sorry monica, I just did this a month ago, I'm truly sorry.
Just put my best friend to sleep :(
- Thread starter monniepoo
- Start date
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johnny4ever
Test appropriately
Sorry to hear that.
Peace
Peace
scottm
SILVER Star
Bella hopes you're feeling better. 
awesome pic scott.
scottm
SILVER Star
It's from yesterday, seemed timely, I hope it doesn't make Monnie feel worse...
PabloCruise
SILVER Star
I am sorry I missed this Monnie.
I hope by now you are feeling (somewhat) better...
My first dog as a grown up was a Golden. She is keeping Cody company for now!
I am sorry for your loss...
THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the "Rainbow Bridge" because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge there is a land of meadows, hills, and valleys with lush green grass.
When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water and warm spring weather. The old and frail animals are young again. Those who are maimed are made whole again. They play all day with each other.
There is only one thing missing; they are not with their special person who loved them on Earth. So, each day they run and play until the day comes when one suddenly stops playing and looks up! The nose twitches! The ears are up! The eyes are staring! And this one suddenly runs from the group!
You have been seen, and when you and your special friend meet, you take him/her in your arms and embrace. Your face is kissed again, again, and again and you look once more into the eyes of your trusting pet.
Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together, never again to be separated.
I hope by now you are feeling (somewhat) better...
My first dog as a grown up was a Golden. She is keeping Cody company for now!
I am sorry for your loss...
THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the "Rainbow Bridge" because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge there is a land of meadows, hills, and valleys with lush green grass.
When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water and warm spring weather. The old and frail animals are young again. Those who are maimed are made whole again. They play all day with each other.
There is only one thing missing; they are not with their special person who loved them on Earth. So, each day they run and play until the day comes when one suddenly stops playing and looks up! The nose twitches! The ears are up! The eyes are staring! And this one suddenly runs from the group!
You have been seen, and when you and your special friend meet, you take him/her in your arms and embrace. Your face is kissed again, again, and again and you look once more into the eyes of your trusting pet.
Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together, never again to be separated.
agomez
Frijoles
MY DOG NAMED BO
THIS IS A POEM FOR EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER HAD THE PRIVELAGE OF KNOWING A DOG IT'S ENTIRE LIFE AND LOST. GRAB A HANKY FIRST!
This is a poem that Jimmy Stewart wrote years ago and read it on the Johnny Carson show. If this doesn't hit home nothing will.
My dog, named Bo
He came to me when I would call,
unless I had a tennis ball
-or he felt like it.
But mostly--he didn't come at all.
When he was young,
he never learned,
to heel, or sit or stay,
he did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag,
but when you were with him,
things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rose bush just to spite me,
and when I'd grab 'im he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
the deliv'ry boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
he said we owned a real man-eater.
He sat the house on fire,
but the story's long to tell.
Suffice to say that he survived,
and, the house survived as well.
And on evening walks
(and Gloria took him),
he was always first out the door.
The old one and I,
brought up the rear
because our bones were sore.
And he'd charge up the street
with Mom hangin' on,
what a beautiful pair they were.
And if it was still light,
and the tourists were out,
they created a bit of a stir!
But every once in awhile
he'd stop in his tracks
and with a frown on his face, look around.
It was just t'make sure,
that the old one was there,
to follow him where he was bound.
We're early-to-bedders in our house
I guess I'm the first to retire,
and as I'd leave the room, he'd look at me
and get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were, upstairs
and I'd give 'im one for awhile
and he'd push it under the bed with his nose
and I'd dig it out with a smile.
But before very long, he'd tire of the ball
and he'd be asleep in his corner in no time at all,
and there where nights when I'd feel him climb up on our bed
and lie between us, and I'd pat his head;
and there were nights when I'd feel this stare,
and I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
and I'd reach out to stroke his hair;
and sometimes I'd feel him sigh,
and I think I know the reason why.
He'd wake up at night,
and he would have this fear
of the dark, of life, of lot's of things,
and he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
climb up on our bed,
and lie between us, and I pat his head;
and there are nights when I think I feel that stare,
and I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
and he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Bo.
THIS IS A POEM FOR EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER HAD THE PRIVELAGE OF KNOWING A DOG IT'S ENTIRE LIFE AND LOST. GRAB A HANKY FIRST!
This is a poem that Jimmy Stewart wrote years ago and read it on the Johnny Carson show. If this doesn't hit home nothing will.
My dog, named Bo
He came to me when I would call,
unless I had a tennis ball
-or he felt like it.
But mostly--he didn't come at all.
When he was young,
he never learned,
to heel, or sit or stay,
he did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag,
but when you were with him,
things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rose bush just to spite me,
and when I'd grab 'im he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
the deliv'ry boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
he said we owned a real man-eater.
He sat the house on fire,
but the story's long to tell.
Suffice to say that he survived,
and, the house survived as well.
And on evening walks
(and Gloria took him),
he was always first out the door.
The old one and I,
brought up the rear
because our bones were sore.
And he'd charge up the street
with Mom hangin' on,
what a beautiful pair they were.
And if it was still light,
and the tourists were out,
they created a bit of a stir!
But every once in awhile
he'd stop in his tracks
and with a frown on his face, look around.
It was just t'make sure,
that the old one was there,
to follow him where he was bound.
We're early-to-bedders in our house
I guess I'm the first to retire,
and as I'd leave the room, he'd look at me
and get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were, upstairs
and I'd give 'im one for awhile
and he'd push it under the bed with his nose
and I'd dig it out with a smile.
But before very long, he'd tire of the ball
and he'd be asleep in his corner in no time at all,
and there where nights when I'd feel him climb up on our bed
and lie between us, and I'd pat his head;
and there were nights when I'd feel this stare,
and I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
and I'd reach out to stroke his hair;
and sometimes I'd feel him sigh,
and I think I know the reason why.
He'd wake up at night,
and he would have this fear
of the dark, of life, of lot's of things,
and he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
climb up on our bed,
and lie between us, and I pat his head;
and there are nights when I think I feel that stare,
and I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
and he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Bo.