Keepsake Funerals

Why IS it so different with dogs? 

Bisbee came into our lives after living almost six months in a shelter. He was lively, strong, precious and special. And, aside from being a spaniel of some variety, what he was was always up for grabs.

 If people tell you that shelter dogs are good because they are used to a crate, think again!  We went out, dutifully and bought all that we should have, including the crate. He hated it. We tried all the suggestions. Nope. Didn't want any part of it. We thought, well, maybe we need to make it more like a cave. So we covered the top with a pillow and left for our errand.

 When we got home he was sleeping like an angel, the pillow was in bits and stuffing strewn like a snow scene. He had actually managed to spread the bars, like a prisoner trying to break out. AND managed to completely destroy the arm of the couch he was next to...how we'll never know.

He loved to run, walk, swim, car rides, kung pao chicken, ice cream, anything off the floor. He loved attention and greeted everyone with full honors. He could spend hours searching for chipmunks in the wood pile. He had the cutest little "prancy dance" when he walked, his feet barely touched the ground. We found that he was an agility natural, fearless, and the only being on the planet that could get Neil to run...or even move fast for that matter. He could lie with all four legs straight out. We called that the "rug" pose. He was a terrible mooch but not awfully pushy about it. If someone said "no" he would just move on until his pleading brown eyes worked their work. He would sit on stairs with his rump on an upper stair and his front legs one step lower. He licked away tears, sat with you when you were sad, and if you were lying on the floor would settle right in next to you, his head nuzzled on your shoulder. He burped, cutely so, and never apologized. He also snored, also cute.

He came to us twelve years ago, lit up our lives and died peacefully at the ripe age of 16ish here at home on June 9th.