you some solace, or give you some ideas on your own service, if that is something that appeals to you.  At any rate, it is what was in my heart.

Luna’s Memorial Service

Today, we are gathered here to remember our precious Luna and pay tribute to her life. Luna's journey actually began long before she was born. It all began on a sunny day, August 8th, 2000, when I met for the first time a handsome 2 year old black Schutzhund III German Shepherd dog named Eik vom Blausteinsee imported from Germany three months earlier. I had purchased Eik without ever seeing him in person, only pictures, but I knew that he was the dog for me. Two years later, I purchased another black German Shepherd dog, a female Schutzhund I, imported from Germany named Kora van der Bultinsteige. Kora would be Eik’s mate and it was “puppy love” at first sight for these two.

In 2005, I bred Eik and Kora which in 63 days resulted in a litter of ten precious pups delivered by C section by Dr. Beverly Brimacomb of Highland Pet Hospital, in Lakeland, Florida on April 29th, 2005. I can remember vividly, how excited I was to watch the puppies being born. I had always wanted to be present at a birth, whether human or animal, but had never had the opportunity to do so. Sure, I'd seen it lots of times on TV and in movies, but not the real deal. This time, I not only was able to watch, but also video tape, the birth of these adorable black puppies, chirping their first puppy words which almost sounded like they were saying "mama, mama". Even the vet and her assistants commented on the "mama" sounds they were making.

Riding home from Lakeland that night with a basket of pups on my lap, Kora in the back of our SUV, and my boyfriend, Dave Snyder, at the wheel, I was on cloud nine.  Dave was just wondering how we were going to handle such a "full house" but I knew we would do it somehow. This was the first litter for "Burghard Shepherds". Although I had planned on selling the puppies, and possibly keeping a few for myself, I never had dreamed that somehow, I would end up with all ten “puppies” in my possession three years later. I had a total of 12 black German Shepherds. Six months later, I had team of employees to help me take care of them.

Among these newborns, which consisted of 7 females and 3 males, was a puppy named "Luna vom Burghard". Her American Kennel Club number was AKC #10865303. Luna would soon show us that she was an active and athletic dog. Little did we know that her life would take such a strange, unusual and sad turn so early on, but it did. I had just attended my 92 year old father's funeral in Louisville, Kentucky on September 27th, 2007, when we realized that Luna had a serious problem with her right hind leg. A phone call from Joyce, one of my employees, who works with my dogs, relayed the medical information. Surgery would be needed to repair a mysterious fracture of the femur of the right hind leg. I had to give the “go ahead” long distance from Louisville as I had not returned home yet. One week later, on October 5th, my father's birthday, the telephone rang and the vet revealed a stunning diagnosis. She really threw us a curve ball when she explained what the pathology report had said. Her words floated disjointedly through my mind, as my chest tightened. I rushed through the house with a portable phone and put the vet on the speaker phone so Dave could listen. "Hemangiosarcoma...primary bone...a few months to live, a year would be more than generous...options: amputation, hemipelvectomy, chemo... no cure...aggressive." That night as I walked around in the darkness of the back yard while taking Luna outside, it was raining hard; it matched my emotions. I remember writing in my diary that night, "I don't know what is falling harder, the rain or my tears".

Luna was only on this earth for 3 years and 4 months, but she lived life to the fullest. She was strong and athletic, even after hemangiosarcoma took her right hind leg and part of her pelvis from her.  Nothing was going to stop her.  She loved to run and play, and sometimes got carried away, like the day she knocked Joyce over in her chair and gave her a black eye.  She also punched me in the stomach and hip which left a bruise and knocked the wind out of me.  Of course, none of this was done with malice, but rather an over abundance of joie de vie, prey drive, and super acceleration that was the essence of our "Luna".  Luna beat all of the odds, predictions and prognoses. She didn't live by such parameters. Her only speed was "faster".

She was alert, beautiful, had an expressive face and exquisite profile, a tribute to her fine working and show lineage and German ancestry.  She was a proud girl, a sweet girl, who had a very large and protective bark for such a petite lady.  She was caring and affectionate, and loved to be petted and massaged.  She never got to be a "mom", but had a few practice sessions with pseudo pregnancy and was protective and conscientious with her green "puppy" toy, keeping it by her side at all times. She really did a fine job of being a "mommy". Luna also had an excellent "nose"; she could have been a service dog, bomb sniffing dog, search or rescue dog, but to us, she was simply our precious pet, whom we loved so much.  She didn't have to do anything special to earn our love; she simply had to be herself.

Although Luna had not had much experience in the "outside world" from the jungle Shangri-La in her back yard that was her home haven, she faced her medical challenges with courage and strength.  We can't imagine how strange and frightening all of the new surroundings, vets and their staff, medical devices such as CT, echo and ultrasound equipment, and medical procedures must have been for her, but she seemed to handle them so well.  She did what she had to do and it paid off, she lived far longer than she would have otherwise.  This is a tribute to the kind of German stock from which she was descended.  Now, Luna joins those other dogs in her pedigree who have gone before her.  Her grandparents, her great grandparents, males and females, all Schutzhund trained.

We must always remember, though, that we each did all we could to help her, whether it was making sure that she always had a clean bowl of fresh water, freshly cooked and cut meats, playing with her, talking to her, taking her to vet appointments, both locally as well as driving her to UF in Gainesville, playing games with her, buying toys for her, or giving her my dad’s bedroom, complete with not just one plush bed, but four beds so she could have her choice at any given time.  We would often joke that she had housekeeping and room service to provide clean towels and "bed linens", and best of all, she had love.

We cooked special food for her, lovingly cut into bite size pieces.  We got the best medicine, we used every treatment we could find, we found new treatments, experimental treatments, we did all we could for her, but this terrible disease, hemangiosarcoma, took her from us and left us helpless and in grief. We must also remember that she will never have to suffer again; no more surgery, no more stitches, no more fear, no more nausea, no more x rays, no more ultrasounds, no more MRI's, no more echocardiograms, no more syringes, no more IV needles, no more chemo, no more metronomics , no more nasty tasting medications, no more pills shoved down her throat, no more holding our breath while waiting for test results. No more, no more.

Even with all of the medical issues involved, I tried to make something positive come out of this painful experience. I learned of the American Kennel Club (AKC) Canine Genomics Project and donated samples of Luna’s blood and a piece of the tumor from her leg to this study which is searching for answers to canine cancer, including hemangiosarcoma. The information they gain from this research can be used in the future for both dogs and humans. My other eleven German Shepherd Dogs, who are healthy, have also had their blood donated to this study to help researchers like Dr. Matthew Breen and his wife, Tessa, discover any genetics that might be involved in causing this heartbreaking disease. Hopefully, this research will lead to a cure so that others will not have to go through what we went through with Luna.

We did the best we could for Luna and appreciate the care she received from the vets and other medical professionals who had a role in her life including:

Dr. Beverly Brimacomb, who brought her into this world, Highland Pet Hospital, Lakeland, Florida; and the vets who worked with her after her diagnosis of hemangiosarcoma: Dr. John Dee and Dr. Mike Kendig, Lake Emma Animal Hospital, Lake Mary, Florida; Dr. Kara Fiore of Affiliated Veterinary Specialists (AVS), Maitland, Florida; Dr. Nick Bacon, Dr. David Lurie, Dr. Rowan Milner, Dr. Ryan Cavanaugh, Jessica Noggle, Karen Legato, Joy Dias, PhD.; and the medical team at the University of Florida Veterinary Medical Center Small Animal Hospital, Gainesville, Florida.

I would also like to thank the following vets, medical professionals, and friends, whose help, support, and advice were so valuable: Steve Weiss, MD; Ed Benz, MD, President, Dana Farber Cancer Institute, Boston, Massachusetts; Dr. Matthew Breen/Dr. Tessa Breen, Canine Genomics Project, North Carolina State University at Raleigh; Dr. Marie Mullins, Highlands Ranch, Colorado; Dr. Betsy Hershey, Integrative Veterinary Oncology, Phoenix, Arizona; Dr. Cheryl London and Dr. William Kisseberth, Veterinary School at Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio; Dr. Karin Ulrikke Sorenmo, University of Pennsylvania, Ryan Veterinary Hospital, Philadelphia, PA; Dr. Sue Downing, Veterinary Cancer Group, City of Angels, Los Angeles, California; and, SAHA advisors: Leonard Cohen, PhD; Dr. Shantu Amin & Dr. Dhimant Desai, Penn State, PA; Carmelo “Nino” Amarena, San Jose, CA; Dr. Harish Narayanaswamy, San Carlos, CA; Dr. Philip J. Bergman, NY; Terrance Fox, PhD, Buck Mountain Botanicals, Miles City, Montana; Dr. James Bailey, Associated Veterinary Service, Great Falls, MT; Dr. Mark Ingram, Franklin Road Animal Hospital, Brentwood, Tennessee; Dr. Gabriel Manu, Capital Plaza Animal Hospital, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida; Dr. Cheryl Haasss, Woodland Animal Health Center, Seymour, WI; and, Dr. Alan Lippart, Markesan Veterinary Clinic, Markessan, WI.

We’d also like to thank “Jerry G. Dawg”, the well-known canine amputee who has been an inspiration to so many pet owners and his, “pawrents”, Rene and Jim, hosts of the http://www.tripawds.com website for dogs who have had, or are facing, amputation. This site, which offers many resources, including forums and a blog by “Jerry”, was a tremendous help to us in our journey with Luna and, in particular, helping us to help her through this experience.

I also want to thank everyone who works for Burghard Shepherds who have cared so diligently for all of my dogs, and especially for their care of Luna, including: Joyce, Wilner, Daniel, Donald, Kenny, and Marie. I want to thank Wilner for giving me the faith and insight to “give Luna another chance at life” by encouraging my decision to follow through with the amputation and hemipelvectomy at UF by saying that “Luna could do it” and have her leg amputated and survive longer than anyone thought possible. This encouragement resulted in six more months of quality life for her. And, to my boyfriend, Dave, I want to thank you for driving Luna to Gainesville so many times, for talking to vets around the country about her case, for arranging for the SAHA medication and all that that entailed, and, of course, for loving Luna. But, most of all, I would like to thank Joyce for her devotion and love which she generously and lavishly gave to Luna; their connection was obvious and mutual. I truly believe that her connection with Luna helped Luna to survive as long as she did. They had a special relationship and Luna was as much her dog as she was mine.

Luna had a short life at 3 years and 4 months, but as my dad used to say, she had a "charmed life", because even through the adversity, she shone through like a full, silvery moon in a clear night sky.  Through her hardships, we got to know her better and love her more.  She was our Luna, our “Luna Tuna”, our “Lulu”, our “Luner-Tuner”, and our just plain “Tuna”.  She was our "girly-girl", bright and sassy at the door first thing in the morning, tail wagging and ready to go outside and see what the world had waiting for her.  Out past the swimming pool and into the back yard she would bounce, hopping merrily on three legs along the black mats we had laid down for her on the pool deck with love, to protect her, to help her, to keep her from slipping, to guide her to "Luna's Garden" where yellow butterflies flitted amongst pink hibiscus flowers and squirrels played hide and seek in the palm trees.  She may have been an amputee, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. Her trademark “alligator snap”, a playful snapping gesture with her mouth, was another favorite activity that put a twinkle in her eye. She simply loved life and loved to lie out in the yard, taking a warm sunbath and surveying her kingdom.  She never seemed to miss her hind leg, but pranced on, happily, waiting for the next frisbee to be tossed to her or another opportunity to pounce on and to shake and "kill" her pterodactyl dinosaur toy.

And, so, Luna, this is what I have to say to you today: “I watched you as you entered this world and held you when you were just minutes old, I saw your eyes open for the first time, and marveled at your athletic abilities and playful "joie de vivre".  I grew to love you and respect you and marveled at your strength to endure.  I watched you take your first breath as well as your last and leave this world much sooner than you should have--all during a full moon.  And, on Tuesday, September 16^th, 2008, you fell asleep to have an MRI, and when you woke up, you were in a new and beautiful place, a garden filled with flowers and new furry friends with whom to play. And, in the background, in a misty place, you may have heard me crying and smelled my tears and wondered where I was and why I was so sad. But, don't you worry, for although my heart is breaking, I will continue to care for the rest of your family, and forge ahead until we can be together again. I will still talk to you, and you will be able to hear me call your name, and pretend that you are still here with me, but as time goes on, I will let you go on without me, for a while, so shine on, shine on my precious one".

Now, at the Rainbow Bridge, where all pets and animals go when they make the “transition”, Luna romps and plays with endless toys and races across fields with four swift legs carrying her along with the wind.  Her eyes are shiny and bright and her ears are forward, always chasing the elusive prey that she loved to seek.  And, someday, she will stop, listen and look.  And, her head will jerk around at a familiar sight, scent and sound.  Then she will hear me calling to her, stooping down with arms wide open, for that joyous reunion that only human and dog can share.

Until that day, we will rejoice in the dog she was--strong, fast, brave, Luna.  Beautiful and precious.

Sandra Thomas & David Snyder, Owners/Breeders

Burghard Shepherds