Sheltie Angels Among Us - Sheltie Angels Page Twenty

Jumping Jack Flash
"Jax"

June 3, 2001 - May 30, 2005

Lend Me A Pup

I will lend to you for awhile, a pup, God said,
For you to love him while he lives and mourn for him when he's dead.

Maybe for twelve or fourteen years, or maybe two or three
But will you, 'till I call him back, take care of him for me?

He'll bring his charms to gladden you and should his stay be brief,
you'll always have his memories as solace for your grief.

I cannot promise he will stay, since all from earth return.
But there are lessons taught below I want this pup to learn.

I've looked the whole world over in search of teachers true
And from the folk that crowd life's land I have chosen you.

Now will you give him all your love nor think the labor vain,
Nor hate me when I come to take my Pup back again?

I fancied that I heard them say "Dear Lord Thy Will be Done,"
For all the joys this Pup will bring, the risk of grief we'll run.

We'll shelter him with tenderness we'll love him while we may
And for the happiness we've known forever grateful stay!

But should you call him back much sooner than we've planned,
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes, and try to understand.

If, by our love, we've managed, your wishes to achieve,
In memory of him we loved, to help us while we grieve,

When our faithful bundle departs this world of strife,
We'll have yet another Pup and love him all his life.

Jax was my sweet little boy
who passed to Rainbow Bridge Memorial Day.
It was a terrible, untimely accident.
He would have turned fours years old that week.
We never had the chance to say good bye to our boy.
He was a member of our family and he will be missed dearly.
I found this poem on the web
and it has helped us deal with his loss.

I would like to dedicated to my sweet Jax. I miss him.

Melinda

"Sherman"

March 15, 2001 - May 26, 2005

Annie and I just lost our second Sheltie Angel. He was brought to us by our first Sheltie, Isadora. Isadora was an adopted hospice case we loved and adored. We had her for one year. Her age did not matter to us, her arthritis improved, she lost an eye, but she could still see your soul. When we first saw her she looked like a puppy to me. She was a frightened "puppy" of 11 years. She was found on the streets during one of our worst winters.

With us she found love, warmth and vacations on the beach. We know her warm beach vacation was her little doing. It was warm that February on the Jersey Shore. She got to stick her paws in the ocean. She loved it.

When we lost "Izzy" she presented us with a full blown rainbow over our house 24 hours after she died. She was our first sheltie angel, but not our last.

The following January, Annie said come on "let's just look" on line. Let's see if their isn't another sheltie out there for us. I said you look, I don't know if I'm ready.

Annie came upon New England Sheltie Rescue. She begged me to come in. There he was, our Sherman. 1 1/2 years old all of 12 pounds. He was just a petite little guy. I said you go ahead a fill out the application we'll see what happens.

Well, we won our prize, our timid little guy came with his foster parents in January, 2003. His previous owners couldn't handle his incontinence in the house anymore and he would just hide under the bed.

What incontinence? was our first question. Fearful yes, but with our mother to all creatures, Maggie, our senior Airedale, Sherm's confidence built. Mag taught him how to play and he learned defensive maneuvers. Annie taught him how to roughhouse and then when to have "gentle time" so the game would stop. He then became the "Sherminator"! His chest just filled with pride at how "tough" he had become.

In a previous life we know Sherm was a soccer player! He would always get that ball and he would toss it back to you. Annie even taught him how to "boink" the ball back to her with his nose from the top of the stairs. They would do this together for a good length of time. When he ran, he was flying, his coat would blow back and he was just smiling at such a wonderful life.

He would greet you in the morning with this low crawl towards you. When you came home from work he would give you hugs that were filled with such joy.

Sadly, this past February, 2005 our Sherman was diagnosed with megaesophagus. He's 4 years old, how could this be, not our Sherm. This happens to puppies not older dogs. Even our vet couldn't believe it. We knew what had to be done for this diagnosis; we would manage. Unfortunately, Sherman's life, his "duty" on earth would be for just a short duration. His job here would end on the 26th of May, 2005. Between February and May we watched his spirit sink and his self-confidence disappear. It was heart breaking. We loved him so much.

Approximately 24 hours after we lost Sherman, Annie saw a full double rainbow. She called me right away and said "Linda, Sherman's ok he's with Isadora there's a gorgeous double rainbow right in front of me!" I wanted to see this so badly, and my wish was granted the next day with the same double rainbow over the house again!

Yes, we believe in the Rainbow Bridge. There is a twist to this story. Ten days after Sherman died we lost a dear friend who fought an 11 year battle with breast cancer. Patty would take care of Maggie and "General" Sherman when we would go away. Sherm had the luxury of sleeping late with Patty. Her husband Ronnie got to curl up with Mag. So, we believe Sherman's "duties" as an Angel Sheltie continue.

Thank you,

Linda Major & Annie McCabe

"Sunny"

The Wonder Dog

May 31, 1991 - May 27, 2005

I'll never win the lottery, and it doesn't matter. I hit the jackpot when Sunny came into my life.

Sunny, a sable Shetland sheepdog, was the best thing that ever happened to me. Every moment with her was a joy, until she died May 27, four days before her 14th birthday.

Shortly after she came to live with me in 1991, I started calling her "Sunny the Wonder Dog" because she seemed too good to be true. Somehow I'd found a dog with a delightful personality, stunning beauty and razor-sharp intelligence.

If Sunny did something wrong, she only had to be corrected once and she never made the mistake again. If I gave her a problem to solve, I could almost see the wheels turning inside her head.

When she was 10 months old, we took a basic course with the Shelby County Obedience Club in Memphis. Sunny demonstrated such an aptitude and enthusiasm that I decided to train her for obedience competition at the novice level.

Not only did she earn her AKC obedience title in three consecutive shows, but at each one she was the highest scoring dog in the trial. The club named her "Dog of the Year" in 1993, and I have never been so proud. My three academic diplomas are gathering dust in a drawer, but Sunny's obedience title certificate is displayed prominently on our living-room wall.

When you train intensively for obedience, or agility or any other dog sport, you develop a bond that goes far beyond the usual people-pet relationship. Sunny responded to my slightest movement and could even read facial expressions. It was demeaning to even refer to her as a "pet." We were equal partners.

Every single day, rain or shine, we took a long walk.

Her stamina and fitness were remarkable. A month before she died, when she was the human equivalent of a 90-year-old, she walked four miles with me.

Yet every time she went out, Sunny put her life at risk. She was on a leash, but almost every other dog we encountered was not.

When she was just 4 months old, she was attacked by two bullmastiffs, a breed whose massive jaws are designed to kill. I dived under them and pulled her out, terrified that even if she survived, she'd be maimed for life.

But the blood on her face turned out to be coming from inside her mouth. Two puppy teeth had been yanked out as she bit the monsters, trying to defend herself.

That was the first of countless incidents in which Sunny was attacked by large stray dogs. I beat them off with whatever weapon I could, but occasionally they got her. When Sunny was 11, she was badly mauled by a German shepherd. Even at that age, she recovered quickly. But I still believe that anyone who lets their dog run loose deserves to be shot.

Sunny also survived complete liver failure at age 7. She'd hardly been sick a day in her life, then suddenly she was at death's door. The veterinarian was mystified.

Much later, I learned that liver failure is a known side effect of Rimadyl, an anti-inflammatory that Sunny had been prescribed for a strained muscle. Fortunately, her liver regenerated itself, and she was healthy for another seven years.

Ten months ago, she finally met an adversary that she couldn't beat: cancer. Each time our vet removed the highly aggressive tumor, it came back quicker than before.

On April 30, I discovered that the cancer had metastasized, and then all I could do was keep Sunny comfortable until she told me she was ready to die. On the Friday before Memorial Day, I took her to the vet for one final visit.

Sunny died peacefully in my arms as I kissed the top of her silky head. Afterward, I felt a profound sense of gratitude. She had given me so much more than I was able to give her, teaching me how to live -- and to die -- with dignity, love and courage.

Thank you for everything, Sunny. I miss you.

Debbie Gilbert
Originally published Sunday, June 12, 2005, The Times, Gainesville, Georgia

For Our Love of Thumper

January 1, 1998 - June 30, 2005

A True Sheltie
By Eric Visconti

A furry friend,
A breed apart,
Of canine sense,
And human heart.

To my daughter a playmate,
To my wife a precious boy,
To myself a special friend,
To my family a real joy.

When my wife faced attack,
By a dog whom had killed a deer,
Our boy stood his ground,
Paying for his precious love in blood,
In a fight he did not fear.

In spite of his wounds from the fight,
He gave comfort so sweet,
Dragging himself to my wife,
Whose heart's pain he could feel,
So he could be close,
And lay his head on her feet.

When my comfort came to me,
I simply stood in awe and sighed,
In tears I beheld,
A plant that never produced,
Presenting a single white blossom,
The very morning he died.