Comments on: Memories of my Dad, dogs, cats, and of course, Critter

By: Colorado Transplant

Colorado Transplant — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 03:17:59 +0000

Me too, me too—my dad was such a gentle soul and brought home a stray dog or cat once in a while. Of course, my mother would take a fit.

I am so grateful to him (where is my kleenex) and now I have passed on the love of animals to my children—and my son to his children.

I loved the poem “She is Gone”

By: LauraL

LauraL — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 02:58:30 +0000

Thanks for the post! I lost my dad 18 years ago. It gets easier, but it never gets easy.

My dad was a gamekeeper in Scotland for 20 yrs before he met my mom and came to the US. It sounds horrible to say his job was to kill, but it often was, given that he managed an ecosystem (a royal preserve) that’d been “cleansed” of predators for centuries and thus had no way to balance itself. He never liked killing, but he understood that his job - weeding out the diseased and dying - was essential to the bigger picture.

I’m sure this would amaze the PETA types, but hunter or not, he had a deep love for and way with animals. He was a champion hunting dog trainer, and used to work with ferrets daily for rabbit control. He never met a critter he didn’t love and that didn’t love him back.

He taught me everything I know about loving, respecting, and understanding animals, wild and domesticated. I’m always sad he’s not with me, but I especially wish he could meet (and spoil the hell out of) my dogs and cats.

Laura

By: Gina Spadafori

Gina Spadafori — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 23:16:46 +0000

Also (now that I have stopped crying) … I wonder about that “imprinting” thing when it comes to dog breeds.

I grew up with boxers, which were the only breed my Dad thought worth keeping. He was crazy-nuts for boxers, never met one he didn’t love on sight and never had much nice to say about retrievers (my brother Pete’s Labradors or my flat-coats).

My brother Joe is on his second boxer, and thinks they’re the only breed worth keeping. He is crazy-nuts for boxers, has never met one he didn’t love on sight and never has much nice to say about retrievers (our brother Pete’s Labradors or my flat-coats).

So … what’s up with this imprinting thing?

By: Liz Palika

Liz Palika — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 23:06:13 +0000

Thanks, Alison, that is lovely.

And Gina, I will be happy to send you a box of tissues - after I get some more. I think I cried a boxful as I wrote it. But we writers do need to write about things to work through them. And I feel better for the writing and the tears.

My sister also shed a few! smile….

By: Connie Kelly

Connie Kelly — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 22:58:42 +0000

Thanks, Liz. My Dad had a stroke last November and has improved greatly. He was the source of my first dog love - Cisco. I’m not sure who had more influence in my raising! Cisco is gone and Dad is still here. We will be celebrating his Fatherhood together this weekend and remembering all the good dogs and fun times. Your blog helped me focus on remebering the good stuff! Thanks, again.

By: Gina Spadafori

Gina Spadafori — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 21:18:43 +0000

From another of the recently and sadly dadless, Liz … thank you for writing this. You owe me a box of tissues.

No one loved is ever truly lost.

In loving memory:

Liz’s dad: Wray A. Stout (1929 - 2008)
and mine: Anthony J. “Nino” Spatafore (1933-2009)

By: Alison

Alison — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 21:11:20 +0000

On this Father’s Day weekend, I’m not going to dwell on that fact that Dad is gone; instead, I;m going to treasure my pets - and my careers in animals - and thank Dad for the love of animals that he gave me.
Thanks, Dad!
Blogged by Liz

How lovely :)
Your Dad and mine sound very alike. At my own Dads funeral the celebrant read out the poem ‘She Is Gone’. (Although of course he replaced she with HE, ha ha )

She is gone:
You can shed tears that she is gone,
or you can smile because she has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that she’ll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all she’s left.
Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her,
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember her only that she is gone,
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what she’d want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

I will from now on always use the moral of the poem as my guide when facing the death of a loved one (however many legs they may have)

By: Tamara

Tamara — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 21:11:03 +0000

That was awesome and really touching. Thanks for sharing. I am going to go home and love on my animals.
Tamara