In Memory ... DogPACT Unforgettables

I have been blessed with many dogs through the years. This page is a tribute to the dogs who have made me a better person, making me laugh, making me cry, and making me shake my head in awe at the canine spirit. No matter how long they graced me with their presence before passing on, it was never enough time.

Terry Long


4/17/01 - 4/10/12

Sandy Mae Archie belonged to Kenny and Brenda and not in the sense of a piece of property in the way that some people talk about animals who live their lives on behalf of humans. But in the deepest way: Being part of Kenny and Brenda's lives was where he belonged.

I met Kenny and Brenda—and Reno and Archie—through agility circles and then as students in my agility classes. Archie was handsome. He was strong. He was a gifted athlete. And he was soft, emotionally. Like my Buster, he hated, hated, hated feeling that he had done anything wrong, and environmental pressures in the world sometimes made him just want to run back to mama and let others be the extroverts of the world, for a while, until he felt safe again.

Patience, understanding, and unflagging compassion from the people in Archie's life brought out the best in him, and we were all better humans for having him share our lives. Although he was not "mine," he belongs here where, along with Buster and now Sandy Mae, we can come visit from time to time.

Terry Long

Archie and Family
Kenny got Archie from OC Animal Shelter 9-1/2 years ago. He was a complicated dog. Maybe his previous environment had molded him – who knows? He liked other dogs (when there was no food around) but was untrusting of people. But, he was fiercely devoted to Kenny.

He was smart (Sharon called him a "frickin genius"), beautiful (we always got compliments on his beauty), gave 110% in everything he did, and was a great hiking companion. The agility was just a bonus. Kenny LOVED running Archie.

You all understood Archie's personality and accepted his temperament in a way that didn't judge him for who he was. We appreciate that. He deserved to be loved.

We're really going to miss him. He was a lot of fun. We will get another dog(s), but you never "replace" the ones you lose.

Safe travels, Archie. XOXO

Kenny & Brenda


I think Archie had the greatest family any dog (or anyone) could ask for.  He gave 110% but you guys gave him 110% too – for all his issues he still went places and did things other dogs can only dream about. I'm sorry he went the way he did but at least he got to chase a squirrel on his last day. Archie and Kenny were awesome in the agility ring, and that's no lie.
    — Dave

I know that Archie and Chloe are now arguing in heaven over who had the best parents. Both are right.
    — Sharon

Archie was one great - and one very very lucky - dogs. Many hugs.
    — Maryanne

The three of you had such an understanding, it was always interesting to watch the family dynamics. Whatever "molding" Archie came with, you were the perfect fit to somehow make it all work. You helped him tune it all out and focus on all the fun stuff you had lined up for him. I truly can't imagine Archie with anyone else. As Dave said, he got to see & do things that most dogs can only dream about. It's so hard to say goodbye, but know that he's left big ol' paw prints all over your hearts and a lifetime of warm, wonderful memories. His spirit will live on in our hearts ...
    — Jan

Archie was a very special dog and it was a pleasure knowing him and watching him run with Kenny in agility. He was both gorgeous & athletic as well as a devoted family member. Next time Phoebe runs, we are running with the spirit of Archie in our hearts.
    — Marilyn

I'm so glad we got to have a play date just recently so I could see him in all his glory before he passed on.  He was beautiful and you all made a beautiful family together. Words can't capture how lucky he was to have you guys, and how lucky you guys were to be able to nurture him and love him during his time here with us. It is with much love and heartache that we say goodbye to a dear friend and companion. Peace and love be with you guys
    — Zoanne

If I had one word to describe the three of you together and all your accomplishments, it would be "Magnificent". I can only imagine the pain and shock you're going through. Please find comfort in knowing how much he was loved by others and how much love you shared with each other. Journey safely sweet Archie.
    — Annie

I can't imagine that Archie is gone. It seems like he lived his life to the fullest up until the last moment. That's the Archie that I'll always remember. Nothing was ever done without 100%+ enthusiasm and focus. The love and respect that the 3 of you shared was evident in everything you did, hiking, agility, walks, just hanging out. Kenny and Brenda were the absolute best thing to happen to Archie and his love for them was always evident. K and B, my heart goes out to you both. I know the pain will eventually lessen but Archie will always remain in your hearts, fast, strong, determined, handsome, and loving.
    — Debbie

Kenny and Brenda, I am so sorry about your loss of Archie. Archie was not what most people would call an easy dog, but what you saw is what you got. Archie was an honest dog and everyone could see how happy he was with you two.  We all knew and Archie knew that he hit the Jackpot the day that Kenny picked him up out of shelter. I know that this is very sudden and tough for you both, but from what I have been told, Archie went out the way all dogs would want to go, chasing squirrels.
    — Marie, Matt and the pack

The thing about dog sports is that we are all part of this huge and loving extended family. We *all* lose one of "our" dogs when one of them passes from this earth.

Archie was truly special. He continued doing what he did best -- running 200% -- even after being diagnosed and treated for cancer. Last week in class he put a big smile on Kenny's face as they rose to "the challenge" of a sequence that was just fun to try and do a different way than before. I'll never forget the smile on both of their faces, and the cheers from their friends."

And this morning, I'm reminded how people like myself who work "in dogs" are so lucky: There is absolutely nothing like seeing relationships grow between people and dogs. You get to know each individual ... but in this case, Archie, Kenny, and Brenda are inseparable in my mind. My mind's eye just *can't* see one, can't know one, without seeing the other two. That's how much they loved each other.

Heal, Brenda and Kenny. We're all there for you.

Thanks, Archie, for those times you put your trust in me and let me run with you. It was always a privilege. I knew it and I treasure it.
    — Terry

Archie and Kenny were magical together. And Brenda, the "wind beneath their wings," completed what was indeed the perfect family. What a lucky guy that Archie was! He got to live his life to the fullest, on his own terms, always with the support, patience and kindness of those who loved him unconditionally. Doing what he loved to do up until the very last moments he had on this earth. What more can any of us ask out of life?

Team Archie inspired us all, because they were able to capture the pure joy of the moment and convey it to us. That is why we cheered for them, and that is why we all feel this loss so deeply now. Thank you for the inspiration you gave to us, Archie. As Marilyn said, we will all carry the spirit of Archie in our hearts as we run, and remember the lessons of joy, love and patience that he taught us.

We will miss you, Archie.

A Tribute To Archie

Noble and proud, big and strong.
But whether he was soaring over the jumps
Or speeding through the weave poles,
The big smile on his face always said,
"Look at me -- I am having the time of my life."

And life was good.
With a mom and dad who loved him beyond words,
A happy home, squirrels to chase at the park,
And classes and trials where he could run and play.
And always, there would be that smile.

We will all remember Archie's noble spirit,
His enthusiasm and his ever-present smile at the end of each run.
He touched all of our hearts and lifted our spirits,
And that is why we cheered every time we saw him run.

Thank you for showing us the joy in life, Archie.

    — Natalie


1992 - 2005

aka Buster Bill, B-Boy, Busterooney, Busterooneytooney

Buster entered my life one Spring morning at the park two blocks from my house. I was walking my other two dogs, and there he was, a 5-month-ish puppy hanging around the softball diamond, skittish and scared. He was curious about Chelsea and Shadow, but avoided my approaches. I told myself that he had probably gotten out of someone’s yard, and they would be looking for him soon (yeah, yeah, yeah) so I left him there. But I thought about him all day, and finally went back to the park that afternoon. As fate would have it, there he was, trying to reach up to the drinking fountain by the dugout. Of course he couldn’t reach it, and struck quite a pathetic pose. That did it. I used Chelsea to lure him into my car and he came home with us.

From the first, Buster demonstrated a gentle, calm demeanor that would impress everyone who met him. At first, when I would reach to pet him, he would sit stock-still and look away. It took quite some time for him to realize that no one was going to hit him and that he was not only allowed in the house, but on the couch, as well.

Special Memories

When he would fall asleep sitting up, leaning against the cushions of the couch, his head nodding, unwilling to give the day up.

Splicing so many garden hoses from his puppy chewing that I joked that my 75’ hose had been reduced to 25’ due to Buster’s teething.

Terry Long, CPDT

Photographer: Chris Williams

The look in his eyes when he realized he could actually vocalize, and that it would be rewarded. My attempts at building confidence worked slowly but surely to create a myriad of attention-seeking behaviors that I would have looked aghast at if my clients told me they promoted such behaviors.

The fun he had being the star at public clicker training demonstrations.

Training him to do something he had been taught never to do: Putting his feet up on a table. This was for a photo shoot for a library book donation project. He handled it like a pro, and the photo was run in local papers.

The time he threw up on the start line at an agility trial due to performance anxiety (I let him transition to the cheering section after that!).

The countless adolescent dogs and puppies he taught manners over his career. His gentle, but firm insistence on proper canine greeting etiquette was an invaluable lesson for many boisterous, ill-mannered pups.

His love affair with Sandy Mae, which caused me to renege on placing Sandy Mae in another home after initially agreeing only to foster the little scamp.

Ringing his doorbell, at the beginning to let me know he had to go outside, but more often than not, to announce his needs … for chewies, for attention, for, for, for …. That bell became known as Buster’s Needs Bell.

The look on his face as he proudly brought me a huge, putrified, dead bullfrog he found while we camped at Lindy’s Landing in October 2004, a short two months after he completed a 6-month round of chemotherapy for lymphosarcoma. This frog was so big, that the back legs stuck out of one side of Buster’s mouth and the front legs out the other. Where or where was my camera?

Up to the end, his happy voice announcing the presence of Charm, his favorite puppy in the world. Grandpa Buster will be missed by that little guy.

His stoicism throughout four years of various health issues.

Leaning into me when I needed a hug, absorbing my petting like it was the last time he’d ever feel so good.


“Well I can hear Buster now, telling everybody how he picked up this crazy chick in a park ...”

“For Buster, a beautiful mind and a beautiful soul … somewhere over the rainbow.”

“Buster was a special boy. He had a full and wonderful life with you. No one could have given him a better life than you!”

“Buster is not gone … just gone ahead. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it just changes forms. Buster will be thanking you for all eternity.”

“This is the absolute worst part of loving dogs - having to let them go so they can be free from pain.  But it is also the most loving and unselfish thing, too.  (Just to let you know, I've always admired you for deciding to put your training on hold to spend more time with Buster after he got sick.) Buster is now at the Bridge, healthy and running happily with Chelsea and all the other dogs waiting for their special people.

“I really liked Buster and was always happy to give him back scratches as he leaned into me in doggy ecstasy!!  I'm glad you brought him to class so much so I could get to know him a little.  (He was the first one I'd greet every time.)  He had a quiet dignity all his own and was a special guy.”



1994 - 2012

aka Sweet Little Miss Moki Jo

Moka and MeOn October 24, 1996, I came home from my first professional dog training seminar (Ian Dunbar in Pasadena). It was almost dark when I got home, but I quickly loaded Chelsea, Buster, and Sandy Mae into my old 1966 Volvo station wagon and took them for a quick run at an industrial area's open field. There, in the setting sun, they took off chasing what I guessed was probably a rabbit or gopher. They pounced. They had found a young, dark blue merle, 25-pound little dog with the biggest ears I'd ever seen. "Sweetie, where'd you get them ears?" I asked. As the daring trio ran off to eat the dog food someone had been leaving out for her, I knelt down and picked her up. I carried her 1/2 mile back to my car and took her home with us. (In my haste to get to The Field, I had forgotten to put leashes in the car, but as I got to know Moka, I soon discovered that was probably a good thing. She moved s-o-o-o ever slowly on a leash, only to toss her head and sprint into the wind when the leash came off, demonstrating why our favorite t-shirt was the Big Dog one that boldy stated, "We don't need no stinkin' leashes.")

Moka and MeMoka went on to become a real momma's girl, always checking where I was, before her strongly independent personality took her off to explore. I simply can't count the number of times I went in search of her, the other members of the canine family already loaded up in the car to go home. If I kept calling her, I found that she simply used this information to reassure her that I was still around and she could continue her adventure. If I just sat down where I had last seen her, or near the car, and kept quiet, she would magically appear and hop in the car. "Ready!"

Moka and AgilityShe competed in agility with me until age 12, her favorite agility reward being cream cheese frosting. Moka also worked with me, side by side, on my behavior cases, specializing in assessing dog-dog aggression and inappropriate social behavior of young dogs and puppies.

On Thursday, May 10, at the age of 17+ and after a months' long battle with oral lymphoma, I let my Sweet Little Miss Moki Jo go after a healthy serving of cream cheese frosting.

Yes, I also just recently let Sandy Mae go at age 18 (December 11). Don't feel sorry for me for losing two dogs so close together. I am one lucky gal to have two dogs live so long. I hoped that they would reach that super-geriatric age together, and they granted me that wish.

Lucky me!

Special Memories

  • Finding her that first night at The Field, and how absolutely confident and comfortable she was in joining our family (this was prescient of the Hofs Hut and Mesa, Arizona incidents below).

  • The eight months it took me to cut my teeth on this "new" positive reinforcement training stuff in order to convince her not to chase *everything* that moved and to convince naysayers that I would NOT resort to a shock collar. Moka's chasing targets were varied, but her favorite were the bicyclists who used the perimeter of The Field to condition for their races. It was one mile around. We usually walked up on the grass berm a vantage point from which you could see all around and across The Field. Moka and AgilityMoka loved joining their race practices: She took off like a shot, racing, racing, racing to catch up with one, positioning herself just at the edge of their racing bike's toe clip, the thrill of the race shining from her dark brown eyes, as we stood up on the berm, shielding our eyes from the sun, as we looked for her. "Ah, there she is, she's coming around the full mile; let's go get her." She also loved chasing joggers, pedestrians, skaters, motorcycles, skip loaders (those big dirt-moving things with the big buckets out in front), and my personal favorite, the helicopter that swooped down to take a closer look at all of us with our dogs in The Field ("Oh, no, you wouldn't ….!" as she took off after it, racing the full length of The Field before it lifted into the sky).

  • Sharing her spirited personality and early behavior modification program in an article for the The Clicker Journal, "Moki Jo … "The Recovered Chaser" (2001).

  • Moka with shadesHer brilliance at hunting gophers like a cat (warning: graphic description ahead), playing and pouncing as they darted around. And when they no longer moved, merrily flinging them into the air so that they would continue to move so she could continue to pounce. When I couldn't find her in waning light in the tall grasses and wildflowers of The Field, I would just listen for her playful "Yip, yip, yip," and watch for a gopher flying through the air. "Ah, there you are."

  • Her intense "resource guarding" to make it clear to the other dogs in the house that she was in full possession of the toy even if it lay a dozen feet away. She never touched anyone, but still had complete respect. Dogs are amazing.

  • Slip through the doorwayThe day she slipped through my legs at the front door to jump up on and bark at the UPS driver until I told John to just ignore her. When he did, she suddenly stopped barking, looked over her shoulder, sighted his big brown UPS van and tore off to it, jumping in, racing around among the packages in the back, barking, barking, reemerging to jump into the driver's seat, the fire in her eyes. "Finally, in the driver's seat of the UPS truck! Life is good."

  • The time she, again (I know, I know, these things shouldn't happen), slipped past me to bark and herd the mail carrier, who shoved that leather mail bag in her face ("Oh, joy, how exciting!!!!") as she got him to spin and spin and spin that mailbag in a circle. "Stop, just stand still," I pleaded. "She'll stop." He just couldn't, so I grabbed him from behind, around the shoulders, and held him still. You could just see Moka deflate. "Aaah, man, why'd you have to do that?" she seemed to think.

  • The time my mom and I came out of the Hofs Hut on Long Beach Boulevard to find only three dogs in the covered back of my red and white 1973 El Camino. Moka and AgilityNo Moka. Those skinny little windows on the side of those low-profile shells? Yup. Slithered through. Several agonizing hours later, after searching everywhere, we pick up the phone message. "I have your dog, 'Mona.' If you don't want her, I'll keep her. She's really a cool dog and is just hanging out on my bed and gets along great with my dog." When we went to pick up "Mona" (her tag was so dirty from digging from gophers, he thought the K was an N), there she was, just happy as a clam to be at this perfect stranger's home, lounging on his bed. "Oh, hi, we going home now?" He said he found her at the entry of the restaurant and she just followed him. Moka.

  • The time I was visiting my mom in Mesa, Arizona, and I answered my cell phone to hear someone telling me that she found my dog in their back yard in Arizona (back in the days when the area code told people where you lived). She was fine and happy, but when and how did I want to come get her? The address was just four houses down from my mother. She had been in my mom's backyard, but the fence is only three or four feet high. She simply jumped up on it and took it like an intra-neighbor subway, hopping off into this woman's backyard. Geesh. Moka!!!!

Moka - Agility

  • The fun "we" had writing "Moki's Musings," a column for the SCAT/DASH agility club's The Scribe, from Moka's perspective and "voice," signing it "Sweet Little Miss Moki Jo," smiling as "she" took pot shots at her canine housemates and chronicled the Long household's rescue activities, new canine family additions, my seminar and training reports, and those early agility days.

  • Moka on the A Frame

    The night a friend and I were celebrating a birthday with carrot cake from Alsace Lorraine in Long Beach and, after a few glasses of wine, started sharing the cream cheese frosting with the dogs. The look on Moka's face and her clutching of my hand with her front paws made Judith say, "Hey, you should take some frosting to the trial tomorrow!" I filled a small Tupperware salad dressing container with that rich frosting, and Moka was in heaven from there on, licking frosting from her nose after every agility run.

  • Her "happy dance and barking" at dinner time, only to pick at her food once it was presented to her. Quite the dainty eater she was.

  • The way she "dissected" new treats to make sure we weren't trying to poison her, and never falling for a treat that contained only grains, potatoes, or breads. She was not the vegetarian!

  • At the advanced age of 17, five days before her death, running at The Greenbelt, the fire in her eyes as she broke into a run, giving Kiwi a passing yip and nudge as she flew past him. "Gotcha!"

  • The way she always raced to be in the lead of the canine pack on the way back to the car, her eyes shining as she executed her happy spin, celebrating her accomplishment.

Moka and the pack


I  wish I had known Moka when she was younger. I know that she was a gentle soul. Never pushy, a little shy at first, and always demure. That's what made her a "heart stealer" in my book. Before she developed her "food issues," and when mom wasn't looking, I used to love to sneak her meatball tidbits or tiny london broil pieces, which she took ever so gently. I always wondered why her name wasn't "Yoda," but maybe that would have been too obvious.

And Sandy! Can't say she wasn't pushy, but she sure was a kick, even as a super-senior. We loved to play our little "share the blanket" (and the goodies) game during class. She was very quick to catch on to the fact that she would get to cash in on a "reward" every time Boxie ran. That was one of the "rules" of our little game. Sandy very quickly took over and made "rules" of her own. One of them was: "Can't wait for Boxie to run, she doesn't get enough turns to suit me, so just fork it over now." And I usually did. Age has its privileges, after all, and life is short. And as for her name, it really should have been "Bossy," but that too became self-evident as you got to know Sandy.

Terry, you are lucky to have been given the privilege of sharing life with two such remarkable (and remarkably different) canine souls for such a long time. We will all miss them.

    — Hugs, Natalie & Boxie

Terry, Moka hit the jackpot when you took her home! You are right, you were blessed to have had her and Sandy for as long as you did, but I am still shedding tears.

    — Marie

Sandy Mae

1994 - 2011

Sandy Mae I never wanted a "small dog," which I defined, back then, as anything under 40 pounds or so. I had had Great Danes and then Chelsea, an eighty-pound PooWoof, a "poodle in a Wolfhound" body. Then came Buster, weighing in at sixty pounds. This little white imp of a pup at 10 months old weighed in at only twenty some pounds.

Wow, did Sandy Mae teach me a lot. She taught me about joie de vivre, canine style. She helped me learn the craft of clicker training, always a willing volunteer in my education. And she worked with me, side by side, for 14 years, helping me teach unschooled dogs how to respect their elders and canine "cut-off signals." Of course, she was also raised by Buster, who was the master of that game.

She still loved to run agility courses at age 12. When she was a young whippersnapper, first competing in USDAA, she jumped 22". Later, she jumped 20" and then 16", and finally, she ran like the wind over 12" jumps still barking at Auntie Sharon on the start line. Gotta bark on the start line, Ma!

Her later years were filled with camping, exploring, hikes, begging, and slowing down. She had no health issues. She lost her hearing, she lost some of her sight, but she just got old gracefully. As long as she was confident and perky, I was happy.

December 12, 2011

Sandy MaeToday I let Sandy go, happily munching warm Burger King French fries, loaded with fat and salt. The decision to let her go was a hard one, even with all the time I had to reconcile to the fact that she was declining in ways that affected her quality of life. But, I knew it was time. It was the right thing to do, but it still hurts like hell.

I'm okay, really. 18 years. Who could possibly ask for more? But, to share what Nikki wrote to me, it really changes it all: I, too, know the joy of 18 years. Thanks, Nikki, for reminding me to revel in what I had instead of what I thought I lost.

So when you see me next, don't be sad (I'll lose it!). Instead, pump your fist in the air, and say, "18!" Way to go, Sandy!!!"

P.S. Natalie, thank you SO much for contributing so much to Sandy's enjoyment of "the senior" life. You were so good at sharing Boxie's space and meatballs with her (during your class time) that I'll never forget when she starting *barking* at you. That's my Sandy, the bossy, demanding one.

Special Memories

Sandy Mae was rescued by my friend Diane from a neglectful home after she found Sandy chasing cars on the street just one too many times with one too many excuses about why she was loose — again. From a young age, Sandy would get out of the neighbor's back yard and come over to Diane's. Diane would let her come in and play with her dogs and then, regretfully, lower her in a bucket over the fence back into the neighbor's yard.

Sandy MaeSandy was what I understand is called a "failed foster." I said I would foster her, actually found her a home across the street with a very nice family, but asked for her back when Buster was inconsolable, sitting at the front door, whining at the house across the street, running to me, running back to the front door, and making it very clear that he wanted her back. Sandy, meanwhile, was barking and trying to dig out of their backyard to come back. Sigh. Really? A small dog, Buster?

There aren't many candid photos of Sandy Mae because she was convinced that cameras meant flashing light and she was certain that flashing lights meant thunder. And she HATED thunder.

Eighteen years later I still remember:

  • that sassy, sassy bark, eyes bright, demanding that she be the center of the universe

  • she the teacher and me the student: Wouldn't it be a tragedy to use a choke chain on such a free spirit so ready to be enjoyed for who she could be instead of who we could make her not be?

  • her will to recover after bilateral hip surgery at age 7

  • her love of Buster

  • Sandy Mae

    with very little vision left, barking "at the blobs with pockets" (agility students) who surely had food to share (it worked!)

  • the smile on her face, especially at the beach, when she knew you were going to t-h-r-o-w "t-h-e "B-A-L-L.

  • 200% engagement in teaching us both clicker training and what a gas it was!!!!

  • barking at me to click faster, and get a grip on criterion and rate of reinforcement for crying out loud!

  • choking back a bark because it meant a timeout and no click (it sounded like a huge gulp with a little squeak that got out)

  • her "snaggle tooth," one canine larger than the other and a bit of a puckish face

  • hanging her head out the little slider window in the back of my old El Camino, air snapping at white sedans going by (no flames, please, about not having her in a crate). Pickup trucks, no problem. Dark cars, no problems. White sedans, "get'em!"

  • Sandy Mae

    getting her Master Agility Dog (MAD) title and following through on my pledge of French fries for a MAD

  • running agility in her senior years with Auntie Sharon ... she loved her Auntie Sharon

  • waiting outside the little fence for Saturday's agility class to finish so she could visit with Auntie Sharon ... she demanded her Auntie Sharon

  • her friend (rest in peace, Chris) going to MacDonalds, buying a bag of French fries, driving around the outskirts of The Field where we walked our dogs, and gleefully flinging French fries out the window, then driving over to my house, picking up Sandy, and taking her for a French fry hunt. Just because he knew she'd love it, no special occasion, just because he loved Sandy Mae, especially Sandy Mae, always Sandy Mae ... because she was "bossy and sassy and wouldn't let anyone "train" her otherwise." :)

  • running up on the berm at The Field to better keep an eye out for a little red station wagon and leading the charge with Buster to be the first one to get to Chris when he opened the car door.

  • Walking through every puddle in her path and even if they weren't

  • rolling in mud and being so happy with her new appearance

  • her smile, always her smile and the sparkle in her eyes


"Even after 18 years, it hurts like hell."

"I'm sorry, but I'm so glad you had such a glorious, wonderful life together."
"I'll miss little Miss Grabby Lips during agility class. Hugs."

"Well, when it's time, that's one heck of a nice way to go...and 18 is "quite" way to go Sandy (and leveraging high value treats at the end...she had the last laugh, huh?! She was a lucky girl!""

"You had a wonderful full life with her and she is lucky to have had you as her human partner!""

"She will be missed but celebrated.I hope I am lucky enough to have some of my pet partners with me that long!!"

"18 years of love and joy is indeed something to celebrate! And thank YOU for allowing us to make Sandy a class participant and for helping to teach Boxie how to share."It was a positive experience for all.Hugs and love."

"18" is a helluva ride!!"

"We should all be as lucky as Sandy to have lived the long, active and love filled life that she did. When you have a moment when maybe you can handle a story that will touch you (and make you sad), check out:

Hearing about Sandy eating French fries made me think of this story. I'm glad she got to enjoy junk food. Sandy is now romping freely. Here's hoping that there is a Burger King at the Rainbow Bridge."

"I am so sorry about Sandy Mae, but 18!" Wow!" And she felt good enough to eat french fries when you let her go. Kristy Netzer once told me that she let one of her dogs go (I think it was Jubilee) while she was eating ice cream, and I always thought that was the most wonderful way for that to happen.

Just so you know, if you come to class tomorrow, I will not mention Sandy Mae to you."Know that you have my complete and utter sympathy, but I also know what it's like to be hanging on by a thread, and one word can start the floodgates.

I, too, someday hope to know the joy of 18 years.

You were very lucky." And so was Sandy Mae."

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