Tributes

On March 16, 2002 my wife and I travelled to Purcellville, VA for a scheduled appointment at Blue Ridge Veterinary Assoc. Our purpose was to meet a young female Beagle that BREW had named “Diana”. She was listed as #2-069. “Diana” was everything we had hoped for; full of spirit, affectionate, and absolutely beautiful. The three of us made the return trip home where “Diana” was welcomed and renamed “Cloe”.

Chloe had a physical and based on her teeth and gums, the vet estimated she was between 1 ½ to 2 years old; based on that, we decided her birthday would be March 16, 2000. Cloe and I then completed an eight week obedience course. Her proud independent streak was evident to our trainer as after two sessions he commented: ”She can be trained, but I’m not sure by you”. Despite his concerns, Cloe and I made it through and graduated.

The next few years were filled with long walks, running through local fields, some occasional “escapes” that left me dog tired, and lots of belly rubbing. Chloe became very popular in our neighborhood and as a result, five more Beagles appeared on the local scene. She was, simply put, “The Best”!

Unfortunately, in April, 2009 shortly after her ninth birthday Cloe lost her vision. The diagnosis of a vet ophthalmologist was that she had fallen victim to “SAARD”- sudden acquired retinal degeneration. This meant she was completely blind and did not pick up any light at all. My wife and I were devastated; but Cloe’s pride was not to be denied. She adapted quickly to her new circumstances and life went on. The only difference was that our walks took a little longer.

In early November of 2012, changes in Cloe became apparent. She lost her enthusiasm for the walks that she so dearly loved, no longer seemed interested in laying in our sun filled back yard, and even seemed disoriented in the home she had lived in for nearly eleven years. There were other signs and they all indicated the same thing: Cloe had grown weary of the dark world that she had been in for 3 ½ years.

On December 7, 2012 Cloe was relieved of her burdens and took with her a piece of our hearts. She was and will always be to us, “The Best”. Nothing can compare to the love that she brought to our lives.

Kathy and Paul H.

VA

I adopted Penny Lane in January 2003, and lost her on September 1, 2012.

Penny’s BREW name was Sonny and she was fostered by Kent and Rita. Kent brought Penny along for my home inspection and she was very shy and wouldn’t look at me during the visit. Soon after, I went to Kent and Rita’s house to see her again. She was among many fosters who were running around their yard romping playfully, and I swear she was auditioning and showing off saying, “Look at me, look at me!” I finally made the decision to adopt her and named her Penny Lane.

Penny and I bonded quickly. She would cry when I’d leave the house but soon settled into a daily routine, which she was happy to maintain the rest of her life. She LOVED stuffed animals – her babies – so there have always been many that traveled about the house. For many years she would greet me at the front door with a baby in her mouth and bring it to the bedroom while I changed into dog-walking clothes. She was nothing if not predictable.

Penny knew the south Reston trails like the back of her paw. She could have guided any scouting troop around any number of loops all convening and ending at our front door. In fact, she was a wonderful guide for my parents who would come from WI to babysit her when I traveled as they were always getting turned around on the trails. Penny would simply lead them home.

She loved her mommy, she loved her sissy – Zoe, also a BREW rescue – she loved to eat, she loved her treats, and she especially LOVED the big bed where we all slept. Penny slept on the opposite side of the bed from me with her head on the pillow looking directly at me – every night. And if I spoke to her or got up in the night, her tail would pound against the bed in delight. When she got cold, she’d curl around into a ball with her head against my belly. She loved her sissy and would do her best to dry Zoe off when they came in from the rain.

I think the thing Penny loved the most, besides her mommy, were presents. She loved opening presents! And not just hers… she would open any presents she could get her paws on. I could never wrap Christmas gifts and leave them under the tree or I’d find them opened with shredded paper all over the place! The annual beagle gift opening was deeply cherished by Penny who would open her gifts and put them in a pile, AND she’d steal the other dogs’ gifts and add them to her pile.

Penny had a determined and loving personality and was as stubborn as any beagle could be. In the last few years her health issues had begun to stack up. She’d declined greatly during the last six months but was still hanging in there. Her little body, with all its ailments, finally just gave out and we couldn’t save her.

No matter how much time you have, it is never enough; you’re never ready when the end comes, and the grief seems almost unbearable. I miss you deeply my little Penny Lane… you saved my life by rescuing me 9 ½ years ago. I love you.

Love,

Mary Jo Ondrejka (aka mommy)

And her sissy Zoe

We adopted our beloved Mickey from BREW in January 2004. He died on August 6, 2012, from cancer.

His gentle, loyal, loving, and goofy soul enriched our lives more than I can even say. We are so sad without him, but also feel incredibly grateful for the grace and goodness he brought to our family for all of these years.

His love of us, and our two children as they came along, was without limit or strings.

He leaves a legacy of a family brought closer together to each other, to nature (Mickey LOVED being in nature), and to animals.

I believe he is at the Rainbow Bridge, chasing bacon-winged butterflies through grassy fields, licking the faces of angel children, and waiting for us. For goodness and kindness like his cannot really go away. I hope he will be waiting to welcome us there some day.

Thank you for taking in this scared, shy stray dog and caring for him. Thank you for helping him to find us. What an amazing gift these years together were for all of us.

Mickey, we will love and miss you forever.

Your eternally loving and devoted family,
Leah, Scott, Ben (age 6), Lucy (age 3), and Petey (his doggie brother, age 11) Stanton

Baxter first came into our lives in October, 2007. As you can see, he was happy to be part of our family from the first meeting with us. We lost him on May 12, 2012, and have missed him ever since. We had four BREW Beagles at the time, but it was Baxter more than anyone who reminded me of Snoopy. It suddenly did not seem so strange that Charles Schulz drew Snoopy flying an airplane, playing baseball and golf, and sitting on top of the doghouse instead of inside it. Baxter had that sort of powerful spirit, and when he set his mind to something he was going to do it. Any time we walked the dogs, the other three seemed always to want to stretch their legs, but Baxter did not want to move forward until he had thoroughly sniffed each inch of ground, though if something worth chasing appeared the hunting dog in him would come out.

We learned quickly that no crate could hold Baxter. He would push the bars apart with his nose and get out. He quickly figured out how to use chairs as steps to get on the table and the levels in the Lazy Susan to get up to the kitchen counter if we left out any food which was not covered. Like Snoopy, he loved to eat and did it thoroughly. The other dogs would have stopped eating long ago and he’d still be trying to tip his own dish and then theirs, pushing them around with his nose, up against a chair or a wall, to get at that bit of food
which was otherwise out of reach.

Like Snoopy, he also had classic Beagle looks and a look on his face that made you wonder what he was thinking. Baxter would often sit down on his back legs, with his front legs out straight, looking right off the cover of a catalog for Outdoor Wear. More than anything, though, Baxter was a loving member of the family, who made you understand why dogs are called “Human’s best friend.” He was always ready to sit in your lap, or sit down beside you while you were watching TV, or lay down beside you at bedtime. No matter how long and hard the day was and what was going on, he had a way about him that would melt your heart and bring a smile to your face.

Lily 2000-2012

Lily was born in February 2000 and I acquired her in October of that year at the young age of 8 months after my first foxhound of 14 years died a few weeks prior to meeting Lily. Lily, who was formerly named Shirley by her foster mom, was the answer to my prayers as I had been heartbroken about losing my first dog. I was planning to get another dog but wasn’t sure when I would find the right one and when the time would be right. After researching and searching different breeds, I kept coming back to the hound breed and stumbled upon BREW on the internet during a search for foxhounds where in addition to listing available beagles, they had listed a few of their foxhound cousins up for adoption.

I soon made arrangements to meet a few dogs, among them a blue-tick coon hound puppy that I had been interested in but didn’t feel a significant connection with during our visit. Then, I heard about Lily and met her at Beagle Fest in mid-October. It was love at first sight! She was the sweetest hound but she seemed very shy and skittish. I had been told that she was looking for a good home after being shuffled around several times in her young life. I took Lily home the following week and it was a match made in heaven as I enjoyed twelve joyful years with her, some of which were frustrating and comical but never a dull moment. If you’ve ever had a hound, you know that unlike their beagle cousins, they are a little more feisty and stubborn and Lily was no exception. She was a loving dog who was never far from my side for all those years yet she had an independent streak which gave her a lot of spunk.

Physically, she was a magnificent dog with her hound stamina, beautiful tri-colored spots and freckled long legs. Hardly a day went by without someone asking me what breed she was or commenting on how elegant she was – she was a true beauty and I was always proud to walk her. Last month, Lily was diagnosed with leukemia and although she had the slow-progressing type, we weren’t sure how long she had it – I was told she could possibly live another year or two if it was monitored. I was not ready to lose her a few weeks later when over a weekend in May, her appetite began to diminish and the morning of her death, she appeared very ill. Instead of going to work that day, I took her to the vet and they put her on an IV and told me I would be able to pick her up that evening but my Lily had other plans.

I received a call late in the day with the news that my Lily had passed away. I was devastated, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way – I wasn’t even with her at the time of her death to hold her paw and I didn’t get to say goodbye which broke my heart. I later realized that perhaps Lily wanted to make it easy on me, she died without me there and maybe because she knew it would be too difficult for either of us to let go as she was never far from my side for all those years. She gave me the gift of leaving in a way that I didn’t have to make any difficult decisions. I miss my hound terribly. After 12 yrs as my constant companion, Lily has crossed the bridge but I smile when I think of all the amazing days we had together and her memory will continue to live in my heart until I see her on the other side of that Rainbow.

Jenny Edding

I adopted Daisy on November 4, 2005.  She had been named Leah and I renamed her Daisy because it just seemed more fitting.  In the days since her passing I’ve had lots of time to reflect on the wonderful times we had together.  When she first came to me she was timid, unsure and easily frightened, but she soon became a confident, happy and often goofy little girl.  While no one really knew where she came from or what her history was it was clear she’d had a rough go–x rays revealed she was riddled with pellets and scars on her leg indicated a terrible accident.  Considering all that, she forged on with the love of life only a dog can convey…live in the moment, don’t worry about the past.

In 2009 she was diagnosed with a heart murmur, but never slowed down thanks to great veterinary care.  It was in late September of 2011 that she was diagnosed with kidney disease.  I was told the prognosis was guarded but we started daily subcutaneous fluids at home.  She had a couple bumps in the road but seemed to be doing well.  As the months passed I watched her grow tired more easily on the walks she so loved and her  appetite waxed and waned.   We were blessed to have her with us for the holidays and the start of 2012 looked good.  She then began to become anemic and finally on the week of April 23 the anemia didn’t seem to be responding to treatment and her kidney levels were becoming elevated again.  Intellectually I knew she had lived far longer than most dogs with chronic renal failure…almost 9 months, but there’s never enough time.   I made the painful decision to end her fight on April 30, 2012.  She fell alseep peacefully as I whispered to her how much I loved her, and told her to rest now and join all our other animal friends over the bridge.Having had many dogs in my life, I have to say Daisy was special.  My family and I can’t really put our finger on what exactly it was that made her so special.  She had such joy for life….really she found joy in everything.  Her three biggest loves were eating, napping and taking walks.  She would walk forever with her nose to the ground and her tail up high.  Most of all I think she loved her humans.  She felt most at ease when everyone was home and settled for the night in the family room when she could curl up beside me and sleep.  I am so sad that she is gone and I still find I look for her to greet me at the door and come running when the pantry opens, but someone said that grieving is a validation of a life lived and moving forward with our lives is validation of the love you shared.  So, on we go, but I know she watches over us and I know she is happy and healthy and doing all the things she loves most and that comforts me.  She will always be in my heart.

Sandy introduced herself to me the way she led her life, calmly and with kindness that seemed to radiate from her heart-melting, big, brown eyes. She slowly waddled over as her pendulous belly swayed from side to side. She sat down beside me, nuzzled my arm, and looked up with a gaze I can never forget. At 33.5 pounds, she was a beagle with a little extra to hug. Her foster mom, Teresa, named her Sandy because she had a sandy stripe down her back. She never answered to anything else, although she had clearly been someone’s very cared for pet until she found herself dumped far from any residential area in the middle of Louisa County. The ridge in her velvety fur where her collar had been was still evident when the BREW volunteers found her. I think that she may have had elderly parents because every time Sandy saw a couple over age 70, she became overexcited, wagging and play bowing in anticipation of the cuddles. She also cried (real tears!) every time she heard a siren that first year. If only she could have told me what happened to her.

For the first few months after I adopted her, she only wagged around me. She acted quite depressed, her big eyes expressing so many emotions: sadness, melancholy, heartache, lonesomeness. And yet, her tail wagged and wagged every time we went for a walk or I returned from work. She had clearly been someone’s pet. The first evening she was with me in July 2002, I started cooking dinner when I realized that the pitter patter of little beagle paws had ceased. I turned around to see Sandy sitting up on her hind legs behind me, waiting patiently for some dinner to be shared! The first night, I put her dog bed on the floor in my bedroom and petted her as she sat down in it. I climbed into bed and had a solid minute or so of alone time before that pleasantly plump little girl jumped into bed with me. She turned around in circles and curled up by my feet as though she belonged there. Sandy’s spot at the end of the bed was short lived, however. Over the next few months, she decided that she could burrow under the duvet and sleep against my feet. Eight years later, she had grown accustomed to sleeping against my legs with one long ear flopped over my ankle or curled up behind my knees.

Sandy was not very vocal. She very rarely felt the need to bay or bark, but her sounds were always entertaining. When she yawned, she would vocalize a noise that can only be described as a slightly muted James Brown scream (owwwwww). Anytime she did this when friends were over, one would inevitably respond “I feel good!” without missing a beat. She had a beautiful arroooooooo, only using it to alert me that someone was at the door or if encouraged by friends to bay. She also snored louder than anyone I’ve ever met (human or canine). It was one of her endearing qualities.

Sandy and I frequented the Falls Church dog park for awhile. I thought it would be a great way to help her shed some pounds and socialize. Sandy would typically waddle around the perimeter, nose to the ground, picking up leaves with her adhesive-quality drool, and taking care of business. She would then climb up on the picnic table where the people were, lay down on her side, and go to sleep while receiving belly rubs. So much for exercising. Later in life, after we moved to Charlottesville, Sandy discovered trails. Oh dear beagle, where had these been all of her life?! Suddenly, she became super active hiking geriatric beagle. She loved to leap over rocks, gently get her paws just a little wet in rivers, and follow the trail of the other animals. She loved it. Deer would often join us on the trail and unless they came up to her face, she thought that was pretty fun. If they came really close, she would bay at the top of her lungs, scaring the poor deer away. oops.

Sandy was gentle, soft spoken, and very kind. She took treats using only her lips and eating one piece of treat or kibble at a time, causing me to think that perhaps she wasn’t a real beagle. Over her lifetime, we fostered many BREW beagles. None were house trained when they arrived, so Sandy would model appropriate behavior. When I would pick up their leashes, Sandy would walk to the door, hold eye contact with her foster brother or sister, and sit. She would only break eye contact to look at me after the other dog sat too. Then, I would attach the leashes to their collars, wait for Sandy to paw at the door, and off we went! Sandy was also excellent at showing other dogs how to take care of business immediately, particularly in the rain or snow. Inside, she would share compressed rawhide bones and even beds. You’ll see a picture here of Sandy with a former foster, Tali (Misty), who was adopted by close friends. Tali, Sandy, and another former foster adopted by different friends, Jesse, loved to cuddle and came to dinner I shared with friends every weekend. She cuddled equally with humans, known for always needing to have one part of her touching me if I was seated. She also learned that rump scratches were the best thing ever. One of my friends was particularly gracious with her rump scratches and Sandy quickly learned to do a 180 and back up to her if she appeared at our door. Yes, Sandy greeted some friends butt first, eagerly anticipating that rump scratch.

Sandy was also kind to those some would think she would naturally hunt. When her beagle friend, Jesse, caught a squirrel while staying at our place, Sandy reacted differently. Luckily, Jesse immediately followed my command to “drop it!” Before the poor squirrel could get away, Sandy leapt forward, holding the little furry thing down while licking him. The poor squirrel was terrified, but Sandy seemed determined to mother him back to health. She was quite upset when I carried her away. On another instance, she found a hurt squirrel on a walk. She repeated her mothering techniques, becoming concerned when I yet again carried her away from a terrified squirrel unaware that she was clearly nursing him back to health (in her own beagle-y way).

Have no fear, fellow beagle families. Sandy had her spunky beagle moments! After a particularly tiring day at work, I ordered a pizza. When the pizza arrived, I set it on the dining room table to cool and went to move the clothes from the washer to the dryer. I returned to find Sandy standing on the dining room table licking the entire pizza pie!!! She looked up at me, licked her lips, and stuck her head right back down. No remorse at all!  She had a similar experience once with a Mediterranean pasta salad. It was one of my favorite meals and I made enough to supply dinner for myself for an entire week of graduate school. It was cooling, but I had learned from the pizza experience a couple of years prior to push things far back on the kitchen counter where she couldn’t reach them. I stepped back into the kitchen to find Sandy, having pushed a chair over to vault over the open bar area, sitting on the counter with her entire head in the bowl of pasta. That dish was henceforth called Sandy’s Favorite Pasta by my family. If the time approached 5pm (dinner time!), she would hop up beside me and start swatting me with her paw. She may not have had command of spoken language, but she communicated quite clearly.

Sandy had a way with people who were terrified of dogs. I don’t know how she did it, but within minutes of meeting a person who would not willingly touch a dog in any other circumstance would cajole some petting from them, if not an invitation to sit in one person’s lap. Sandy also had a way with my sister. My sister likes dogs, but isn’t particularly fond of sharing a bed with them. Sandy seemed to immediately detect this and although she never slept near my head decided to sit on my sister’s head at night when she was visiting. She never did it to me or our other sister. I think it was Sandy’s way of teasing her.

As Sandy aged, she seemed to know that she wouldn’t be abandoned again. This seemed present multiple new opportunities for behaviors I found less desirable. I was taking a nap one Saturday afternoon when I some strange sounds awakened me. I got up and followed the noises to the kitchen where I found a strikingly beautiful Sandy. Yes, that spunky little beagle looked just like she belonged on the top of a wedding cake. You see, she had climbed up the pantry shelves, retrieved and opened the tupperware container of sugar, and the combination of excessive drool and sugar combined to make a fine lacey glaze….. all over her. Lovely she was.

Sandy also took the opportunity to retrieve things from the dishwasher and serve as the pre-rinse. I’ll never forgot the image of Sandy (during the last week of her life no less!) running past me through the living room with a cooking spoon sideways in her mouth, my sister chasing her while the kitchen sink was still running. “Sandy! No! Sandy! Drop That! Sandy! I just put that in the dishwasher!”

Sandy was diagnosed with transitional cell carcinoma, otherwise known as bladder cancer, in January 2010. The tumor was deemed inoperable. I sobbed, but in true Sandy fashion, Sandy cuddled closer and tried to console me. We opted for integrated approaches to ensure Sandy’s good quality of life as long as she was here. Dr. Kim Danoff worked with our traditional vet, Dr. Allison Kramer at Old Dominion Animal Hospital in Charlottesville. Sandy received a dairy free, gluten free diet complete with home cooked organic beef and turkey every day. If nothing else, that diet led Sandy to believe this cancer diagnosis was a good way to end her time with us. She lived for 7 months past her diagnosis, happily playing, stealing things from the dishwasher, gobbling down her home-cooked meat, and dragging me down her favorite trail even in her last week with us. When she let me know she was ready to say goodbye, Sandy closed her eyes, head resting in my lap, butt being scratched by her favorite aunt. I saw her tail wag a little as we told her how much we loved her and she left this earth as gently, calmly, and quietly as she lived her life.

About 8½ years ago, BREW rescued a beagle they called Jewell, somewhere in Madison County, Virginia.  She had two puppies tagging along.  I think they called one Cassidy.  We never saw them – they were placed quickly.  But we saw Jewell at Crosspointe Animal Hospital at a BREW event 8½ years ago and she stole our hearts.

We renamed her Josie and we’re so thankful to BREW.  Josie might not have had a chance otherwise.  But Josie quickly brought order to our house by settling down her previously-only-child brother Winslow (beagle mix), who had quite a separation-anxiety problem.  Josie also served a few years in Fairfax County Pets on Wheels by visiting the Mount Vernon Nursing Home.  She bought good cheer to many of the residents there.

A few years back, Josie’s heart and lung problems put her in decline, but she was usually able to maintain a positive outlook.  She was a contagiously happy dog, even as she realized she was past her prime.  In her last 20 months or so, she’d been through quite a few treatments and overnight stays at Springfield Emergency Veterinary Hospital.  We often felt awful about her suffering.  But as long as she was able to show that she was happy, we thought the various treatments were justified.

In late December 2009, her suffering reached a point that compelled us to make the difficult decision of letting her go.  We miss her terribly but we are at peace to know that she got every happy moment that was possible for her.  And she certainly earned it by making others happy.

We hurt right now.  But we have no regrets and we are thankful that BREW gives beagles like Josie a chance.

Regards,

Gary & Kathy Sokola

There will never be another dog like Abby (and that’s probably a good thing).  She was the classic “bad” dog; she was fat, loud, and not housetrained.

Abby started her time with us as just another foster beagle.  She wasn’t supposed to stay.  But I fell in love with her at the first adoption day we brought her to.  We sat there, on the floor at Petco, for 4 hours and no one even looked at her.  Everyone wanted to adopt a fun, cute puppy.  No one had any use for a fat lemon bagel who snored.  She looked at me that day, with her sweet face and big, loving eyes, as if to ask, “why does no one want me?” and from then on, I was in love.

We kept up the farce of her as a foster dog for 7 months after that, each month going to the adoption day, and each month no one looked at her.  I was secretly happy because I didn’t want to lose her.  No other family was going to love her as much as we did.  Finally, in the car on the way to yet another adoption day I resolved that it would be her last.  She was coming home to stay, even if having 4 dogs seemed absurd.  She was part of our family.

Wouldn’t you know it, that day several families wanted to meet Abby and swarmed us when we got there.  I didn’t say anything, I just let them meet her and pet her, but even if they were the best family in the world, they weren’t going to be good enough for our Abby.  I signed the paperwork and she was finally ours.

She never really refined into a “good” dog but she was just so darn sweet, it didn’t matter.  She loved to chase squirrels in our yard, though she could never catch one the way she charged at them, arroooo-ing.  I’m sure the neighbors loved hearing the Abby squirrel-alarm first thing every morning.

She lost almost 30 pounds on the green-bean diet, but never lost her love for food.  We called dinner the best 30 seconds of Abby’s day.  She figured out how to open the closet door and get into the dog food bin, and once helped herself to a significant portion of a 20-lb bag.

She ate an entire box of freshly-picked tomatoes from my parents’ garden and on another occasion, a 5-pound bag of flour intended for Christmas cookies.  Abby’s motto was always, “eat first. ask questions later.”

Her zest for life was intoxicating.  She was so bad she was good.  She loved to give over-zealous, sloppy, wet kisses.  Her whole body wiggled when her tail wagged, as though it couldn’t contain her excitement.

She was with us for less than two years before the mast cell tumor took hold.  She put up a good fight, but it had spread too far.  Despite the pain she was in, she was Abby until the end.

In the month before she died, though weakened by the cancer and the chemo, she still figured out how to use the step stool to get on the kitchen counter and helped herself to a pizza, a loaf of bread, a stick of butter, and a pound of cheese.

We love you and miss you, Abigail.

Keira and Jeremy Rupon

The first time I saw him, February 24, 2005, he was cowering behind a table at a BREW adoption day. I carried a list of available beagles and this guy was not included. He was four years old, two years older than the maximum age I desired. Still, I was inexplicably drawn to this little hound, a blue-tick with large round eyes. I sat down beside him and began to scratch his belly. He leaned into my shoulder and turned his head toward mine, his beautiful brown eyes reaching into my heart and soul. I was smitten and he came home with me that day.

I named him after Isaac Newton. (I was a math teacher.) He seamlessly settled into our pack, which included me and another beagle, Summer. Newton and Summer became fast friends, tirelessly chasing each other through the house and tearing around the yard. He loved his walks around the neighborhood and excursions to the dog park.

While Newton was the quintessential Good Dog, he did exhibit an odd affinity for clothes in the laundry basket, particularly my underwear. He never destroyed them, but he would confiscate a pair or two, carry them to his bed, and sleep with them. One day I found him with a bra on his head, the straps hanging down like an aviator’s helmet.

The vegetable garden was another source of enticement. Newton would seclude himself among the broad leaves of the squash plants and feast on zucchini, eggplant, and tomatoes.

Once, I caught him with half a pumpkin in his mouth; he looked as if he was giving me a bright orange smile.

Newton’s favorite activity, however, was far more sedate. Given a cold night and a warm fire, Newton loved nothing more than to lie next to me on the hearth, his body snuggled under my arm, his head resting on my chest. There he would remain for hours, lost in slumber, his snoring akin to a soothing waterfall. Occasionally his limbs would twitch and high pitched howls would emanate from his throat. I can only assume he was chasing rabbits in his sleep.

In 2007 our family underwent a change as we welcomed a new addition to our pack, my future husband, Wayne. Newton seemed thrilled to have another male with whom to bond, and several times I found them snoozing together on the floor. When we married in 2009, Newton accompanied us on our honeymoon to Nags Head, North Carolina where we rented a house on the beach. Newton had never before seen the ocean and he reveled in running along the shore, his finely tuned sense of smell delighting in the aromas of fish, seagulls, and hermit crabs.

We were a happy family but inevitably, with increasing age, Newton’s health began to decline. There were many visits to our veterinarian for a myriad of ailments, and each time Newton surprised us by bouncing back from the brink. I embraced these as precious gifts of time, as I knew our journey together was approaching its end. On August 8, 2011, Newton was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. He was having difficulty breathing and there was nothing that could be done. We made the heartbreaking yet merciful decision to release him from his suffering.

Newton passed from this world with a belly full of treats and with Wayne and me at his side. I bent over him, kissed his silken head, and told him how much I loved him, that I would always love him. He was not the dog I wanted when I went to that adoption event in 2005, but I will be forever grateful that he was the dog who wanted me.