Quote:
Originally Posted by McHibbins
Wernher, you´re not alone.
My deepest condolences. Same happened to me with my sweet Dachshound (?) (Dackel) Daisy on August 23th this year.
She was 15 1/2 years old when I brought her to the "rainbow bridge" 
Edit : Maybe this may help you a little bit......
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Thank you McHibbins, that was very touching. I want to thank all of you for your thoughts and words, I've read them all.
When I was only 6 years old, my parents bought me my first dog, Baron. I had 3 sisters but no brothers and my parents felt Baron would make a good companion for me since I had little in common with my sisters and my father worked long hours as an executive. I played with Baron and grew up with him over the years. In fact, he lived over 17 years. Eventually, I grew to become a man, got married and moved out of my parents home at the age of 21.
Before moving away, I had naturally developed other interests (friends, work, dating, etc.) and unfortunately, Baron sort of faded quietly into the family fold as a second thought. He was aging and becoming increasingly more feeble. After I had married and moved out, my mother telephoned me to tell me that Baron could no longer walk on his own and she was going to take him to be euthanized. She asked if I would accompany her since she didn't think she was emotionally up to the task. Being the young, strong, virile man that I thought I was, I agreed out of respect for Baron and a sense of duty as his (sort of) fellow sibling.
During the drive to the Vet's office, I began to reminisce about all those years I had spent laughing, playing and growing up beside my canine companion. Great sorrow and regret began to break down the walls I had so carefully constructed over the years. As we pulled into the parking lot at the animal hospital, I began to cry unabatedly and unconsolably. I told my mother that I could not go through with it and that Baron was the only companion I had known as a young child. By this time her own floodgates had long given way and after serving no small meal of choice expletives to me, she took Baron inside the Vet's office as I sat adamantly and safely at the helm of my vehicle.
I was still crying as she exited the Vet's office, empty handed, and after several nearly indistinguishable apologies, found that I couldn't even drive the car home. In a nutshell, I was a mess. I was saddened even more that Baron was not taken home for a proper burial. All these years later, I'm still haunted by my failures on that fateful day. I swore that if I ever got another pet, I would handle it in an exceedingly more appropriate manner. I would not fail again.
Remembering Baron so many years later, and the vow I swore, I was inexorably set against ever owning a dog again. I could not, and would not, be swayed. After my second marriage, my new wife was incessantly hounding me to buy a puppy for her. For 2 years she endeavored tirelessly in her quest. Strictly as an appeasing effort, I took her to a local pet store without ever intending to spend one thin dime on any animal. The pain of the loss of Baron was still as present in my heart. "
No way! No how! It ain't gonna happen! You can't talk me into it!", were the replies she would always hear.
As we pulled into the pet store parking lot, so many years ago, my new wife and I had been engaged in converation regarding the possibilities we might encounter in purchasing a pet dog. Of course, this was, in my mind, without ever intending to follow through with a purchase but rather, as a placatory strategy. I though I was being shrewd when I honestly suggested, "
Too bad they don't make big dogs in small packages. You know, like a German Shepherd or a Dobermann but only, very small." In all honesty, I was telling the truth believing that no such dogs existed.
Once we entered the pet store, I immediately saw, and was instantly drawn to a tiny, stag red, dog, looking very much like a Dobermann and with a spiked collar that was so small, it could only accomodate 2 spikes.
I approached the puppy, who was in a topless, raised, pen and almost as if by fate, an employee was standing adjacent to it. I asked in eager astonishment, "
What kind of dog is that?" The female attendant said it was a Minn-Pin. Duh, I just noticed the sign on the pen. I asked, "
Minn Pin? You mean, like a mini Pinscher?" After a short testimony to the breed, she picked him up out of the pen and handed him to me. He was barely larger than the palm of my hand and I held him (with one hand) against my neck. The dog began, what would soon become, his trademark lick upon my face. As soon as he did, I was caught, hook, line and sinker, and my check book was already out of my pocket. The bond was instant.
That was the day we took Saber home and the events I've testified to are more than likely, the reason why I developed an unusually strong bond with him. I named him Saber because, that's what he was to me. He was my sword that garnered my strength for the battles (stresses) of this world. I'm sorry if this was long winded but, that too is in my nature, to explain against any possibility of misinterpretation. My wife complains constantly that my words are superfluous but, it has sure come in handy during cross-examinations.
I stayed with Saber through the entire process, holding him and caressing his back as the injections were administered. Though it was breaking my heart, I did not cry and give Saber any indication that something terrible was about to happen. After it was over, still not one tear shed, I carefully placed him back into his carrier, took him home and began to dig his burial site. Before wrapping him in his favorite blanket, I held his lifeless body, like I often used to (on my chest), rubbing his belly. It was then that the deluge came upon me. I held him for several minutes before placing him into the ground and covering him.
I did it right this time.
SABER:
