For you dog and kid lovers, I want to tell you about a great organization where I volunteer here in Phoenix that you may want to emulate in your cities and towns.

The organization is called “Gabriel’s Angels” (gabrielsangels.org). Gabriel’s Angels provides pet therapy to “abused, neglected and at risk children.”

I visit a place called Youth At Risk twice a month with a Golden Retriever named Sophie and her human companion Michelle.

As we walk in with Sophie, 30 kids who have been instructed to remain sitting on the floor until told they can move, violate the rules and rush forward to hug, pet and brush Sophie. They love these activities as well as brushing Sophie’s teeth which was an interesting day because neither Michelle nor I had ever done that and here we were trying to instruct 30 kids.

Children who are shy, children who are scared, children who are anxious lose all their inhibitions in the loving presence of Sophie.

On May 7th, I participated in a fund raising breakfast for Gabriel’s Angels. There were 1,100 people in attendance, drawn there by their love and commitment to dogs and kids.

I was asked to speak on why I volunteer. In my talk, I noted that maybe, just maybe, if we can make these “at risk” children feel loved, they’ll pass that love on to the world they’ll inherit from us.

The world can certainly use it.

Sophie

From Carol Barkan:

Annie’s body left us today.  Her spirit will always be with us.  She was our beautiful little golden retriever girl.  I picked her out of a litter of golden fluffy puppies over ten years ago.  My friend Alice and I brought her home and told Larry we had a beautiful blonde who wanted to kiss and snuggle with him, then put Annie into his arms.  We all fell in love. 

Annie came to us about the same time we bought the house we live in now.  This house has always had Annie loving, eating, playing, running, brimming with Annie joy.  It seems strangely Anniless.  We miss her so.

Our Annie endured long car trips, hugging, petting, talking, cooing, baby talking and fawning.  She would just look up at us with her big brown eyes as if to say, “Everything is OK.  I’m listening with unconditional love”.  I miss her so.

Annie was known over the entire neighborhood.  Larry got up early each morning with his coffee and Annie.  The two of them greeted all of the neighbors.  She would make a beeline for Don and Sharon’s because if Don was outside, he would give her special treats and love.  She loved to play with Doll, Shooter and Ellen. Other loving playmates included Max, Cooper, Sadie, Francis, Raleigh, Adobe, Ernie, Rocky, Boots, Biscuit, Harley, Mocha, Charlie Brown and, before he moved away, Banjo. She always greeted Chira, Beth, Matt and Emma.  One morning I was walking Annie and neighbors who didn’t know me greeted Annie by name.  Sweet, sweet Annie made a loving impression on everyone she met.  I miss her so.

Since Larry and I did not have children, our Annie inherited some of the love we would have given to our children.  She let us love and slobber over her.  She got special treats and at least two walks a day.  She always had a doggie door and at least three beds.  I guess we went overboard but she willingly complied.  I miss her so.

Thanks for letting me write about Annie.  Those of you who have animal companions you love, I thank you for listening with the unconditional love that they have for us.  I do miss Annie so.  As the poem says, Our Annie crossed the rainbow bridge today.  She joins two other beautiful companions we have had, Sable and Katy.

Her suffering is over.  May she have peace on her new journey.

With love,

Carol   

From Larry Barkan

My wife Carol and I had Annie killed today. We didn’t “put her to sleep” or “put her out of her suffering.” If anything, killing her put us out of our suffering. We watched Annie deteriorate over the last several weeks to the point where she couldn’t walk without falling. It was hard to look at her, seeing how much trouble she had standing and walking. At the end, she couldn’t urinate without falling which means she couldn’t urinate.

Most nights over the last two weeks, we slept fitfully, listening for the sounds of Annie struggling to get up. If she did get up on her own or if we helped her up, she would pace for a few minutes or turn in circles (always to the right) as dogs will do when they’re trying to find a place to lie down comfortably until she collapsed, unable to support her weight. When she slept, we slept.

The vet suspected brain damage. We could have done an MRI but why? At eleven years old, recovery from surgery might have produced even more suffering. So we killed her.

I had two dogs killed before Annie, but today was the first time I stayed in the room for the entire process. On the other two occasions, Carol remained while I went outside and cried. This time my crying was in the room with Annie.

I’m glad I remained. The vet let us spend about 30 minutes with Annie before injecting her with the drugs that would sedate her and then kill her. We said what we needed to say to let her know how much she had meant to us. As she died, with the vet’s stethescope over her heart, listening for the last beat to sound, I whispered my goodbyes, told her I loved her and said I’d see her again. I hope so.

She died peacefully, exhaling one last breath. There was no death rattle. She looked exactly as she did when sleeping soundly. I expected her to open her eyes as I petted her. She didn’t. She never will again.

The vet made an impression of her paw in a round, ceramic dish in which Annie’s name had been stenciled and cut a lock of her hair from her tail. We didn’t take her ashes. I won’t find Annie in a container over our fireplace nor will I find her in a grave. She is now and forever will be in our hearts.

I’ve seen my mother die, arrived at the hospital just after my father died, was present at a friend’s moment of death, and, in the last few years, have had several close friends die. But I never grieved as much as I did for Annie and the two previous dogs we had killed. Perhaps it’s their total innocence and trust including their total trust in letting us choose when they are to die.

I’ve used the word “kill” consciously of course. Partly, I’m using that word to punish myself. In spite of all the therapy and seminars and work on myself that I’ve done, I still harbor a belief that I should suffer for what I did.

The fact is, I don’t know for sure that Annie was suffering. As I noted, I only know that I was. The truth is that it’s a relief to be put out of my suffering and propelled into grief. That’s another thing I want to thank Annie for. She had the compassion to release me.

RIP Annie

About 12 years ago, my wife was in the hospital because her appendix burst. After the surgery, she developed a hernia and a piece of mesh was implanted in her stomach to help the hernia heal. Then she had to be on a blood thinner named Coumadin. Every day, her blood would be drawn until the doctors were sure she was receiving the correct dosage of the drug. Then cancer was discovered in a section of her colon that had been removed during the appendix surgery. Fortunately, the cancer was contained to the section that was removed and Carol is cancer free.

Carol was in the hospital for a total of 12 frustrating days as one medical condition after another erupted like that burst appendix.

This is how I feel about Annie, our 11 year old Golden Retriever. It’s just one damn thing after another. 

If you read previous posts, you know that she had two seizures that are now controlled with Pheno Barbital. She has not had a seizure in over a week.

In the course of checking Annie for the cause of the seizures, the vet discovered that she has a case of Valley Fever, a mysterious illness whose cause is unknown but might be related to the soil here in Arizona. So in addition to the Pheno Barbital, we are now giving Annie a drug for Valley Fever called Fluconazole.

Occasionally, when we suspect she is in pain, we also give her Rimadyl, an anti inflammatory drug similar to Ibuprofen for humans.

Annie walks very slowly, stumbles as though she is going to fall (and, occasionally does) and wanders around the house as though searching for something.

On the bright side, she is very affectionate, wants to be with us more than she has in a while and has a good appetite (for a few weeks, she refused to eat unless we put the food in her hand and, sometimes, not even then).

Oh, and her poops are terrific, meaty, brown and voluminous. For several weeks last month, her poops were tiny if they came at all. Carol and I share this poop information with the same enthusiasm we might use to discuss a celebrity story in People Magazine. How exciting! How thrilling! How mesmerizing! Can you believe it?

Welcome to the wonderful world of the elderly dog. Perhaps you’ve been there. Perhaps you are now.

Carol and I just remind ourselves to love her as she is and as she is not. We laugh because we realize this is also how we’ve stayed married for 37 years. We love each other as we are and as we are not.

Next week, we’re going to be taking care of a friend’s 5-year old Golden Retriever while they are out of town. It will be fun to be with a dog who has the “spark” Annie use to have.

However, another lesson we’ve learned over the course of our marriage is not to compare our marriage to anyone else’s. We’ll try not to compare Sophie, the dog we’ll be taking care of to Annie, although we won’t be able to ignore the differences.