Ruby

She was the little girl of Dutchess and Clancy and was born during the summer.  She was only 4 months old when she passed away.   I know she went to a very loving home because I had met with, and talked to her parents many times before they took her home.  I remember everyone was excited and when they pulled away, Ruby was looking out the window at us wagging her tail.  I also remember how excited she was to go to her new house, little did I know that would be the last time I would see her.

I received a call the day before Thanksgiving about her, and how sick she was and everyone was crying.  I said a prayer for her, hoping she would be spared but it was not to be.  She passed away on Thanksgiving Day.   I think what bothers me the most, is she probably died alone in a sterile cage, because she was contagious. I would have loved to have been with her rubbing her little face and being with her as she passed, just to let her know she was loved and not alone. It does break my heart.

Ruby's death has hit me pretty hard. She was the first Border Collie we have lost other than Midnight who was only two days old.  She was a wonderful little girl who had a lots of jumping and running yet to do.  I will miss you and I'm sure that your owners will too, but remember to wait for us at the Bridge.

I really do love them all so much and will always feel they will be part of us.  When we do have one of our pups or grown dog come back to visit or board, they always go to the shed, which was their first home, just like they always did. I have always hoped that when my time comes, God in his wisdom, knowing my heart would allow me to sit in a big field on a beautiful day just outside heaven and all my dogs and all the pups that we have had would run to me from all directions,   jumping on me and licking my face and we would roll on the ground and play and then we would all go in together.  This would be my heaven.

Run Free Ruby, Run Free

"'Midnight' was put down tonight 12-27-08. He was one of the 8 puppy's that Dutchess had on Christmas Morning. He was so unique as to his color. He was truly all black but with the Border Collie white tip on his tail. He was born with a clef pallet that we learned about tonight, their is a zero chance of survivability and he was dying. It was one of the hardest thing I have ever done. The dogs walked with us to where we buried him and stood guard but watched from a distance. The cats, as they often do, walked all the way and made sure that he was treated with respect. I will miss him so. I know that this is just part of it, but it's the hard part. The odd thing, I dreamed that we lost one last night.

Run Free Midnight.. See you at the Rainbow Bridge.."

Sadie

Below is a picture of Sadie girl... she passed away shortly after this picture was taken. She was owned by the Mother of Zoie.

As it comes to pass in all dogs lifes, I found this poem to be refreshing and comforting.

By Ben Hur Lampman

There are various places in which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else. For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked, and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all. If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they shall not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there. People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing. The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of its master.