Open discussion: How do you honor the lives of your pets?

My brother-in-law has some land in the mountains where we bury all of our pets. We also order stones with our pets information that we can put in the yard.

That's really sweet, David. It must be some sort of comfort, knowing there's a place for them.

Patsy: English Springer Spaniel. Never thought I could ever love another dog like that. We had her at a time when she had kids to play with, & I can't count the memorable times spent in the pheasant field with her.

She was a loveable klutz. Going through rough cover, she quickly learned to end up behind me, stepping on my heels & letting me break cover. The there was the time I had to save her from drowning in a deep ditch when an angry bull took offense to our cutting acrooss his pasture.

Then there were the two weekends in a row when she tangled with skunks, & I had to travel home with her strinking up the car. Myth: Washing a dog's snout with tomato juice removes shunk odor. Fact: They then smell like skunk AND tomato juice.

The last pheasant hunt we ever had together was the last day of her last season afield. I spotted a field of light grass covered with light, fluffy snow. I knew that there were no birds there; not enough cover. We walked through the field until dusk, Patsy proudly leading the way, snow flying in every direction. It was her proudest day. And mine for her.

Now I have Patti Beagle. A whole different story. Suffice to say for now, that I have been blessed again by having another loving companion to share my life. "How do you honor the lives of your pets?" By keeping my memories of them alive. Memories never die.

"By keeping my memories of them alive. Memories never die."

That's a solid point. I guess we all have ways of doing that.

You know, I'm not going to pretend I didn't mist up a little Jim, at Patsy's proudest day. And I've laughed at some of Patti's shenanigans, like learning to open the screen door.

One of my first Gather articles was about the late Izta, a straight eared Scottish Fold who died at the age of 5 from PKD. We called her "The Poster Cat for Feline Self-Esteem." She was a fluffy 7 pound dynamo who knew what she wanted and wasn't shy about demanding it.

Nippy I searched for that article and found it. If it is alright with you, I'm linking to it here.

You writing about her is akin to Jim's point about keeping the memories alive. Know I completely cracked up at your note, "I was her favorite piece of heated massage furniture but she wasn't shy about getting the most out of any nearby human."