my old great dane

Another Special Prayer Request for My Great Dane

Hey all,

I posted back in June, asking for prayers for my Great Dane.

Tomorrow, we have a vet appointment where we will most likely be putting him down.

His condition has gotten worse in the last few weeks.

He cannot walk without help. We have to pick him up to stand. Even then, he falls over a lot. There are days when he can’t walk at all.

A few days ago, I was picking him up and he gave me that look that animals get near the end that says, “It’s okay, Momma. You can let me go, now.”

Asking for prayers for him, his journey ahead, and us, and our journey ahead.

So appreciated.

blue great dane puppy

Special Prayer Request for My Great Dane

Hey all!

For a few weeks, my old Great Dane has had trouble walking.

Tonight, for the first time, he cannot walk.

My prayer request is that he can, or that God grants the vets and our family wisdom to know what to do.

Thanks in advance!

Yesterday, I Experienced Death…

I got a call yesterday from my sister who wanted me to go with her to put her dog down.  He has been sick for a while.  He has problems breathing.  He has seizures.  I guess he had a seizure that morning that convinced my sister it was time.  I agreed to go with her.  To support her.  After all, it wasn’t my dog.

She picks me up at my house (we live 5 minutes from each other) and her dog, Hobbit, a cute, fluffy white Pomeranian, is in the front seat.  He appears just as happy as can be.  I get in and hold him.  I give him lots of love and pets.

The vet is only another 3 minutes from my house.  We get out and he’s happy.  He walks fine.  He does his business.  My sister lavishes him with bacon she cooked.  He appears perfectly fine and normal and healthy.

We enter the vets office and are greeted with a friendly, “How are you?”  My sister almost loses it.  The receptionist realizes her mistake immediately.

We wait.  Hobbit is fine.  Happy.  Unknowing of what is to come.  I observe him.  Devoted as all dogs are.  Completely and totally trusting in us.  Never doubting.  Never questioning.

We are taken back.  My sister is crying.  I’m trying not to.  The vet comes in and explains euthanasia and what to expect.  First a sedative to put the dog to sleep.  Then an injection which will stop the heart.  He will breathe his last breath.

Hobbit is happy, walking around, eating treats.  My sister holds him as she administers the sedative.  In about 10 minutes, he is asleep.  He is so calm and oblivious to all that is happening around him.  He does not know he won’t wake up.  He does not know he is going to a better place.  And he does not care.  For he is a dog, a lower animal that only lives moment by moment, and for him, he is just sleepy.  So he sleeps.

I fight the urge to whisk Hobbit out of her arms and dog-nap  him.  For to me he is fine.  Only my sister knows how much pain and suffering he is in.  Still, there’s a part of me who wants to rescue him from his fate–a fate we all have and none of us can be rescued from.  But that hope is what keeps me alive at least…

The vet comes back in.  My sister puts the dog on a table as they shave a place to find a vein to administer the fatal dose.  She is uncontrollably crying.  She pets him and kisses him his last as the vet pushes the plunger in.  In under 30 seconds, Hobbit is gone.  It is sad and I cry.  I kiss the dog.  I tell him what a good dog he is/was.  I tell him he will play with my dog, Bay, who died almost two years ago to the day.  Oh, how I miss her!

I think of my 12-year old ancient English Mastiff at home who will be alive when I return.  Who is ailing himself.  Whom I love with all my heart.  Who is having trouble walking and standing.  But who takes it all in stride.  Who cries when he wants me to pet him because he can no longer come to me.  But who is happy each and every moment of his remaining days.  I know not how much longer I will have him but I hope and I pray God takes him and not me.  So then he can be with his sister and Hobbit too.  So he too can have his body back and he can run like the wind again and he can play with the kids in heaven and bring them joy–as he has done to me down here.

We walk out.  My sister says “Well, that’s over.”  And I say ironically and melancholy, “Yeah, now we get to go on with our lives,” sadness consuming me as we’ve left a companion behind who no longer has theirs.

I love dogs.  I love owning dogs.  But I hate it when they get old.  I can hardly stand it.  I know they are dying because of our sins and it eats at me.  It does.

Some say it is good to see life and death and to accept it.  I say they are crazy.  It should be unacceptable that all things die because of our sins.  It should sadden you.  It should make you want to repent and turn to Him even more.

My sister will have her dog cremated and a paw print made.  She will keep him for now.  As I have kept mine who sits on a bookshelf in my house, silently watching over our family and our dogs, always abiding in my heart.  I miss her, but she is alive in my memories and thanks be to God in my kids’ memories as well.

Yesterday, I experienced death when I didn’t want to.  And I learned Hobbit was my dog as well as are all living creatures.  He was a sweet, sweet puppy who lived a good, faithful, happy life, which is what gives me comfort.  He will be missed and remembered by those around him.  But more importantly he is in a better place, waiting faithfully for his owners to join him.

The Dogs in My Life
The Dogs in My Life

I’ve Never Felt Pain Like This Before….

On August 29th, 2012, at 8:30 am, my beloved dog passed away in my arms.

It was so sudden I didn’t want to believe it.

Still don’t.

I can’t remember when I’ve cried this much.


I love her.  Always will.  She is in my heart.  But I still yearn for here by my side.

I have not known pain like this before.

I have a small family.  Those who have passed away around me I was never close to.

Haven’t lost my mom or my dad yet.

She was my heart.  My first baby.  She was the one everyone wanted to take home.

I remember picking her out.  She ran from me, chasing after her sisters and her brother, and I grabbed her.

And didn’t let go.

Until that day.

But I haven’t let go.  Still clinging to her as if she were here.

But now it’s to her brother.  Who has just as much (if not more) of a broken heart as I do.

I told him I’d cry for him.  But I know he’s crying on the inside; I’m only crying on the out.

I tear up every time I think of her.  I try not to but it’s hard.  So much reminds me of her.

We took pictures the day before we took her to the vet.  We clung to the vet’s positive words (which weren’t many) but we hoped and we prayed and we prayed some more.

And I, at least, begged.

That morning I knew she wasn’t getting better.

I prayed over her to get better for ME.  Not for her.  But for ME.

Selfish, isn’t it?

She kept following me (like she always did) and I told her not to.  To rest and get better.

But God granted me the privilege of holding her as she left this world.  Of crying, “Please, God, no.  Don’t take her.”  Of showering her with my tears as her heart took its final beat.

But it was time.  I just didn’t want to admit it.

I love her.  Always will.

And I just wanted to share some pictures of her.

I wish I could share more.

Pictures of her and my kids.  Pictures of her and me.  On the day before she died.

But those are sacred.  Just between her and me and my family.

These are pictures of just her.

I love her.  Always will.

Her Favorite Spot

My Precious

Hunting Last Fall (This is One of My All-Time Favorite Photos)

Her and Her Brother Sleeping in the Camper

Her and Her Brother Hanging Out in the Backyard

Just Hanging Out