Best Friends Magazine Online

Re: Story ideas : Military Working Dogs

GeorgeBailey47 — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 00:44:07 GMT

I agree about military dogs.

I'd love to see an article about No-Kill leader Nathan Winograd. Mr Winograd has done alot of good, and I'd love to read about him and his awesome book: "Redemption".

We need to support no-kill. It is directly related to No More Homeless Pets.

Killing Animals is NOT "Humane". It is murder.

Anonymous — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 01:19:03 GMT

Lets get to the "nitty gritty" right off the bat:

Killing a healthy living soul is NOT "humane". It is murder.

Anyone who thinks that killing a healthy living being is "humane" is, in my view, disturbed, misguided and dangerous.

Picture it: You are walking down the street. Someone comes up from behind you and sticks you with a needle with a lethal solution in it. You die there and then.

At their trial, your killer stands before the judge and says: " Your honor....what I did was the only humane thing to do. We live in a city plagued by crime, and even the cities that arent currently plagued by crime, are going to end up like our city. I didnt want my victim (YOU) to be shot by a criminal, or raped by a sex offender, or hit by one of the many speeding cars in the city, or to die a painful death due to the fatty foods that they eat. So you see, your honor, I did what was best for them. I did the painless thing. I did the caring thing. It didnt hurt them too much....I dont think. I did the humane thing"

My question to YOU, the readers of this blog:
Would this nonsense be acceptable to YOU or your family?
If you were killed, would any amount of lame "humane" excuses be valid to your surviving family?

Would such a lame "humane" explanation make it ok for someone to take the life of someone you love?

Of course not. But then, if you are on the BF Network, you're probably a true animal lover who knows that every individual life matters.

Sadly, however, there are disturbed, misguided and dangerous humans who call themselves "animal lovers" who murder animals, or voice their support for murdering animals, everyday.

PETA, long thought to be a group of dedicated animal lovers, who advertise themselves as being "ethical", are now known to be run by a woman who has personally and UNethically, murdered thousands of animals with her own guilty hands. PETA, by their own admission, and I quote, "Do not believe in right to life for animals".

HSUS, who advertise themselves as "humane", INhumanely support the practice of murdering healthy animals.

The ASCPA, who pay for heart-tugging commercials of animals, with sad music playing in the background, advertise themselves as "fighting cruelty". Yet they CRUELLY support the CRUEL practice of murdering animals in 'shelters' everyday,

Do you see the trend that is becoming sadly apparent here?

Hypocrisy.

When they want our money, they tell us what we want to hear (That they will save lives). And with our money, they do the complete opposite of what our money was intended for (They end lives).

How many more dollars are animal lovers going to send to PETA,the HSUS and the ASPCA for them to use to buy the murder weapons- the deadly solution to put into the needles, the needles themselves (The murder weapons ), and to help the murderers (kill 'shelters', pounds, animal control, etc)?

When do we wake up and say "No More. It stops NOW."?

When do we give these poor excuses for "animal rescuers" the ultimatum that says "As long as you kill and/or support the killing and thus murder of cats, dogs, bunnies, etc you will not receive one cent from us".?

When do we stop smiling and playing nice, pretending this animal holocaust is not going on (even though we know that it indeed is) and take a stand against this mass murder of precious HEALTHY, ADOPTABLE LIVING SOULS?

When does that happen?

For me, it already has.

For you, the reader of this blog, the answer to the question "when?", depends entirely on you.

Just remember this: Right now, somewhere, a precious living soul, who deserves to live, love and to be loved equally as much as you and I, are being jabbed with a weapon that will end their life.

Say what you will. Call it what you want. Do what you will. But know this: Such a despicable acting of ending a life is not "humane" "ethical" or any other cutesy phrase. It is cruel, it is disgusting, it is murder, it is wrong.

Remember that when you are asked for some "donations to help the animals" by the UNethical PETA, the INhumane HSUS or the cruel ASPCA.

But not supporting them isnt enough. We must let them know WHY we are not supporting them. We must protest their mass murder (or support of mass murder) of precious living individual souls, who are equal to ourselves in importance, and are equal to ourselves, in their deserving of life and love.

"Take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented."
Elie Wiesel.

God Bless us all.

"A universe is, indeed, to be pitied whose dominating inhabitants are so unconscious and so ethically embryonic that they make life a commodity, mercy a disease, and systematic massacre a pastime and a profession."
Professor J. Howard Moore.

"Institutional cruelty does everything it can to conceal the fact that it is destroying its victims, and in doing this it keeps its spectators from feeling disgust and from being confused by the paradox of trying to justify the unjustifiable, of trying to praise the smashing of the weak."
Philip P. Hallie, Cruelty

Killing Animals Is NOT "Humane"

Anonymous — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 00:39:19 GMT

It is murder

Story ideas : Military Working Dogs

Maxie88 — Thu, 21 May 2009 04:25:22 GMT

I think an article on military working dogs would be very interesting & informative.

RE: Favorite Rescue: The Great Kitty Rescue

Anonymous — Mon, 11 May 2009 00:44:07 GMT

I have a theory: The people who named the City of Pahrump, were in all likelihood, fans of "The Little Drummer Boy".

;o)

(Think about it for a minute)

Newsletters & Alerts : Compassion in Action

Anonymous — Mon, 11 May 2009 00:36:36 GMT

I would like to receive more information on how I can personally lend my voice, my hand, my heart, soul, etc to help animals.

For example, information on where to email, write, or call people who are making key decisions in the lives of animals.

I love reading about how others are helping animals, of course. But I want to help too. Any info on how BF members/magazine readers can get active in contacting politicians, pro-kill supporters who need enlightenment, District Attorneys who need to know that we want the law to punish those who hurt or kill animals, etc, would be great info.

Also if you could include in the newsletters/alerts, printable posters, info cards, etc that members can print on their computers and post in libraries, pet stores, etc to spread the No-Kill, No More Homeless Pets messages, that would be great.

Thanks

VOTE NOW: Your 25 Favorite Rescue Stories : Favorite Story: World's Religions Come Together on Behalf of Animals

Anonymous — Sun, 10 May 2009 00:51:34 GMT

I've listed my favorite rescue-The Great Kitty Rescue. Honorable mention goes to the Katrina rescue, the rescue of the pets in war-torn areas, the Michael Vick dogs (when other "animal lovers" wanted them killed),I could go on.

However, my favorite story to appear in the Best Friends Magazine is the story of how members of the world's religions came together to sign and support "The Proclamation" which finally gave cats, dogs, and other souls what they have not received from the world's religions in the past: Love, respect, reverence for their lives and reverence for their SOULS.

Finally, thanks to Best Friends, we heard these religious leaders acknowledge that animals have souls, and that they are God's precious Children just as much as the rest of us.

Finally, dogmatic human bureaucratic baloney was left out, and animals were left IN.... in the circle of love,included where the rest of us have left animals out in the past: As precious individuals with beautiful, precious, immortal souls, equally as much as the rest of us.

It's nice to see that religions are finally embracing the truth instead of the myth.

This will benefit everyone, most importantly animals everywhere.

I am a firm believer that how you view someone determines how you will treat them.

In the past, religions and society have viewed animals as being the same as plant matter.Some imbeciles even went so far as to say that animals didint have immortal souls like us "all precous humans" (Incorrect). Animals were animated machines said other lost individuals. It's no wonder then that animals are murdered in "shelters", slaughtered in beef industry facilities, abused by humans young and old.
We had a horrible view of them.

Now, with the world getting educated and enlightened to the fact that animals are living, breathing, feeling, thinking, loving, soul-filled Children of God, equally as much as we human animals are.

It's no coincidence that the No-Kill movement has grown leaps and bounds in recent years. It's no coincidence that cats, dogs, bunnies, etc. are now considered members of the family as much as anyone else.
It's no coincidence that vegetarianism has increased greatly.
It's no coincidence that there are more Best Friends supporters than ever.

With knowledge, and enlightenment, comes love, respect, and change.

Religion has such a powerful influence on others, that we MUST REMAIN ACTIVE in spreading the word that animals are God's precious, beautiful, immortal, soul-filled Children equally as much as the rest of us.

If we do this, animals will continue to be treated as Children of God, rather than the ignorant, arrogant ways that they have been treated in the past.

I give this friendly reminder to any religious leaders who happen to read this: It is great that you signed the Proclamation. It is great that you took part in what Best Friends was doing. Thank you for speaking on behalf of God's precious four-legged Children.

But please, please dont let it end there......constantly remind your worshippers in churches, temples, mosques, etc, about this message.

We must remain ever conscious about how we and our brothers and sisters in fur, fin and feather, are ONE AND THE SAME.

We are all beautiful flowers, who had our seeds lovingly planted on Earth by the same immortal, loving Gardener.

Just like God welcomes EVERY INDIVIDUAL SOUL INTO HEAVEN, regardless of race, species, nationality, etc., we must welcome every individual soul into our loving arms and into our religions, if we are going to claim to be truly living God's will.

VOTE NOW: Your 25 Favorite Rescue Stories : Favorite Rescue: The Great Kitty Rescue

Anonymous — Sun, 10 May 2009 00:23:02 GMT

My favorite rescue involving Best Friends, would have to be The Great Kitty rescue.

Picture it: Pahrump Nevada. Soaring tempatures.

And 800 cats left to die by inept, irresponsible, lost souls.

Enter Best Friends. The cats are fed, given medical attention, and most importantly, love and respect.

The result:

The vast majority of the cats not only survived, but thrived, and many found good new homes with loving, responsible families.

Those who didnt get adopted (yet), are living the good life at Best Friends.

Sadly, some didnt survive.

But they are in the best place to be: Heaven. Forever safe, happy, healthy, loved, and alive.

They will NOT be abandoned there....

QUIZ ANSWERS from the May/June issue (p.63)

catwriter3 — Mon, 04 May 2009 21:50:34 GMT

Which animal has proven to be smarter in studies, pigs or dogs?
Pigs.

What is the collective name for a group of kittens?
Kindle.

Cats are indigenous to all continents except for which two?
Antarctica and Australia.

On average, which lives longer, an intact male cat or neutered male cat?
The neutered male lives on average three years longer than an unneutered one, all other things being equal.

Do birds have lips?
No.

True of false: A dog’s sense of smell is about one thousand times more sensitive than a human’s.
False. It’s one million times more sensitive.

What is the largest North American vulture?
California Condor.

What are the eight basic sounds horses make?
Snort, squeal, greeting nicker, courtship nicker, maternal nicker, neigh, roar and blow.

What colors make up a calico cat?
White, black, orange.

What kind of toe arrangement do parrots have?
Zygodactyl (2 toes forward and 2 toes backward)

What were Labrador Retrievers originally bred for?
Retrieving fishing nets.

What is the typical number of pigs in a litter?
Up to 14.

True or false: Toys are good for rabbits.
True. Rabbits need a variety of safe toys to chew and play with.

At what age are horses able to run?
Two hours.

Why is a male cat called a “tom”?
In 1760, a story was published about the Life and Adventures of a Cat and the cat was named Tom. It was so popular, that the name for a male cat, then called a ram cat, was changed to Tom and has remained so.

Story ideas : Angel Hill in Chambersburg, PA Charged With Animal Cruelty, Kennel Violations

elle1014 — Sat, 02 May 2009 23:35:55 GMT

FROM: http://www.whtm.com/news/stories/0309/608016.html

Pleasant Hall, Pa. - A Franklin County animal shelter is under fire. Angel Hill Animal Sanctuary in Pleasant Hall has been slapped with five citations, including one animal cruelty count.

"They take in and shelter animals that don't have homes -- horses, goats, whatever -- and she feeds them on her own expense,” said neighbor Bill Carter.

Angel Hill was cited after it didn't pass its latest inspection. The citations state owner Wanda Davenport boarded dogs in kennels that were so small that their heads hit the top of the crate. They also state she allowed dogs to live in their own waste and did not keep proper records for her animals. ABC 27 Talkback:
Click Here to Comment on this Story

"There have been inspections that have gone well and some that have not,” said Chris Ryder, spokesperson for the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture (web | news) , which oversees the dog warden.

A look back shows Angel Hill has not passed five out of its last nine inspections since 2006.

"My kennel is spotless,” said Davenport.

Davenport showed abc27 the crate in question on Friday.

"They never measured anything,” she said. “The dog was in a crate 0.2 cubic inches too small.”

Ryder says only floor space needs to be measured during an inspection.

"There's not a measurement needed in that. It’s just a visual inspection,” he said.

Davenport admits she did not have her paperwork in order over the past few months, because she was dealing with sick puppies. A separate animal cruelty charge says davenport had three dogs that were very ill, but she says all have been treated by a veterinarian.

It's not clear whether Angel Hill will shut down - that's for the Department of Agriculture to decide.

“If we have to close down, they will put them in shelters. And if they don't have enough room, they will do euthanasia,” said volunteer Theresa Maddox.

Davenport will go before a district judge on April 30.

(the court apparenty rescheduled the trial for mid-May)

For more info on see the results of their kennel inspections...
You must first turn off your popup blocker to get the reports to come up.
Then go to http://services.agriculture.state.pa.us/KennelInspections/SearchKennelInspections.aspx
And put ‘franklin county’ in the county dropdown, and ‘angel hill’ in the kennel name box.
Hit search.
It brings up a list of all inspections done (at the bottom of the page).
Angel Hill is registered as a kennel, so that’s how it is on this site.
You can check them all out, going back to 2006, but especially check out the 2009 ones that got them in the newspaper.

Wanted: Your Personal Stories : Smokey's Story

faithcmbs9 — Sat, 02 May 2009 06:04:21 GMT

Yes, feel free to contact me about Smokey's story....

"MEOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!" It was a cool, rainy evening on October 4th, 2004. We had just moved into our 2nd story apartment after relocating from Phoenix to Houston. We had been planning on getting a dog - my husband is allergic to cats - but suddenly, our evening routine was interrupted with an extraordinarily loud, plaintive, persistent cry: "MEEEEOOOOOOWWWW!" Having grown up with kitties myself, I dutifully ran outside to make sure this kitty was okay.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I looked around and suddenly a beautiful gray tabby emerged from the shadows. The plaintive tone disappeared as the kitty approached me with a friendly J-curved tail and started brushing up against me. I stooped down to pet it, and a purr motor became instantly audible. The kitty was fine - it just wanted love! It seemed in good condition, so I figure maybe it belonged to one of the neighboring apartments - maybe the kitty had become disoriented and didn't know where "home" was? Perhaps if I walked it around the complex, it would recognize a familiar door? I encouraged the kitty to follow me, which it happily did, and I began my experiment. From door to door we went, but instead of recognizing a door, it happily trotted after me meowing, pausing occasionally only to chase a toad. This wasn't working. I went back to the bottom of the steps and considered my options, as it continued to meow and purr at me. How could I leave it outside on a cold rainy night? How could I fall asleep to the plaintive meow I had heard earlier? Reluctantly, I encouraged my new friend to follow me up the stairs to the front door, and I knocked. My husband answered the door, and before he could say "no", our new friend stood between us, looked up, and said "meow??" "meow!!" like a child saying "PLEEASE?" I tried to reassure him - "we'll only keep it in the screened-in porch. I'm sure he's just lost. I'll talk to the office tomorrow and find it's owner. It'll just be for the night" All the while, the kitty provided a selection of "meows" as background music. Just as reluctantly, my husband said "okay". Little did we know....

We introduced our new friend to our patio. She had a lovely potted garden to enjoy and a great view of the trees where the squirrels and birds resided. I sent my husband to the store for kitty supplies, and entertained her with a string that happened to be out there. When he returned, I explained that I wasn't going to name her because I would become too attached. He nodded approvingly, and then said with a slightly mischievous grin, "let's call her Smokey!" And so it was. I moved a sleeping bag out to the porch and kept her company (and out of trouble) her first night.

The apartment complex the next day knew nothing about anyone missing a gray tabby. So, I put up fliers at the mailboxes, hoping someone would turn-up. No luck. One night turned into one weekend. I reassured my now wheezy husband - "I'll find a rescue group for her." After contacting a number of groups, I found one that had room, and they sent me to their vet to have her checked out. The vet said she was about 10 months old and in great health, except for one thing: she tested FeLV+. Never having rescued a stray before, I had no idea what this meant. He began his explanation: "I don't think she needs to be put to sleep". I glanced at the playful tabby investigating the office, who was so completely oblivious to the conversation. Dumbfounded, I thought to myself "What?! The idea never even crossed my mind" I took her home, and began researching this disease. Meanwhile, the rescue group rejected her, and seemingly almost encouraged me to put her to sleep. I would have none of it. For the moment, she was doing just fine!

One weekend quickly turned into one month. As rescue group after rescue group rejected her, I posted more and more fliers - at work, at church, around the apartment complex, on websites, at stores, and at vet offices. We added Smokey to our lease and began paying pet rent. She made herself at home on our porch, enjoying meals of pumpkin (she didn't like wet food) and diving after the feather we bought her. She systematically began napping in each one of my potted plants until they died, before moving onto the next one--the begonia box was her favorite I think--the flowers made good pillows. My husband, having grown up with dogs, got a kick out of learning cat behavior; one day we walked into our living room and looked out the window and behold! Smokey was near the ceiling, clinging with all twenty claws to the screen window. As I ran outside yelling "NO!", my husband wondered aloud in amazement and awe "they can do that??" As much as she enjoyed the porch though, Smokey kept telling us, "let me in! Really, you'll like me!" as she stood on her hind paws and used the sliding door as her front paw treadmill.

We went back to the vet for a follow-up confirmation test of her FeLV+ status. Sure enough, still positive. Not only that, they found a flea on her. Uh-oh, I thought. Time to get a flea comb and flea collar. As Smokey purred patiently, I began a nightly grooming session, becoming quite efficient at flea removal and drowning.

As winter became increasingly colder, I became more worried - would the blankets and towels and boxes I gave her keep her warm enough? As temperatures approached freezing, I convinced my wheezy husband (who was now on more medications than I could count) to let her move into the spare bedroom. Smokey immediately took to investigating her new surroundings; clearly, she approved of the new couch and the expanded running room for chasing her ever increasing inventory of feathers, toy mice, strings, and newspapers. She also took advantage of the new window sill and the warm patches of afternoon sunlight, where it became her habit to lay upside down with paws stretched as high and as far as possible. And all the while, we grew more and more attached to the little purry, conversational kitty that seemingly exuded cuteness and embodied sweetness. No further evidence of this was needed when we wrote her name on a kitty-shaped Christmas ornament for our tree.

One month turned to several months. We got her spayed, and I steadily continued sending out fliers to every place I could think of. First in Texas, then in our region, and finally to every rescue group and vet clinic in the country (and in Canada) that I could find an email address for and which seemed would be friendly towards an FeLV+ kitty. Most didn't respond; a number responded saying that they would post my flier; one vet responded saying that an FeLV+ cat would make a terrible pet and he would put her to sleep immediately. One woman contacted me and was interested in adopting her, but wanted her declawed. I said no, and sent her information back on why declawing was not humane. One rescue group said they would take Smokey, but when I visited their facility, I was confronted with a woman drinking a beer while simultaneously carrying on a conversation with another visitor and giving injections to kittens out on the front desk. Animals were roaming around and could easily have escaped when people entered the facility. I was completely ignored for 15 minutes, before deciding this was not the place for Smokey.

Winter gradually became Spring. When my mother called to tell me that my childhood kitty had passed away, Smokey let me cry on her fur and reminded me of the joys of having kitties as she enticed me to play with her. I got Smokey spayed, and spent several nights in the spare bedroom monitoring her condition and keeping her company. She slept next to me every night, pasted to the side of my legs under the covers or curled up near my face. We successfully beat back on onslaught of fleas, but not before we had to spray down the entire apartment and relocate Smokey back to the porch temporarily. Smokey and I began to develop a routine - I would daily wake up to the sound of meowing from the spare bedroom. I would get up, do the kitty chores and play with her, and then often I would sit and work at my computer while she supervised my work upside down from the kitty bed on the desk; sitting this way had the advantage that her human felt compelled to give her tummy rubs from time to time, which she immensely enjoyed. Opening the windows, she contently enjoyed the breeze and the view, with occasional pauses to stare intently at a bird or a squirrel. One time, while the window was open, she saw a bird from across the room, and getting into full stalking mode, she slowly crept towards the window. Before I could stop her, she pounced, throwing the full force of her body headfirst towards the oblivious bird sitting on the other side, at which point she successfully scared the bird away as she bounced off the screen; her head imprint remained in the screen until the day it was replaced several years later.

Seeing that this was going to take some time, I tried to alleviate my husband's allergies. I vacuumed frequently, and changed clothes and washed my hands before and after I was in the spare bedroom. I attempted to bathe Smokey in the guest bath sink, but this only resulted in my learning just how incredibly stiff Smokey could make her paws. Still, in spite of it all, his asthma became worse. We began leaving our bedroom windows open even when it was 40 degrees outside. Many a night he would wake up in the wee hours of the morning, and would gasp for air by the windows. We both loved this little kitty, but it became increasingly clear that this was damaging his health, and he couldn't go on like this - something had to change. But I refused to take her to the pound - it would be an instant death sentence. And we couldn't leave her outside again, she would only spread her feline leukemia.

Instead, having sent out several hundred fliers, I began investigated other options; medications and creams and lotions for Smokey that would decrease her dander, or expensive air filters that could remove dander from the air. We tried a lotion, but it didn't seem to help. After some research, we settled on a well-rated, expensive air filter. That's when we saw results!

As his asthma began to improve, he began to spend a bit more time with Smokey. We would let her out into the living room for a couple hours at a time at first, then a few more. Smokey thanked her Dad by buying a birthday card and present for him: a movie they both liked: "Shrek 2", featuring Puss 'N Boots - she cleverly hid it under her hollowed out scratching post. He began playing with her, and every now and then, I'd walk into the room and see him sprawled out on the couch attempting to read with a kitty perched sphinx-style on his chest! As we let her out more, she developed a new routine, taking a morning or evening "Zoom!" criss-crossing the apartment.

A spring turned into summer, a rescue group in Tucson responded to my flier and indicated they might have room for Smokey. I sent my sister and mother down to their facility from Phoenix, to check it out. Though crowded, it seemed like it might be a good group. But Smokey would have to be quarantined for 2 weeks upon arrival in a cage. My husband and I contemplated this notion - our Smokey, cooped up in a cage for two weeks in a strange new place with so many kitties that she wouldn't get nearly the attention we could give? No, we couldn't do that - how could we, after all we'd been through and how happy she was with us? We'd have to wait until a new family could adopt her directly.

In early summer of 2005, my typically clean little Smokey temporarily developed a slightly dirty rear...but fortunately, it didn't last, and I thought nothing of it. She also developed a new habit - first, drinking water from the bathroom sink (even sticking her whole head under, giving herself a miniature bath!) and then eventually drinking directly from cups. We found this all quite amusing.

Towards the end of summer, with his asthma under control with medications, the air filter, and the many other protocols we had developed, we finally caved in. We decided to adopt her permanently. Of course Smokey knew all along that she had found her family, and seemed to rejoice at this new recognition and freedom. Now only excluded from our bedroom, she had full, free range of the rest of the apartment.

My sister and fellow kitty-lover came into town just after we made the formal decision, and the first thing we did when she arrived was celebrate Smokey's adoption properly. We went straight to Petsmart, picked out the coolest cat tree we could find, and brought it home for her. Before we put it in place, she immediately ran up to it and started scratching at it and attacking it viciously. She went nuts! It was one of the happiest moments of my life!

In late September, Hurricane Rita approached the Gulf Coast. With my husband in one car, and myself and Smokey in the other car, we joined the rest of Houston in evacuating - our target was my aunt's house in Austin. A three hour trip turned into 19 hours, but Smokey was golden through it all. After meowing from her carrier for the first hour, she spent most of the rest of the time napping, occasionally waking up and meowing to me, "are we there yet?". She had great fun staying at my aunt's house, exploring stairs for the first time, and saying hello to my cousin's petrified guinea pig, Hershey.

Upon returning to Houston, we noticed Smokey's behavior began to change. Her playfulness decreased. After a couple of weeks of rationalizing that it was just stress from our extraordinary journey, I noticed that her stomach seemed firmer than normal and took her to the vet. An aspiration showed no signs of cancer. They sent me home with antibiotics. After a couple of weeks, she seemed better, resuming her daily zooming exercises. She even took advantage of the fact that our bedroom door had not quite closed one evening, and I sleepily awoke to Smokey crawling under our comforter, getting ready to make herself comfortable - I smiled at her persistence even as I evicted her from our bedroom. She zealously played in a cardboard box full of styrofoam peanuts. And while my Mom was visiting, she ever so nonchalantly walked over to our game of Clue, picked up Mr. Green, and with Mr. Green's legs sticking out of her mouth, ever so nonchalantly crossed the board and went on her way, never having broken her stride. Still, as Thanksgiving approached, her play began to decrease again and seemingly her appetite was beginning to wane (or was I imaging things?). And oddly, she got into the kitchen garbage, which she had never done before. I reluctantly left for Arizona for the holiday, worried the whole time that something was wrong.

When I returned, I noticed her food looked untouched.I called the kitty-sitter and asked about Smokey's appetite; she reported that she hadn't really eaten much. Becoming alarmed, I noticed that Smokey's meows had become more scratchy, and more restless sounding. I called the vet and got her in the following day. The took blood samples, and called me back frantically the following day. Her kidney numbers were extremely bad -she was in kidney failure. She needed to go to the emergency vet immediately. In shock, I hurriedly left work and took her across town to the vet for additional testing. Ruling out cancer, they said the evidence pointed to an infection. They said she needed fluids immediately and needed to be hospitalized for several days. Not quite comprehending the gravity of the problem, I allowed them to give her fluids, but then took her home. Instead, I began taking her multiple times per week to my regular vets' office for additional fluid treatments. She went on an aggressive antibiotics regiment, and I started giving her nutritional supplements. After additional testing, they determined the cause of the infection: e-coli. In retrospect, I realized - she had probably gotten it during the summer, from a surface infection of her rear when she had stopped cleaning herself temporarily. All this time it had been working its way into her bladder system, and settling into her kidneys. After the stress of the hurricane evacuation, with her immune system especially compromised, it must have exploded, right when we began to notice her behavior changes. Looking back, I couldn't believe I had missed all the signs, and I regretted not being more pro-active when it had all first started.

In December, I stayed home for Christmas for the first time, opening presents with my husband with my parents and sister on speaker phone. Smokey slowly stabilized. With the exception that she was not at all playful anymore, you would never have guessed that her numbers had peaked at 3-5x times their normal range. In addition to antibiotics and nutritional supplements, we began giving her phosphate supplements. The latter, she hated with a passion, and white medicine splotches dotted my clothing and the kitchen. I continued taking her in for regular fluids, hoping to get the whole thing under control. At Christmas, we gave her a bag of catnip, which she seemed to take some joy in licking. She spent much time quietly napping under the Christmas tree, and sitting at my side on the couch. She supervised my efforts to reorganize our apartment, and watched with interest as a arranged a floral. While my husband was out of town on business, I spent the nights in the guest bedroom with her, where she slept at my side and on my chest; still purry and sweet as ever.

Then one cold January night, while working on the computer, I heard a noise and I glanced over at Smokey. I noticed she had her head tucked into the space between the couch and the hide-a-way bed, and when I went over to pick her up, terror went down my spine. Her eyes were wide and jet black, and her claws gripped the bed. I frantically called the emergency vet - she was having a seizure! What should I do!? I grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it, and drove to the emergency vet still in my socks. Her seizure having subsided, she sat quietly under my seat belt in my lap. Getting to the vet, they whisked her away for tests and returned with bad news. Her numbers, which had stabilized to levels only about 2x times their normal, had spiked to 3-5x times their normal again. Her minerals and other readings were completely abnormal and she was anemic. She stayed in the hospital for the next three days receiving fluids. I visited her every day after work; my husband on the phone, tearfully hoped that she would stay alive until he returned from business. The picture grew dimmer. Back home, I spent my time trying creative ways to get her to eat and drink. My husband cooked up variations of pumpkin and broccoli, which she also seemed to like. We fed her treats and chicken and tuna. The vet was concerned that cancer had indeed developed and was really underlying the whole problem, or was potentially a new problem. In desperation, I concocted a plan with the vet - a last ditch effort to giver her a blood transfusion, in the hopes it would stabilize her anemia long enough to try and stabilize her kidney numbers and in turn, preserve some measure of her qualify of life. The day we brought her home after her transfusion, a bit of her old self returned. Her characteristic J-curved tail greeted us and she rubbed up against us in greeting. She stretched out her paws on the cat tree and got in some really good scratching time. She seemed genuinely happy to feel so much better. But our hope was short-lived. She barely ate or drank. Her energy quickly dissipated. After a couple of days, I noticed blood began to appear in her urine..She had two more seizures. Her paws were baggy where blood began collecting internally. She walked more slowly, more aimlessly, as though she had trouble seeing. We gave up giving her her medications - they were stressing her out too much. Finally, one Sunday morning, after watching her spend the night alternating between sleeping and attempting to use the litterbox, only to bleed on the carpet, we made the heart-wrenching decision. It was over. We let her into our master bedroom that morning - her final triumph of persistence. As my husband went to church, I put her on our bed and sat next to her, softly petting her head. Then, she sat in our open window, peering out at the scenery which less than a year and a half before, she had meowed so longingly and convincingly. When my husband came home, I cradled her in my baby blanket, and in a gentle, cold January drizzle, we walked to the car. Even with everything she had been through, she still attempted to walk around the car and explore. At the vets office, I could barely sign the paperwork through my tears. We gave her a sedative, hoping she would fall asleep before the end. She remained alert in spite of it, and we sat with her in our arms for sometime, saying good-bye. Finally, we gave her over to the vet. My husband, forgetting his allergies, gave her a kiss and a hug. We left, and as I reached the car, I completely lost it. I felt my heart torn in two as never before, and I screamed in pain to the sky. It was January 22, 2006.

When we returned home, we didn't wait. We cleaned everything up and put all of Smokey's belongings away. Her cat tree, so joyously purchased, became her memorial. Over the next weeks and months, we slowly healed. I specially ordered for Smokey the same cremation box that the kitties I had grown up with had. We gathered all her photos together, and looked at them from time to time. I made a special trip out to Arizona to make-up for the Christmas trip I had missed, and to spend some time with the kitties at the rescue group I had volunteered with there. My husband slowly healed from his asthma, reducing his medications and eventually turning off the air filter.

And then we began to speak of getting another companion. Someone who would fill the void left by such big pawprints in our hearts. Ultimately, we decided against ever again getting another kitty - it was too hard on his health over the long-term. So began looking for a dog. After searching for a time, we found Sandy. She was a 8-9 year old beagle from the Houston Beagle & Hound Rescue. We adopted her and brought her home on August 19, 2006. As we were doing so, her foster parent told us that they almost hadn't rescued her - that they had intended to get one beagle from the pound that day, but the pound staff convinced them to take back a second one they had too. And the foster parent noted that Sandy had the record for their rescue group of having been there the longest -- 8 months-- and she gave me some photographs of her from her time as a foster dog, starting with her rescue day. I almost couldn't believe it when I saw the pictures and ran the calculation on the date. Sandy's rescue date was January 20, 2006 - two days before Smokey died. It seems, we decided, that God did what we couldn't do. He found her a good home - indeed the best of homes - heaven - so that my husband wouldn't have to endure his asthma any longer. And God found and saved for us another special companion whom He kept for us until we were ready to bring her home.

Thus, the story of Smokey didn't end the day she died, but continues on in the life of Sandy that we have with us today. Smokey was, we call her, our shooting star. So brilliant in our lives, yet so fleeting. We still treasure her memories and mourn her loss and cherish the beagle that now walks in her paw prints.

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Quiz Yourself! : Answers to the May/June 2009 quiz, p. 63

catwriter3 — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 20:39:01 GMT

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