came to WSR a little teddy bear of a dog. He loved everyone. Loved to EAT and when he slept, an earthquake couldn't wake him. His age is estimated at 8-10 yrs.

Not much of the first 4 years of his life is known, but he did live with a family from age 4 until he came into rescue at age 8-10. The reason given for his surrender was because the family was moving.

It soon became apparent that Mordy had other issues. He would have frequent accidents and wouldn't give any signal that he needed to go out. I put him on different food, hoping that would help.

He ate poop outside, so it was hard to regulate his diet. I tried a muzzle and watched him closely. That didn't help either. Although I had wormed him twice before, I took his poop sample in and had it tested, HOPING that he would have worms so at least there was an explanation.

He didn't have worms, but our veterinarian noticed that he had very few muscles in his anus, making poop control quite difficult for Mordy.
After coming to the realization that he was not adoptable, on March 6, I made the difficult choice to let Mordy go.

He's probably eating poop at the Rainbow Bridge now, and after such a fine meal, is snuggling in for a long nap.

I first got to know Duke on a weekend in March. Lisa was going to be at a Pet Festival to raise funds for WSR. She was looking for help in the way of fostering a Rescue Sheltie for the weekend. I volunteered. Duke came to stay the weekend.
His cancer was already in an advanced stage at this time. I was so worried about caring for him properly. Lisa had left a detailed list of instructions with medications. I still worried. It was Duke who put me at ease with his illness. Anyone who has ever met Duke, I'm sure, will agree that he was a very special little Sheltie. I fell in love with him that weekend. I fostered him for the rest of his life on earth.
It isn't very often that a person can say that they have learned something from a dog....but this was the case with Duke. His courage, strength and love of life was truly inspiring. I marvel at how courageously he handled a crisis with his cancer.

Then on May 4th, my mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was large and she would require immediate surgery. Our prayers were answered. It was benign. Through this family crisis, Duke is right there comforting me, smiling as his tumor in his nasal cavity grows by the day. He is by my side should I need him. On May 13th, Duke has a severe crisis. The bleeding wouldn't stop. I called the vet. It is a Sunday, his service took the message. I then called Lisa. She suggested a blood-stop product. It worked...for that day. His ulcerated tumor would begin to bleed and drain again. On Tuesday, he wouldn't eat, wouldn't follow me to get the mail. He is telling me that it is time. His left eye looks outward, and his left jaw looks swollen today. I called the vet and we went in immediately. My heart aches for him to be in this pain,

As the vet attends to him, I hold him, stroking his face and telling him what a good boy his is. He quickly drifts over the Bridge and into the Green Meadows where there is no pain. Be happy again Duke. We are left alone for a few minutes. I do not tell him goodbye. I hugged him and whispered in his little ear...."I love you Duke...and I will meet you again later".

You know, I can't help but believe that God brought Duke into my life at a time when I really needed to be reminded of courage and strength, most of all love. He saw me through my mother's crisis. She is recovering now. Her surgery was successful.

Thank you Duke...for your greatest gift of all....You!!!
Love Always
Judy-mom

My grandmother, whom I call Memaw, has had a beautiful sheltie named Abby for about 6 years. She is beautiful -- her coloring and markings are amazing. My Memaw has, including me, 7 grandbabies that love to play with Abby. Hannah, Emily and Morgan are all under 5 years old and think that every dog's name is Abby. Abby loves to play with all of us grandchildren. She loves ball and just snuggling with us. Since my Memaw lives alone, Abby has been her best friend -- following her everywhere, barking when strangers pass by the yard...but, tomorrow, Abby will be put to sleep because her kidney's are no longer functioning. She's young to make a journey to the rainbow bridge, but I think that she is ready. We have been keeping her alive on iv fluids since Christmas Night when we took her to the emergency vet - the whole family learned how to give a doggie an iv! She has gotten so weak, and she is ready to go. We took her outside to take some pictures with her and all the grandkids and she did the stangest thing. She looked up at the sun, as though she was almost drawn to it...we all noticed her doing it. The wind started to blow her pretty hair and she almost seemed to be smiling. Waiting for her at the rainbow bridge is her brother, Brandee, who left us about a year ago of cancer. I think she's ready to play with him again. This story is so that Abby will always be remembered and so that my family can share our happy memories of our sweet Abby with everyone. Abby, we love you -- thank you for fighting as long as you did.....make sure you cuddle with Brandee for us.
UGAgirl75@aol.com

BUDDY

To the little guy WSR got from a shelter Up North. Thanks for your patience while we tried to help you ease some of the pain and discomfort from your skin infections and mange. I hope you are running free again with all your hair and skin intact. I know you'll come back someday as a beautiful sheltie.

NIKKI

I cry hard as I write this sory of love and loyalty....Shelby, a tricolored female, was a gift to me from my boyfriend, now my husband, in 1985. She was to keep me company while we were apart as I was in college. She was my companion, keeping me busy and loving me during those lonley days.. We became married and lived in a small apartment again she was the apple of our eye--our only child...In 1990 we moved to an 80 acre farm where we could have my horses--of course, we added more dogs and cats and Shelby was the queen of it all--she would run , run and play. We had a child of our own and Shelby became her friend. Her health was always good--she just slowed down, became deaf, which was so hard for us as she was our alarm dog here on the farm. One day she just decided that we would be OK without her and had a stroke on Nov 17, 2000..my husband and I have buried her overlooking our pond, We miss her sooo....but know she's at that rainbow bridge hearing and running once again....

Jamie, Todd and Paige Buedler

You came into my life just after I was married and against my husband's wishes (now he is an ex). You were a beauty from the start, with clever ways and intelligence greater than most people I knew. We spent hours together learning from each other. You learned the important things in life, to speak when asked, to fetch, and to chase your tail, as well as good manners. You loved travel and going to baseball games where you thought you should be out on the field chasing those baseballs (admittedly, you probably would have caught plenty of fly balls also). With a move and acquisition of a farm and cattle, you also showed your intelligence by herding Holstein cattle. Being quite small and realizing the power in those hind legs, you figured out all on your own that you still could herd those cows home by first barking at their heads and getting them to circle. When they got sick of circling they took off for home with you barking up a storm and chasing behind them. Pretty smart!

You lived until one night you passed and it was the only time I ever saw my ex husband cry, yes, Mitzi, that guy that didn't want you initially had made a special place for you to ride on the tractor, used to take you to town with him and buy treats for you and him; he loved you like no other dog he had ever had. We only had you for 12 years yet you accepted the arrival of two baby boys and played up a storm with them. They still talk about Mitzi.

HARRY

You came in to our life when we had two farms and were contemplating a third one. It was summer and I had seen an ad for Sheltie's, saw you, paid the money and took you home. You displayed a very aloof and distant attitude toward all of us--almost indifferent to us completely. You showed no interest in the cattle, nor in much of anything else except running alongside the tractor if you could. That led to the inevitable; one Sunday morning, instead of running alongside the front wheels as you had learned to do, you crossed over in front of the front wheels (it was a narrow front end tractor) and since there was a heavy load behind the tractor, the front wheels hit you, bounced over you and the hind tractor wheels and manure spreader straddled you.

There must have been an angel traveling alongside you that day because your spine was intact, however, you had a broken back leg and a broken hip. Recovery started with surgery (with a pin placed in your hip) and a cast on the opposite leg. A large pen was made on plywood and piled high with pine shavings with sides high enough so that you would stay inside the pen and immobile enough to let the injuries heal. The vet (a wonderful fantastic vet from Eau Claire WI) assured me that you would come out fine and be able to run as if nothing had ever happened. You were 8 months old. The courage and tolerance for pain you showed was like nothing else I have ever seen since, I never heard you once, ever, squeal in pain.

Healing led to incredible bonding, and we finally became fast friends and you showed your love and affection by grabbing onto my arm or hand and biting so very hard and looking up into my eyes--then letting go so as not to break the skin. Many times over our 14 years together, you would come up to me and latch onto my arm, bite down, and look into my eyes as if to say "I love you".

You never did take any interest in the cattle, only seemed to like lounging around outside, walking in the woods with Mitzi, Brandi, Brownie and I, and running as fast as you could. You never did give up on running alongside the tractors, and that vet was right, you could run fast and hard, however, you never made the mistake of getting in the way of the wheels again. You didn't care to learn to sit, nor speak, nor chase your tail, yet you did learn to love us, especially me. In later years, you lost your hearing, the boys and their teenage friends used to laugh because you would lay right next to the speakers when they had the music turned way up in the basement. You were oblivious to the noise. And, after shouting your name, you would raise your head and look around as if wondering who was calling you. You were a truly beautiful dog, a super thick coat with a huge white collar. Once a passerby stopped upon seeing you laying in a snowbank and wondered if she could buy you. Course, no amount in the world could have bought you.

Alas, you got old and very very stiff and started going downhill very fast. Too fast, and all the memories blended into a few last seconds we shared before you went to that rainbow after the shot to put you gently to sleep. My parents were terribly upset when they found out that I had let you go before they had the chance to say goodby. I couldn't let you suffer because I knew that you were indeed suffering.

BROWNIE

You silly little scared boy! A tri with short hair (you were a sheltie cross) yet looked all sheltie with a short coat. Beautiful sheltie markings and confirmation. Just no undercoat and no long hair. The only reason I took you was because when the people who had the dogs showed me the puppies, you hid behind everything--you were so afraid of everyone and anything that I just couldn't bear to think of you going to someone who might mistreat you
or, heaven forbid, tie you outside with only a dog house to go in and out of. I took you home, and you and Harry became fast friends although your first loyalty was to me. You loved me and I you; I knew how scared you were of everyone and everything and eventually you learned not to shake and vibrate when something new happened or company came.

Like Harry, you never showed much of an interest in the cattle, yet you would bark at them, then look at me as if wondering what to do next. You were a silly boy who was easy for me to love. Alas, you made one mistake, you ran in front of a car and your life with me was cut altogether too short, we only had three years together, yet three wonderful years. I miss you pup. Now you aren't afraid anymore.

BRANDY

Well big guy, you came into my life when you were only about 4 weeks old--a collie pup with perfect markings. I fed you mush--lots of cottage cheese, milk, and moistened dog food and you thrived and grew--big and fast. You were so sensitive though, we couldn't raise our voice at all around you; you took it personal even if it wasn't meant for you. So, you taught us to always speak softly. Even if we mentioned "Bad dog" you seemed sure that it was meant for you and not another dog.

You grew into a huge dog that loved working cattle and riding on the tractor. There was something special about you though. For some reason, even though people were initially afraid of you, once they got out of their vehicles and were introduced to you they all fell in love with you. Everyone loved Brandy and whenever any of the extended families came to visit, they always made sure to bring a treat for you. Course, it was sometimes difficult to make sure you got the treat and not let the other dogs see, so disgression had to be used so as not to hurt the other dogs feelings.

You always had a big smile on your face for almost everyone, however, there were a few people that you just didn't like--you let us know right away that for some reason they were not to be trusted. I think you knew some greater knowledge and had some infinite wisdom given to a select few; it was your way of keeping us safe. And, safe you did keep us. You slept on the porch and whenever company came to visit, you stood right up and looked them right in the eye through the door window. You barked only when it was necessary and would keep quiet if asked to. You understood by looks and body movements. In fact, you were so astute with working cattle that all I had to do was point to a cow and you were on her like a flash. Those cows really moved for you, all I had to say was: "Get the cows" and you brought them home for me.

I owe you my life Brandy; for those times you came to my rescue when trying to get a new calf home and the new mother wanted to trample me. Somehow you always knew when to cut between the cow and tease her away from me and that new calf. I wouldn't be here today buddy, I owe you on those times.

I got you initially because Mitzi was aging and still wanting to work cattle although she was getting slower and I knew she needed to feel that there was a decent replacement--fully trained of course, of which she helped. After that, she began to sleep more and didn't bother to go get the cattle when you were with me (which was all of the time, wherever I was). After she passed you continued for her; I am sure she passed knowing that we were in good hands.

We spent many years traveling the woods, poking around here and there, picking wildflowers in the spring, and just walking the farms. You were such great company and such a well-mannered gent--a big beautiful perfectly marked collie boy who loved to please. One day, after riding around in a combine all day, I noticed you seemed to be panting too heavily and way too long after the day was waning. I thought perhaps it was because you might have inhaled some of the residue from the oats and that it had irritated your throat or something related to that; perhaps an allergic reaction. You had never ever displayed any sort of illness before. When you still were panting the next day, I decided to take you to the vet, who diagnosed cancer. I told him he was wrong (thank goodness we were good friends and he knew how I felt about my animals) and he brushed it off and advised I really needed to have a second opinion and off I went to that wonderful vet in Eau Claire WI who had patched Harry back together (you and Harry were best of buddies and now are romping the hills and valleys with Mitzi and Brownie). The vet reconfirmed the original diagnosis adding further that it was an extremely aggressive form of cancer and you would go downhill very fast. This vet knew me quite well also, and I told him I wasn't ready yet. He gave me a handful of pills, said it was a two week supply and that I really needed to let you go after that time. We took many long walks in the woods with Harry there trying to comfort you. We crisscrossed the hillsides where we had spent many summers picking blackberries and watching the wild turkeys and deer feed, watching Adam, my Buckskin Appaloosa carefully pick blackberries off--laughing at his blue nose, hugging and walking the creek a few more times.
Every day I watched you go downhill, saw the happy loving dog become sad and losing weight and panting and not being able to sleep because all of the lymph nodes were involved, pressing on the lungs and eventually my big boy would run out of air. Then, a little over a week later, I watched you struggling to eat (something you loved to do) and saw you just give up. For the rest of the day and into the next you did not eat but laid on the floor as close to me as you could get. Harry tried to stay close to you to comfort you. The day had come, I called the local vet and he agreed to come out and together we let you go gently beyond that rainbow.... You are resting very peacefully next to that big cedar tree on the front lawn--the one you loved to lay under and watch the traffic going by. Both the vet and I cried, he turned away though so I wouldn't see his tears.

I know you are all there waiting for me, and now I have Petey who is almost 10 and the newest, Lady, whom we love dearly and has brought much joy to our home. None of you have met them yet, however, when the time comes, I know you will be waiting there for them, just be patient with little Petey, he is a little spoiled (but in a real nice way). I thank all of you for all you have given me, helped me and taught me. I am a better person because of you all and know that one day we will all be together and be able to again walk the hills, valleys, and woods along with the horses who were a part of our lives. Course, there will also be a few cows waiting there, a few chickens, those two baby pigeons we nursed back to health, the two geese who thought I was their Mom, several ducks, and a multitude of other animals who have woven memories through my life thus far.

--Daldakota@aol.com

Jake .....how to describe him...well...he was more human that most humans....though he was technically a dog...he died on Jan 14, 1999 in my arms...of cancer. He was well...this is just a physical description. He was a short-hair boxer mix. He was just like a boxer but had a longer snout. I suspect there was a beagle in his woodpile somewhere. I hate the cult of "purebreds". People who try to acquire or change their dogs to accomodate their self-image. Jake was the most human person I know. He did no tricks. Well, he considered the whole house "his spot". He would on occaision, do his "I want to go out" routine. Then when you got up off sofa, he'd occupy your place. That sounds cute I guess. Jake was not cute. He was handsome. He was not a "furbaby"-He was Jake- a family member with full rights and privedeliges. As I look at the Rainbow Bridge pages, I have to wonder. I hope along with all those sunny skies and romps chasing butterflies, that he occasionally finds a dead fish by the creekband to roll in...he was all human..but he reveled in his dog stuff too. I also hope that he might find a two-legger...is that the opposite of a "furbaby"..that will scratch his rump-he loved that. And tho he loved the outdoors-he also loved people. In fact he preferred them to dogs. I am a pilot, and he often used to lie out on the taxiway waiting for me to return. A plane could pass it's wing over him and he'd never move. He was not ever a "furbaby" nor was he a "dearly beloved departed pet". He was a part of our family -a full member with rights..and yes, responsiblities. I see rabbit sections on the rainbow bridge website. That's good-Jake loved to chase 'em. Hope they are not too traumatized by that. In short and in closing, every friend of a family member does not remember the departed as..."wittle wookie ukie skoodlums". Jake would have been embarrassed by something like that...and would have gone outside...cocked a leg..and..well.. Some "dogs" are way more human..than to be ever called or treated like a "furbaby".

-bwillis0@bellsouth.net

Duke went to the Rainbow Bridge today.

Judy called me on Sunday night that the tumor had burst again and we figured out a way to get the bleeding to stop with blood coagulant, but it continued draining lightly for the last two days and this morning he quit eating and wouldn't take a treat. He wouldn't even participate in his favorite activity of getting the mail with Judy. We had both agreed at the beginning of this that he didn't deserve to be unhappy for one more day in his life than he had already been before he came to WSR. He was a little trooper until the very end, putting up with all the prodding and the medicine. He touched everyone that met him with his sparkle. He was the model of a well behaved, good hearted, loyal dog. I'll never forget the day that he showed me that he knew how to sit pretty. I was so hoping that he could make it to the reunion so that I could show everyone how special he was.

I can't thank Judy enough for taking care of him these last two months. I have no doubt that they were the best of his life. Give all your dogs an extra hug tonight for Duke.

CAPPY
A VERY SPECIAL SHELTIE

It has taken me this long to be able to tell the story of a very special Sheltie who definitely changed my husband's life and mine, and taught us what a true friend really is. It has been 10 months since our Cappy left us. He was our first Sheltie, and he definitely sold us on one of the greatest breeds around.

After having had to put our Cocker Spaniel down of 13 years due to health problems and old age, we needed time to regroup and decide on what kind of dog we should get, if any. After about 7 months of too much quiet in our house, and going back and forth between Cockers, Beagles, and Springers, all of which breeds either my husband or I had had before, I came up with the idea of a "Lassie" dog. Since I had always wanted a "Lassie" dog, but the size of a Collie was a little too big for our home, I suggested a Sheltie. My husband wasn't at first sold on the idea, but after reading up on them decided he wouldn't mind a Sheltie either.

So the search began - should it be a puppy or an older dog? We watched the newspapers to see what might be available, then one day at work in July of 2001, a sign appeared on the bulletin board offering a 3-4 year old purebred Sheltie free to a good home. As I was leaving to go out of town that evening, I left the information for my husband. At that point we hadn't really made a decision as to whether we wanted a puppy or an older dog.

That evening I received a phone call from my husband asking what he was suppose to do with the information that I had left for him regarding this Sheltie. I explained that I didn't know if he wanted a dog this age or a puppy, and it was just information for him. He then informed me that he and Captain (as he was called then) would be arriving within the hour to see me. Upon seeing Captain, my heart was won. He was a beautiful, timid, undernourished little dog, who longed for affection. As it turned out, his previous owners left him tied with a chain to a tree, had abandoned him.

Fortunately, a local woman rescued him. It took a name change, much time, patience and a lot of love to bring Cappy (his new name) around, but within a matter of months he learned to trust and love us as much as we had grown to love him. The next year was wonderful. He was our little companion and went most everywhere with us. Then in October of 2002, Cappy came down with what our vet thought was tonsillitis. However, after several regimens of medication and finally a lymph node biopsy, the diagnosis we had dreaded was confirmed. Cappy had lymph node cancer. After much soul searching and consultation with our vet, we opted to keep him comfortable and let him live out his days as the "Happy Cappy" that we had come to know and love. During his last months he continued to show us his bright side, even when he began to make weekly visits to the vet for steroid injections and antibiotics. Through it all, Cappy was our little trooper and showed so much more courage and strength than I could have imagined in such a little dog. There were visits to the vet where I didn't think he would be coming back home with me, but each time he did. I remember taking him to the vet the day after Christmas, thinking that he probably wasn't coming home with me again.

However, that day our vet told me something that I will never forget. He said that when the time was right, there would be a special communication between Cappy and us. I wasn't sure what he meant at the time, and continued to dread the thought of having to make the final decision to send Cappy off to the Rainbow Bridge. There were several times over the next couple of months that were touch and go. There were days that he wouldn't eat and I would syringe feed him, and then there were days that he would eat everything that I put in front of him. Then one Friday evening (2/7/03), upon arriving home from work I found him very weak and hardly able to walk. The look in his eyes told me that he was nearing the end of his journey. It was then that I knew what our vet had been referring to when he told me there would be a special communication when the time was right. However, this courageous little dog held on until my husband arrived home from work so we could be with him to say our good-byes before he completed his journey to the Rainbow Bridge. He died peacefully that evening at home with us by his side - not forcing us to make the decision as to when the time was right for him to leave us.

Thank you Cappy for coming into our lives and allowing us to love you. You will never be forgotten and will live in our hearts forever as our '"Happy Cappy", who taught us what a true friend is. We love you and miss you little buddy.

Mom, Dad and Maggie
January 20, 1997 - February 7, 2003