Pet Memorials
This is the place for our clients to share a few words about their special pets. If you'd like your pet's memorial to be included, email us at: earlyvet@aol.com. Be sure to put Pet Memorial in the subject line. We can use photo's that are jpeg files.
♥ Olivia ♥
May 1995 – April 2009
April 9, 2009, was warm and sunny, with a few fluffy clouds floating high in the sky above. The drive to Earlysville that day would have been vastly pleasant, except that it was journey that would mark the end of our beautiful and precious baby.
Olivia, a Beagle, had been sick for a long time. She had never really been well, so was a frequent guest at Earlysville Animal Hospital. Some of her health issues were undoubtedly a result of her less than good start in life. We suspect that she must have escaped from one of those terrible puppy farms while she was pregnant because when she was found, someplace near Scottsville, she had four babies – and as Doctor John told us - this hadn’t been her first litter. She probably had been used to produce hunting dogs. She was about two years old.
When Olivia and her babies were captured, they were taken to the ASPCA. By the time our father and sister arrived, looking for a birthday gift for Carrie, three of the puppies had already been adopted. Our father picked up the fourth and last puppy (Beatrice), and then looked down at a very unhappy and whimpering Olivia. To our everlasting gratitude, he took her, too.
Our house was in bad need of a dog, but it wasn’t love at first sight. The first twenty-four hours were a trial for us all. Olivia was terrified, and we were still reeling from the death another much-loved pet, and were not equipped to deal with two high-energy escape artists. Every time the door opened a crack, out they went. Anne slipped and broke her arm during their first escape, so it was left to Carrie to corral the escapees, and to try to figure out how to keep the dogs in the house. This was not a great start, but love has a way of growing when you least expect it. The next day, during brunch, both dogs lay in a patch of sun, sound asleep, not understanding that the delicious smells meant food. It wasn’t much, but it was enough so that the ice that had formed around our hearts at the death of Willie cracked enough to let in a couple of small hounds.
From the start, Olivia was full of fear and insecurities – some of which never left her. The studio at our house has built-in bookcases. The lowest shelf is five or six inches off the floor. The day she came into the house, she ran under one of the bookcases, and stayed there. A couple of weeks later, she adopted a very tall basket as her home. She stood about ten inches tall, and the basket is about 18 inches tall, but for the next ten years or so – until she could no longer get in and out of the basket unaided, that is where she spent much of her time. She’d jump in there, and then, in a little while, you’d see a sandy head pop up, followed by a face with a sharp little nose and boot button eyes. She’d let Beatrice in the basket, but she was in charge. Most people found it hard to believe that Olivia was a domestic tyrant – probably because she was small, submissive, and adorable, but she ruled Beatrice with an iron fist. More than that, she terrorized poor Beatrice. Olivia didn’t care if one of us tried to get in the middle to keep the peace, if she thought Beatrice went over the line, she put her in her place in no uncertain terms. She also hogged all the toys by sitting on them.
Olivia is gone now, and Beatrice is feeling at loose ends. Olivia’s empty beds are a constant reminder to us that she is not coming home. But we leave them where they sit to give Beatrice comfort. She likes to scratch the beds and sniff Olivia’s scent.
The twelve Olivia years sped quickly past. When Dr. Kathy called to say that this last illness was insurmountable, it was with anguish that we made the decision to stop treatment, but we knew we had to let her go. And now, two weeks later, we are still grief stricken and sad, and wish that we hadn’t taken the time we had with her for granted. We wish we had been less impatient when she took twenty minutes to finish her outside trip. But more than anything else, we wish we could open the front door, and see those black eyes peeking up over the top of that basket.
Anne and Carrie Zook
Storm
♥
April 1st, 1996 – March 20th, 2009
You brought me to tears.
I lessened your fears.
You were my protector.
I was your world.
Lover of tennis balls.
Days at the beach.
Running with the wind through the woods, like an Arctic Wolf.
A wise soul who knew how to love unconditionally.
You taught me many lessons about what is really important in life ~ kindness, patience, love…
I’m so glad I found you.
I’m so glad I was a part of your short journey through life.
Now you are looking down at me, watching me pass through the rest of my journey.
You taught me to never give up.
You never gave up on me.
Will you wait for me?
Until next time…
Rest In Peace Old Friend
In loving memory of “Bingo” Newman-King
8/15/91 – 5/15/08
I truly want to thank everyone for always helping and caring for my beloved Bingo. Your hard work, compassion and dedication to giving the best possible care to all God’s creatures will always be appreciated. It is never easy to let go of a loved one and I am comforted in knowing I had a compassionate and caring team help me to say “its time”. I’d like to share with you a story, of how a dog made me whole.
I was just a little girl the day my Mom surprised me with the greatest gift of all. It was 2 months before my 10th birthday when she told me she had a surprise for me. We hopped in the car, that cool October day, and drove out into the country. She told me she was getting me my very own puppy. I couldn’t believe my ears. When we pulled up to the house, I jumped out and she said with a smile on her face “go pick one.” So I sat down, in a sea of black and white faces, and tried to think of which one to choose. And through the pack emerged the most beautiful puppy I’d ever seen. She sat right down in my lap and looked at me as if to say, “Now let’s go home.”
From the moment she “picked me”, she was to most faithful and loving companion; always by my side. She was forever my source of laughter, joy and love. Whether she was herding her favorite ball around the yard, swinging from the horse’s tails (yes swinging), squeaking her favorite toy, or laying with her head upon my lap, she was always my greatest joy in life. And I am so blessed to have shared over 16 ears of wonderful memories with her.
I’ll forever miss the Frisbee games, the skinned tennis balls, the gutting of a new toy. I’ll miss the intense stare she gave as I cooked, the demanding tone she used when she wanted something done…NOW! and the little dance she’d do at dinner. I’ll miss the running, the playing, the laughter and the love. And all those many hugs and kisses. I’ll miss her acute ability to always know when I came near. Even being nearly deaf, she’d know the second I came home. But most of all I’ll miss her loyalty. Her undying affection and will to always be at my side.
She was the warmth in my heart, the twinkle in my eye, and a part of my soul, and a part of my soul. She was my faithful companion, my partner in crime and my very best friend. And I dare not say “goodbye”, for I know in my heart I’ll be seeing her again.
She will be forever missed and I will always cherish the many memories I had with her. So I say this to you, my beloved Bingo… Wait for me, watch for me, speak softly through the gentle breeze, and forever be at peace, for I’ll be seeing you again once more. And I will forever remember that cool October day, when a little girl and a little black and white puppy found the other half that made them whole.
“I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Til’ the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.”
-William Shakespeare-
Simba Mack
Feb. 8th 1992 – March 31st 2008
I was 22 years old. It was a time for living in the moment, free to do what I wanted. And that I did. It was spring of ’92 on Cape Cod. I strolled into the pet store just to look. And there she was. A red ball of fur sitting quietly amongst the shavings, looking up at me. A Min Pin was bouncing off the glass walls all around her. I stood on my tiptoes and peeked over at her and motioned for this little fur dot to come closer. She attempted to but stopped, as she was afraid of getting trampled by her cage mate, who clearly had ADHD. The sales clerk asked if I wanted to hold her while she unlatched the large glass door. “Oh no thanks”, I said. “I have a boat to catch back to Nantucket.” Two seconds later this little puffball was in my arms, pulling on my hooded sweatshirt strings. Little did I know she’d be pulling on my heartstrings also.
I proudly walked out of that store with “Simba” cradled in my arms not knowing anything about Pomeranians, not knowing squat about the harsh realities of puppy mills, and not knowing what the next day would bring. But, I didn’t care. I had my little baby. I had my first puppy ever. Life was good.
Simba blossomed into a ray of sunshine. Her radiant personality brought a smile to my face every day. Training was a breeze. Obedience commands were quickly learned and with the help of a bag of Cheerios. Throughout the years we did everything together. We hiked and walked many miles through the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, and the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, to the endless stretches of Nantucket beaches. During our long walks Simba cheerfully pranced beside me always with great joy and glee. She loved the outdoors and embraced each new adventure with all of her little pom energy. Blueberrying on the moors of Nantucket and spending endless sunny days at the beach were her favorite past times. Misty summer mornings were spent picking her own blueberries right off the beach, enjoying the sweet taste in her mouth. Summer afternoons were spent digging for pebbles and shells near the water’s edge. Wintertime she’d pounce on the snowballs I threw for her, bouncing back to me through the snowdrifts, snow caked in her little lion mane. Those were the Simba years. Years of sweetness.
After giving me so much of herself for so many wonderful years, the letting go had finally taken place. It was Simba’s time. Her days were ending. Our last night together I thanked her for sharing her life with me and for being such a good little girl. I told her how much she was loved by me and everyone who knew her and how she made such a huge impression on people’s hearts. I hoped that somehow she understood me.
As her little soul drifted off and approached the light, I could still feel her presence, her gentle spirit surrounding me. I sat with her one last time cradled in my arms with her torn and tattered Snoopy doll next to her. A flashback of memories came to my mind. I remembered all the joy and happiness this little girl brought into each new phase of my life for the last 16 years. During our very last moment together and through the tears and sadness I finally figured it all out: Life is magical, it is so precious and there are so many things to love. This was my love. It was mine and it filled me and it defined me and it compels me to carry on.
Mollie Wright
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and prescription diet.” Her medicine? Special food? It was just going to be for the weekend, a day and a half. As I was heading for the door with Mollie, Storm and Simba in tow Dr. Kathi comes around the corner with, shall I say, an “over night” bag containing fluids, needles, syringes, Zeniquin, Cosequin, k/d, her pink “donut” and of course her Pepcid. I said: “Dr. Kathi, why all this????” After a 20 minute explanation on all of Mollie’s care and learning that she was in renal failure, I though good lord, well….I decided to take Mollie home for “hospice care” instead. I figured, what the hell, she’s 19, in kidney failure, and probably has only a few months to live.
same time screaming at Herbie, Monroe and Amanda. She’s certainly putting everyone back in their place once again, I’m sure. I loved that damn cat. Maybe because she was so feisty and had such a strong will to live for such a sick, old, little girl.