A memorial page for my late husband, Gary, who passed away February 1, 2004
This page was created so that we could have a place to visit and remember our feathered & furried friends which have departed Earth and are forever flying or running free in Heaven. While they are no longer with us in body, they will be forever with us in spirit and live long in our hearts.
Reebok passed over the Rainbow Bridge on December 12, 2001, after complications from diabetes. Reebok had been with us since he was a puppy (2/91) and we will miss him so much. Lhasa Apso's are wonderful companions and great watch dogs. Our home is very quiet and empty without our little "Bokker Dog". Reebok was our last furried companion, we now share our home with only our parrots.
Belle passed over the Rainbow Bridge on January 16, 2001. Belle was a treasured gift and loved very much by Tom and Rei. They have lost a very special member of their family. We'll all miss you Belle...
Moose & Caribou
Moose (left) passed over the Rainbow Bridge in May 1998 after complications from old age. He was 17 years old. Moose had been with us since a kitten (1981) and moved with us to Alaska and back to Oregon during his lifetime. He had many adventures for a cat and had a very happy and wonderful life. We miss him so much.
Caribou (right) joined our family in 1983 while we were living in Alaska. Our young daughter saw him in a box in front of a grocery store where he was being given away, and felt sorry for him. After little coaxing, we agreed to take him. He was a wonderful companion to Moose and us for 15 years. He passed over the Rainbow Bridge in July 1998, also after complications from old age. He and Moose are together for eternity now.
Alex
Alex was our beloved cocker spaniel who joined our family as a puppy on Valentine's Day, 1990. He passed over the Rainbow Bridge in August 1999 after complications from glaucoma. He was a loving companion and a true friend. He is greatly missed every single day.
Alex & Moose
This is Alex as a puppy, March 1990, and Moose. They were good pals throughout their entire lives.
Angel passed over the Rainbow Bridge on February 12, 2000. Catherine gave Angel many years of happiness and love and there will be an emptiness that will never be filled with her absence. We will miss you so Angel....take care of Shyla.
Shyla passed over the Rainbow Bridge on October 25, 1999 after just 14 short months with our friend Catherine. Those 14 months were the happiest times Shyla had ever known and she was blessed to have found such a loving caretaker. You will be greatly missed Shyla.
In Memory of Peanut, Moluccan Cockatoo
Peanut was a wonderful companion to Mike for over 6 years. They were best pals until Peanut died suddenly one evening in May 2000. Necropsy results showed Peanut had problems with his heart and was not something Mike could have detected. While Peanut's absence leaves Mike with much sorrow, the memories of their 6 years together will not be forgotten.
Ian's Ode To Joe
Ian, a friend from Down Under, joined a chat group called Too-Ville ( www.upatsix.com ) several years ago when he found an ailing cockatoo on his property in Australia. He named him Joe. Joe was diagnosed with PBFD and he was only with Ian a short time. But they developed a close bond and when Joe could no longer fight the inevitable, Ian did what all of us dread having to do for any of our beloved animal friends, but we do because we love them....he had Joe put to sleep. His final tribute to Joe had most of us reaching for the tissue box and it's become somewhat of a tradition to post this tribute periodically. In it, we see the love we all have for not only our Toos, but all our animal friends, and the grief Ian's shared is the grief we've all felt at one time or another. Here's Joe's tribute:
Posted by Ian on April 11, 1997:
It was as if he knew; as if this way his way of saying goodbye. How could he know? Okay, so the routine was disrupted for the first time since he came here, but that shouldn't have been enough. But how do cockatoos know anything? How do they know to gather together in big mobs and then fly majestically over many miles to a clump of walnut trees, their sense of direction unerring, their timing immaculate and only year-old memory to drive them? How did Joe know that when the sun got hot outside, the solution was to waddle in the front door and head for the kitchen, where there's always a bowl of water for the dogs? And then he'd waddle off outside again. I didn't show him the bowl, or explain its use to him. But Joe knew.
And Joe knew yesterday afternoon, too, when I put down the phone after a panicky
call to the vet, threw the dogs into their yards, and let him out of his cage.
Normally, afternoons are for the dogs, with Joe asleep, worn out by his morning
explorations of the house and yard. But not yesterday, definitely not
yesterday. I put him on the floor and he rushed up to me, bowed his head,
raised his crest, spread his wings and began an endless succession of those
rapid, soft tongue clicks which I'm told mean I'm happy/I like you/I trust you.
He had never given a full display like that to me before. He was telling me
something. Yes, Joe knew. There have been plenty of delusions around here in the
past few weeks-Joe's getting better, Joe's condition has stabilized, it looks as
though Joe's tail feathers are starting to grow and so on-but this wasn't one of
them.
I feel sick writing this-ok, I'm crying-and I could never have sent the first two posts if I had known how things were going to pan out. I feel like I've used him. But perhaps it was the subconscious, more in touch with reality, telling me to put down some of the good memories-and there have been many, many of those; how does a bird find such a place in your heart after only a month?-while they were fresh. And now that it's gone this far, the end of the story has to be told.
Everything began to unravel early yesterday afternoon, not long after I sent the
post of his second meeting with his wild friend. Joe was in his cage and I
noticed that he'd developed some diarrhea. There were flecks of blood in it and
I made a mental note to talk to the vet about it at today's scheduled visit. I
came here to the study to do some work. Some time later, I went to get a
cup of tea, to be greeted by…blood. Joe was on his perch with a long,
bright drip of it hanging from his vent. There was a pool of blood on the floor
of the cage. That's when I made the panicky call to the vet. I don't remember
the conversation in detail, but the gist of it was that the PBFD had entered its
final stage when (I think she said) it becomes something like cancer. For
Joe's sake, the kindest thing would be to put him down now. We made an
appointment for last evening.
After his display, with head pressed against me, Joe slept for the rest of the
afternoon. He had lost so much blood, and he was tired, anyway. He woke
some time after 5:00, was bright and cheerful and ate heartily. His meal
consisted of slices of multi-grain bread-he hadn't touched seed or slices of
zucchini (which he used to be mad about) for days. Oh, yes, there were
plenty of signs, all right, if I hadn't been trying to convince myself that
everything was fine. In fact, he was so bright and cheery that I began debating
with myself canceling the trip to the vet's. But at long last reality
won. Pain and misery probably lay in his future - I couldn't do
that. So in the darkness, the 35km trip began. Joe climbed my arm
and snuggled up against my neck. He spent the journey tugging gently at my
hair, nibbling on my ear, and whistling softly of his contentment.
An injection, quick and painless. And then it was over. It's 5:45
Saturday morning now, and when dawn breaks I'll take him outside, out to the
fence post where he waited for his pal, and there I'll bury him. And as
the wild flocks come over, I'll have a picture of a small bird, head alertly
cocked to one side, crest up and black eyes watching them intently. And I
will imagine him rising, his beak now black and strong, his tail feathers
complete and full grown, to join his relatives and mates, to ride the wind,
crest erect and voice strong and raucous (which it had not been for
weeks)…look at me! I'm powerful, I'm happy, I'm free! And I can fly!
Fly, Joe, Fly!
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Pet
Loss Grief Support Website - a gentle
and compassionate website for pet lovers who are grieving over the death of
a pet or an ill pet. Here you will find personal support, thoughtful advice,
The Pets Candle Ceremony, Tribute Pages, healing poetry like Rainbow Bridge
& much more. |
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In Memory of - Remembering the special gifts our beloved pets gave us |
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Pet loss & grieving resources - several resources to comfort those that have lost a companion pet |
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Connie
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