Charlie belonged to us all

The following excerpt was part of the trial that coined the phrase, "a dog is a man's best friend," and happened in 1870 in Warrensburg, MO when Charles Burden sued Leonidas Hornsby, neighbor farmers, over the shooting of Old Drum, Burden's dog:

"Gentlemen of the jury, a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow, and the snow drives fiercely, if only he can be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens," orated George Graham Vest.

Today, I learned that no dog is singly part of one man's life.  Though an individual man's dog represents solidarity and keenness to his master, when the dog becomes injured and his master is no where to be found, it is up to you and I to take charge, helping him.  

As Ted and I drove back from our leisure day in Eastern Washington, we meandered through valleys and by rivers, gaped at the sun in awe, hoping it arrives sooner than later in the Western part of the state.  We stopped at a state park wherein Ted remembered days of youth with his father, for taffy at a roadside shop where we watched mom and dad coral 6 baby geese, and to peruse an antique store where we found the perfect little mirror for just $19.  Had we altered any part of our day, had we not stopped for this or that, had we not walked down by the river with the pups, we would not have seen or witnessed what we had when we had.

We had reached the middle of the town of Gold Bar on the way back from Leavenworth when Ted saw a black and white dog running full speed into an intersection from the river side of the road.  In his mind, he was waiting to see him come out the other side of that intersection, but as soon as the car ahead of us turned right, the dog was revealed, stopped and lying in the very center of the road.  His head lifted two or three times and then no more.  "Pull over!" I shouted.  The door was open and I was out before the truck had completely stopped.  Quickly, but admittedly not too securely, I had checked to see if any cars were coming and in a split second, they all looked to be stopped, so I went out into the intersection to help the poor critter in whatever capacity I was able.  

Meanwhile and still inside the truck, Ted had been cursing me as he slammed on the brakes, and before pulling the emergency break.  He was now scared for me, and not just the dog.  Ted quickly hopped out to follow me.  Though the doors were all shut, the truck was still running and unlocked, blocking all traffic from turning right as we both knelt in front of an unconscious, choking dog.  We had become part of the scene.  Bright pink pulmonary blood was leaking from the dog's mouth as he gasped for air, his eyes were rolled back into his head, and he was not responding. The fate of this poor dog was apparent.

I suppose I had wished for a pistol, quickly hearkening back to the childhood days when my dad would put a deer from its misery after it had been hit by a car.  It seems odd to say it, and for many to hear it, but allowing suffering is far more cruel and lingering than something instant and loud.  Ted, thought to himself, I am going to give these people nightmares if I billy-club him.  Neither were things we could do--or wanted to do, but they were panicked thoughts on how to quickly put a dog from his pain and agony.  Then someone shouted that there was a Veterinary office just a few blocks away.

We were both knelt down beside him.  Ted felt for a reaction--"Pain always elicits something," he said, and rather than let him die in the center of a roadway or wait for a policeman, Ted scooped up this boy and was off, carrying him to the Veterinary Clinic, clinging tightly to the furry mass while I hopped in the truck to follow and to secure our two boys.  The E-brake was still engaged as I drove, but I didn't realize that until I went to pull it to park.  


People kept asking Ted if he had been the one to hit this dog, and when he said he had not, they asked who had.  "It doesn't matter now," Ted responded.  A strange woman walked with Ted, guiding him to the Veterinarian's office.  Ted's arm had gone numb, and the poor pup's head had gone from limp, to just hanging there--lifeless.  I could tell that very little, if anything was remaining, but Ted said he had felt the life leave the dog altogether.   And that's when the blood came gushing out, leaving a significant trail of blood and lung tissue down his pant leg, across the parking lot and then up a stairway into a Veterinary Office next door to a farm and feed.  

When I reached them all, Ted, the strange lady, the dog and the Vet Tech were already inside an exam room.  Clean, white tiled floors now bespecked with blood.  Ted and the female stranger were there with their backs to me waiting for the attending technician to tell us that she could do something or anything, maybe nothing.  

The office was silent.  I couldn't even hear my breath.  I don't even remember hearing my footsteps.  

With a stethoscope in hand, the technician checked everywhere for a heart beat, but was shaking her head.  "No.  No.  He's dead,"  was the very audible sound of a woman saying absolutely nothing, but hoping for something.  I think we all knew he was not going to be saved, but we wanted him out of pain more than to lie in the center of the road or along the side walk and to suffer.  As the warmth drained from his body, this strange woman and I reached down and touched his stomach, petting his lifeless limbs.  My words were silent, but hers echoed them exactly, "I am so sorry, little guy."  And then she cried, and the faucet sounded as Ted began washing his hands.

We left, and on the way out a gentleman and lady stepped from the feed store asking about the dog.  "How big was he?  What color was he?  Was he black and white?  I think I know who he belonged to.  His name was Charlie.  His owner was homeless."  And then the same gentleman who had stopped and blocked traffic for us with his black two-door sports car, came into the lot to discover the outcome.  "At least you did something," he said.


I was okay until he had a name.  I was okay until I knew he had been named, "Charlie."  Charlie is the name that you give to your best friend.  Maybe it's a typical name for a dog like, Max or Buddy.  Maybe it's a name that reminded his owner of the Porky Pig pooch--the homeless dog that vied for adoption.  A homeless dog and a homeless owner.  The scene had just gone three-dimensional in my head and as a result, had just become deeply saddening.  


I asked if we ought to find Charlie's owner and tell him the bad news, but the gentleman at the feed n seed was going to take care of that, so we left.  I turned from the passenger seat to look at Simon and Garson in the back seat, and was grateful they were safe.  But then my mind turned to Tyson, and I immediately sent a message to Virginia to give him a hug for me as soon as possible.  I pondered the value of Tyson's life--what his value is for all of those who volunteer for him.  Those that work for his health and happiness.  And what he has done for me...

It was a few minutes before he said anything, but after a long silence, Ted said, "You can't help anyone if you are dead, Amy.  Don't just go running in the road like that."

Retorting, "I checked to see if anyone was coming, and all cars were stopped."

"But you never know if the guy who is texting on the phone is paying attention to everyone who is stopped."  He said.

"I love you, too."  It was all I could say.  Ted was right. 

I felt sorry knowing that Charlie's owner would hear of his fate from someone else, but glad that he did not have to witness it, and hoped that maybe, just maybe he might get to see his best friend one last time before he is taken away to that place that all dogs go when they die.  I hope he heard that there were two people who cared for Charlie like as if he had he been theirs. 

Aiding Charlie, best friend to a homeless man, remarks of the inner makings of man (woman), and if you can't bring yourself to come to their rescue when they need it most, and if all you can do is sit in your car and hope for someone else to get out and "do something" then you do not belong to be a Vet in the making.  It's not pride that beings me to this idea--I have always been a critter-helper, I think it is me saying this is only the beginning.  Whether it's Charlie or a stray this or that, a French poodle with diabetes or a Persian with failing kidneys--this is my calling.  

This is my future.  This is what I was born to do, but next time, rather than just be a concerned layman, I want to know why you need to touch an animal before you pick it up, not just that you should out of instinct.  I want to know what pink blood signifies, not just wait until Ted tells me what it is.  I want the stethoscope to hear for a heartbeat, and I want the tools to manage trauma and save a life, rather than to watch in silence.  I want "to do" and "to be."

Poor Charlie who lived about a year and a half as a pauper never really knew he was poor.  He just knew he was loved.  "...a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow, and the snow drives fiercely, if only he can be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world."   His owner bathed him in love and life, and it's obvious because he ran carefree down a hill into an abyss of tragedy, but didn't know it even existed until there was no more running to be held.  His lungs were full of breath, his legs in full gate and then...nothing.  Charlie was no pauper at the end of his life with that kind of care-free joy bounding down the street.  No, in fact Charlie was king for his last day.  We all want to die that happy... 

Ted's and my love for animals far and exceeds most.  Ted didn't care about the blood, nor did I.  I didn't care about holding up traffic to save an animal from further pain, nor did Ted.   We didn't know Charlie at all, not one ounce, but still, for those few minutes of his life, we loved him like he was ours.  In a sense, Charlie did belong to us, he belonged to everyone of us who saw his life go from glee to chaos on such a beautiful Monday, because I will bet that not one of those people who has a pet at home didn't rush to them and annoy them with hugs and kisses the first moment they lay eyes upon them after a day of work or being out and about.  

Rest in peace, sweet boy.

Tea with Tyson

This morning, I went out to see Tyson at Pasado's.  Every time I see him patiently waiting at the corner of his yard for me, I get excited.  I muse that he is there awaiting my arrival as much as his neighbors, Mary and Trigger, might be.  I know I am the treat lady to those gals, but I came on a mission today sans treats.  Today, I went strictly for the boy.  

See, I've been in touch with a behaviorist named, Dr. Dodman, who is sure he can help Tyson overcome his fear around other dogs, making him compatible in multi-canine environments and I am hopeful.  Dr. Dodman is head of his department at Tuft University in Massachusetts, is a researcher and practitioner of the words he preaches.  With medicine and behavioral techniques, Dr. Dodman believes he can curb poor behaviors, thwart aggressive issues, and altogether balance an imbalanced critter with a certain plan of action--individually prescribed and monitored.  Now, every progression has a set-back, but and yet, those set-backs aren't poor, they are just learning curves.  And as I have stated time and again, you can't know one thing without knowing its opposite.  As such, if there are relapses, and I imagine in the first few months, there will be trials and errors, success can only come in the end.

I found Dr. Dodman in a magazine.  The doc obviously wasn't stuck inside of those high gloss pages, jumping out of them and at me, waving his hands in the air and screaming for me to notice, but he was quoted in an interview about older dogs and their blindness causing certain bad behaviors that resonated like a beam of light off the page.  I think angel-song resonated in my ear or something.  So, I Googled him.  I searched the Amazon book pages and "looked inside" his books and found he does some great things will blindness and aggression--the two, perhaps, going hand in hand--or paw in paw in this case.

In securing a home for Tyson, we must all exhaust any and all resources. I am not sure what the other stories are, but the story for Ted and me has been met with a lot of dead ends or a lot of bad advice, even some advice that seemed rather scary in tactic, like putting an eye bolt in the floor, tying Tyson up to it, and just letting him have a free for all with any cat who dared to approach-squirt bottle in hand for bad behavior, or even putting our cats in carriers and just letting this prey-driven pup have a heyday sniffing and pawing at it until he became bored enough to leave it alone and get accustomed to the smells.  Meanwhile, we have PTSD cats on hand. (Let me explain prey-driven again: Tyson was alone, lost and blind.  He likely had to find food wherever he could.  If that sounds bad to anyone, he's not the right dog for you, but if it sounds reasonable, then you might grasp how desperate hunger is for any being.  How much it would suck.  How scared you would be.  Now add to that--you are totally blind.  You see nothing and sounds are scary, not friendly.  So, you do what you must.  And given his horrifying emaciation, he was very poor at the "hunt" itself.  Ugh.  Poor little guy.  I am so glad he's safe now.)

Right off the bat, Tyson's not an easy sell to most, because he is blind, older and has some aggression issues resulting in his blindness and whatever else happened to him when he was lost and emaciated--alone and fending off a scary, dark world all by his lonesome.   While for others he's an easy choice--only, they have other pets.  So, the plan is to help Tyson overcome his fears and learn to trust other canines around him, even when he can't see them coming.  He needs some assurance that he won't be injured, that nothing wishes him harm, and that he will still be fed, not losing out because there are other dogs around.  I hope this will work.  It has to work.  I am positive this will work.  But if not, I know I there is another way;)

And while my intent through all of this has been to see Tyson in my home, just waiting to be added to the family Christmas-time photo, I am thrilled to see him in any loving home. And yes, I mean that.  Though, I suppose that can be intimidating to some.  How can this couple, who spends so much time thinking and doing for Tyson be so apt to just allow him in another home?  If you knew Tyson as much as we think we do, you, too, would only want him to be pictured in one of those Norman Rockwell-style paintings somewhere in front of a roaring fire between two loving owners: The owner on the left with his hand on his head, petting him, and another hand of the other owner on the right scratching his belly.  Also with each owner holding open a book with a cat curling between legs and nestling into Tyson's belly for even more warmth.  And so, that is how it is for us-  We want him happy and warm, a part of a family, comfortable and sated in every need (maybe a little spoiled, even).

As my husband said, he's not a dog park accessory.  He's more of a lap dog though he's not ideally small like a Cockapoo or a Chihuahua.  He'd be a bed hog, a couch cuddler, a stick-by-your-side kinda guy.  Tyson's not terribly social with other pups, but he loves humans immensely.  Today, he sat in front of me at the Adirondacks, both paws on my chest, licking my face.  I had to clean my lenses off with all the slobber.  I pick him up and put his 80+ pound body on my lap and hold him like a lap dog.  I have fallen asleep under the stars with him, his paws on me while I held him.  I am truly in love with him.  But love is big and strange.  I want for his happiness, more than I want for mine.  And so, with this treatment, we seek you--whoever you are--to take him home, love him like a son, give him snuggles and scratches, massage his massive muscles and never let him ever experience what he once had to go through ever again.  Like one of the volunteers up at Pasado's, you, too, can have Tea with Tyson.    




Tyson needs you, and I won't give up until we find you.  Just...help us out and do a little "screaming" from your high gloss life so we can see you a bit more easily;)    

About Tyson

"A loving, affectionate boy." Ted says, "I've not known such a dedicated boy. He longs for a home, wherein he can direct his love.  He needs peace in his pursuit in life as we all do. I wish he liked our kitties."

...Another Pasado's photo

This photo is a Pasado's pic

Why has this boy not found a home? I know Pasado's has so many good dogs, but Tyson holds our favor. If you're looking for a dog park accessory, he's not it. But if you are looking for a solid companion, a good at-home luvbug, Tyson is the one. He's an awesome, awesome boy.

Boxer Love

One cannot know the verity of something without another side of it being present...

An older dog is your best friend, bestest buddy, and most stalwart companion. I'd say that's pretty cool. Just go visit Tyson.  Any concerns you think you have about owning an older, blind animal will totally fade away.  He's too sweet, smart and funny to ignore.

Pumpkin Tyson

What your window says about you

For my cats...Levi's favorite window is anyone in the house he can jump into, look out of or chirp at, Bartleby's is anyone he can get into without issue or pain, and Bleue's favorite window is anyone that Levi and Bartleby are not using. For me, I prefer a window that a new friend shows to me, or the one that an old one wipes clean for me. I enjoy the one I look at while I write this story, as well as the one that helps me to search inside myself for answers when I read from wise old sages and masters of philosophy. The windows that a movie may create in my mind or that music stirs deep beneath my own flesh are just as brilliant as the ones that afford me to spider web with thoughts during a great discussion, finding new truths in old ideas.

Windows aren't merely varying sizes of double-paned glass inside wooden encasements---the window must allow my whole being to see more than my eyes alone are able to see. I have to be able to absorb more than what's on television or what I hear at work, thereby allowing me to circumvent barriers of shoulds and should nots. I prefer this sometimes ugly new visibility over the closed-minded, warped and decaying, but pretty leaden glass of what someone else tells me is true. Raw truths must be found in diverse locations, layered for effect and cooked at a certain temperature until perfect for digestion. Who cares how many truths you have to talk about until you get to the right one that fits and fits in snug.

My best guess for Tyson is that his favorite window to the world is a human's voice. Within the many voices he knows certain truths. He will be fed. He will be pet. He will be walked, comforted, rubbed, scrubbed, looked after, well kept and warm. A dog learns first by sound, then by smell. The unopened eyes of a newborn puppy smell mom, hear her licks and the sounds of his litter mates, and then can taste her milk. He feels warm when in a bundle or pile of other puppies, and can sense where mom is by the texture of her skin over the skin of his brothers and sisters.

Tyson is not at a loss because he is blind. (He can see shadows in direct light.) Tyson is likely more keen than most because he is blind. A window for Tyson is a guided smell or sound, which he must then refer to something else in his mind. In other words, Tyson must connect dots in a complicated pattern, making his neurons fire differently than most. A window for Tyson is therefore more open and more clear than often the windows for those who can actually see, likely because when you can see you miss things. You overlook things. You may even deny what you see as unnecessary for your life's journey because you forget that relying on your other senses is imperative for intellectual growth. Yet, Tyson must rely on all that he can hear and smell for his own path, making his window more broadened than most.


Tyson, the ever giving sage.... I tell ya, his life is more extraordinary every time I sit and think about it. Yes, yes, to all ethologists who are upset I have given Tyson over to anthropomorphism, may you quell your distaste and open another window.

So tired that he missed the bed entirely...

Handsome and muscular!

Sweet Face

Resting in the back yard

The second picture might actually be my favorite one of Tyson.  You can see the puppy in him...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=2YjZqZ7hmv4

This is a very recent video about Tyson. It mentions a particular couple who are good to him... I wonder who that might be!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBudrDfSvYk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIjjXdHMfvo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idduKcRFx5s

Howarth Park in Everett

I remember the day that we took Tyson to the beach in Everett.  It was a gorgeous PNW day with a slight breeze and just a cloud or two in the sky.  The sun was high, and the temperature had risen up into the low 80s.  And anyone who had Monday off was outside, somewhere, doing something.

Ted and I were just new to Tyson.  We would pick him up around 10 am and head off for the day.  Mondays being our only day off together, we like to have adventures and find new places to explore.  Wherever we went we were extra careful with Tyson's disability, too.  We had no idea he was so keen and well adapted, it was us who had the issue with his blindness.  We would walk one human in front and one in back during precarious steps or hills, and then one on each side on pathways and sidewalks to pad Tyson from anyone who couldn't tell he was blind.  I even still go so far as to carry him down steps or a pathway that I believe is too much--and Tyson is no little guy!

That particular Monday, we decided we would see what Everett had to offer.  We meandered from the North End where they love to fly kites and sailboard, and down to Howarth Park.  There, a small child pitted her parents against each other as she looked for the most opportune moment to need something from one of them, and then cry at the other for neglecting her, a family roamed the upper playground, picnicking on Spanish entrees and laughing along with us at the new parents below, while wandering teenagers held hands and kissed in the bushes.

My husband and I walked ever so carefully with Tyson down the steps, across the bridge and past hundreds of laughing, chatting, splashing, painting, running and ever so happy people.  We slipped off our shoes and led Tyson into the water.  As it lapped against his legs, he stared in its direction.  He sniffed it, tasted it and didn't care for the flavor as evidenced by his face and shaking head.  A gull sounded off to his right, and he looked near to it.  We three just stood there, ankle deep in surf, enjoying the freedom from shoes, and the unique things Tyson was experiencing.  A small dog barked behind him, and he ignored it.  Around us, some smaller children seemed anxious about this little beauty we had brought with us.  Some wanted to pet him, but parents had warned them to avoid him, and that broke our hearts.  And then some adults commented on his striking beauty.  Oh how we beamed with pride, and offered out how friendly he really was.

Once people saw that this 80 pound dog was just a little puppy, they wanted to pet him.  Fear of large dogs has never been an issue for me as I have been around them all my life, and I generally even go for the black ones, too.  Big, black and beautiful, right?  But there is something about a breed that just looks strong or is it that they look confident, because they are strong and that intimidates us?  Tyson's rippling muscles and square jaw can admittedly shy someone, but then they see how he nuzzles and cuddles, and they are at ease.  Tyson will loll around on the grass like a goofy child given the opportunity, and he is anything but intimidating.

The biggest fear we had was how he would react to other dogs, so we kept him near and held him close if a not so friendly or way too energetic pooch came near.  It would bother me, too, if I were blind and energetic pooches neglected that and just came-a-rough-housing without considering my disability.  But that is what we were there for.  The barrier. The padding.  The alpha.  Any animal has to know it is safe with you as their protector, otherwise you wind up with an animal who is trained as your protector and can mistake the alpha role.  Our pets rely on us for food, love and comfort.  And we give them that because we are good pet owners, right?  It's like treating your husband kindly.  You do because you love them, and it's not a chore, it's a privilege.

What's more amazing, because this blind dog is not afraid of any human.  He loves all of them: young, old, spry or even special needs.

I love that boy like he was mine, but I know he has some issues with cats.  Any trainer said that he would need some training to thwart that issue, but it may never be entirely cured.  Did it come before his blindness?  Was it inherent?  Was it a mode of survival?  Who knows.  No one will, either.  When you are 8 years old, blind and someone finds you because you have been lost and wandering for goodness knows how long, that you are even alive is greatest feat.  How you managed to stay alive is just an indication of your fortitude.  Anything that comes from that can't be harshly judged, either.  Countless humans walk into my place of work every day with back stories and things they have conquered and it is not my place to judge, right?  The separation between us and Tyson is that we are supposed to have better cognition, though I really question that with some people these days...

Tyson needs a home with loving family members, but no cats, and since we have cats, he can't come home with us.  As per my earlier statement, one is required to take care of their pets and keep them safe, happy and healthy.  I have had my elder feline for 16 years now.  That's nearly two decades through a marriage, then a divorce, just under a dozen moves from across country to urban and suburban lifestyles, and then new kitties and a new marriage...And!  She still loves me;)  So, she must be my first priority, but that doesn't mean I give up on Tyson.  I will just keep telling and sharing his story until someone finds it compelling enough to say that they want him.  It's funny, I showed a picture of him to a customer once.  He said that Tyson ought to be auctioned, not adopted.  What he meant was that he had never seen a cuter mug, a more indelible face than that of Tyson.  It's true, the boy is quite handsome, isn't he?

I once told V. Becker that I would be in this for the long run, and that I didn't care how long it took to get Tyson a home, but that I would be present in his life until he had one.  And maybe that's strange to some people, but when you put forth an effort, I believe it is important that you continue your effort even if the outcome changes from your original goal.  Some say we have held on too long, or that my love for the boy is intimidating to prospective owners...but when they meet Tyson, they know exactly why anyone is immediately smitten with him.  Just watch him sit pretty for a treat, he looks like a little puppy in his big shell.

If you who are reading these little stories are the one who gets to adopt him, I want you to know that he has been cared for by countless staff and volunteers for some time now.  He's been nurtured, pampered and spoiled just waiting for you.  And you are getting a dog who is quite possibly the smartest critter I have ever met.  That makes me jealous--but in the best and happiest way possible;)

follow this link to discover Tyson at Pasado's Safe Haven

http://www.pasadosafehaven.org/2011/10/happy-halloween/

Follow your bliss

I'm reading about Jane Goodall and her project in Gombe. When chimps grieve they tend to wander the same spot of their loss. They remember other events, people and places astonishingly well, and much like humans. In fact, her beloved Flame wandered the spot wherein her own mother had died.  Flame paced and paced until she was so consumed by grief, she laid down and never got up again.  Apparently this feeling of utter destruction is not uncommon.  Chimps are such amazing critters, aren't they.  We are lucky to have organizations that help protect them against over hunting for Bush Meat as well as habitat protection.  It's too bad we can't learn from all past experiences rather than look upon new ones and new chimps for medical experimentation.  An animal's last day should not be its best.

Likewise, we have amazing agencies here in the US, which protect the rights of animals who are abused or neglected.  I believe animals are even more cerebral than most people give them credit.  Fortunately a lot of other people do as well.  They think, have fear, know and show love, get sad and even know joy.  I think it's incredibly funny that after all these years we still need someone to tell us that they are having an emotion, rather than being able to read it on their faces or see it in their body language.  Name a half dozen advocates for animal rights and there are a sleeper cell of millions of us donating 10 dollars here and 1O dollars there, of which we expect no recompense except in our own beings.  You can't get a tax break for donating 20 bucks online to fluffy's kidney surgery, and so many people don't expect to be able to do so.  We just do it, because we give a damn.

Tyson, though blind, has mental and emotional images of his loved ones.  He knows where my truck is often parked.  He'll pull (more like drag me) the leash right for the general spot every time. Tyson, too, is an animal propelled by memory. Perhaps it is his blindness which has forced him to be more keen.  Or is Tyson a generally smarter canine than most?  He knows my voice, and I often feel like he knows the sounds my shoes or steps make, too.  When I must leave, Tyson also remembers that I stash a treat on his bed, which he seeks out every time we return from an adventure. He's a smart, smart boy.  He can remember the layout of a room, how to escape chair legs and just where the end of the deck is before he needs to step down.

Like she would a child, Jane greatly grieved the first chimp in which she made contact.  David Greybeard had died shortly after the pneumonia epidemic swept the forest.  I can only imagine what that must be like.  You struggle and fight to get somewhere, doing something you have wanted to do since you were a child, and then you actually get to see your dream come true, only to have that first glimpse die too early on.   As morbid as it sounds, I can only imagine what losing Tyson will be like for me when his day arrives, too.   How do you grasp losing a teacher, losing the most pivotal marker in your life?  Tyson is why I again seek to become the veterinarian I always wanted to become.  A simple, but beautiful dog gave back to me back the dream I had buried.  If Tyson hadn't opened my eyes back up, I'd still be getting by and surviving rather than ardently working for my bliss. I owe him so much, which is why I ardently devote time to him weekly --as possible.

My dearest Tyson, I hope you find a home soon. You deserve a warm fire and to bring joy to a family as much as you've brought me and ours.  But until then, I'm so happy to see and visit with you, gleaning spots of wisdom when I can.  You are my David Greybeard, if I may be so bold to compare you.  May you, however, live to ripe old years and filled with tender people who love you immensely, oh, and really great veterinary care!

2eme Avril avec M Tyson

Absolutely lively pooch! Tyson and I went strolling down a long pathway this morning. He was so darn excited to take another Monday adventure. When he got into the back of the truck he fluffed his blankets, twirled a bit, and found his comfy spot. Exhale. Sigh.

Later, I sat on a bench with Tyson at my feet, then invited his front paws up and said, "I love you, buddy."  To this he responded by putting both paws on my stomach and breathing happily in my face, wagging his little tail. Such a sweet, sweet boy.