Pet Memorial2024-05-02T07:55:28+00:00

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Dear Sharon and Devon,

You are both treasures in this life. I’m so grateful I found you both at Whispering Willow. Ella and I buried Lettie in the field in this picture. It’s hard to see her to the left of Ella but her head and tail are there. Ella has not been herself since July 9th and even stopped eating for 3 days! She has started again but is extremely clingy with me. I’m actually considering another dog from Berkshire Humane or Dakin. We’ll see. Both Ella and the new girl will be the judges of that idea.

I’ll close by telling you both that your empathy and tender caring towards Lettie and me were qualities we have never known before. (And we’ve had a lot of vets.) The time, phone calls, reassuring words and understanding when it came to me and Lettie being ready were appreciated beyond words. I know this may sound like excessive praise but it is the truth. I just want you both to know that you two are the Real Deal and that quality comes (came) through effortlessly on your parts. The fact that Ella came out of hiding and laid down next to Lettie and actually sniffed your hand, Sharon, was a testament to your spirit.

We are both so grateful we met you both. You turned such a difficult time into “a soft place to fall.” Take Care. Stay well.

Gratefully,
Kathy M. and Lettie’s Spirit

I had Isla put down today. Some dog-loving friends from the area told me about a Franklin County-based vet service dedicated solely to at-home euthanasia. Isla breathed her last in the backyard she loved to guard and hang out in.

She had heart disease, then developed kidney disease, and had worsening neurological issues, including what I call “startle seizures” and sundowning. We coped as best we could with all that, but the kidney disease won in the end. Isla stopped eating. She was hungry and if I found the right thing at the right time, she would eat a bit, but would refuse it at her next meal. Some of you know what it’s like to have a dog who is hungry and looking to you to feed them when they’ve become so ill that they cannot eat. It’s unbearably heartbreaking.

She was my hiking buddy since I got her in November 2009, although she was so weak in the past few months, she could only do very, very short, slow, easy walks.

She was a monster to dear sweet Queenie. I had to keep them separated or supervised the entire 11 years that I had Queenie. That was Isla at her worst. At her best, she was sweet and respectful to Raf in his old age, she loved the Aussie mix I rescued and fostered (his adoptive mom named him Luca) and ran around the house looking for him after he went to his wonderful new home. And she loved the newest addition to the household, Drever.

I’m going to boast on her, here. Some of you will have read this in the distant past, but Isla’s intelligence deserves another mention. This happened in Belchertown in September of 2010.

I had taken the dogs out for their final pee before bed and we had returned upstairs. There was an all-glass door in the living room that opened onto the deck. I puttered in the kitchen for a bit, then went into the living room. Isla was sitting in front of the door, looking out–or so I thought at first. Since she had just come in from being outside, I was sure that she didn’t need to go out, plus she seemed to be watching something quite intently. Since it was night, the glass showed reflections, so I went over, curious what she could possibly see outside. There was nothing visible. Then I realized that she was studying the reflections in the glass. Her face and ears were very expressive. She’d look at a reflection, then back at whomever made it: Luke, Raf, and with an obvious lack of enthusiasm, Queenie. She looked back and forth between my reflection and me several times. I was petting her, pointing to her reflection and telling her that the remaining beautiful dog was she. And that was what was so fascinating to watch: She saw who each being was and there was one left over who could only be her. She studied herself with great curiosity. I stood back and watched her for a bit. She tentatively reached her paw out and touched her own reflection. She gave a delighted wag of her tail.

It was truly precious to see Isla looking at the reflections, and at the dogs and me casting the reflections, then studying her own reflection time and again, especially when I pet her. She really understood the connection between what she felt and what she saw happening, so she understood that she was the strange dog in the glass.

Isla had a secret fetish: dead mice. She’d kill some cute little mouse, then try to keep the corpse, carrying it around, always trying to sneak it into the house (I was a joy-kill every time). During one cold season, I decided to see how long before she ate the dead mouse, my only restriction that she had to leave the body outside at night. By the time day three rolled in, the weather was getting warm and I regretfully put an end to the experiment. I’m pretty sure she was going to try to keep the little victims forever. And, yes, somewhere I have a photo of Isla’s muzzle with a little foot sticking out the side of her mouth.

She was my “most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.” I will miss her fiercely. I doubt I will ever find another dog who will show me where the saw whet owl is sitting in a tree, or the immature raven who was happy to talk with me, or the delicate beauty of primrose moths, or the fisher with the squirrel in its mouth.

Thank you to Sharon and Devon at Whispering Willow Vet, who are the folks who do the at-home euthanasia. Sharon’s compassion and care is second to none.

Thank you to all at Valley Vet, especially Dr. Gatti, who helped me navigate the cascade of diseases that Isla suffered in the end.

Thank you to Jill Haley-Rose, Isla’s obedience teacher (the best dog trainer I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a ton of them), and Brian for more excellent dog training and for his friendship. Thank you to Holly Burns of Life of Riley Pet Care, who sent me many wonderful photos of Isla on her walks with Riley and Luke. Thank you to the Fates who brought Isla into my life. -G.D.

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