by Anita Pustelnik
In the summer of 1993 I was coping with the loss of over the ability to conceive. I begged my husband for a dog at least. We went to the local shelter. A young boy was running around banging on the cages. All the dogs were barking except one. She was huddled in the back of the cage. She looked so pathetic with all her ribs showing as she breathed. We asked what dog could go home that day. They told us Murphy could go home. Someone had taken her home with them for one month and had brought her back again. No one knew how old you were, maybe about two years. They did not know why you were sent to the shelter. I beleive someone loved you very much but could not care for you properly. I hope you were not beated. I couldn't imagine someone beating a sweet thing as you. When we got you home you would not eat. I made you dog food omelets. You seemed to like them. Over the years you were such a fussy eater. But you would always go for a cookie or miscko. You were afraid of everything, especially loosing your Mama. You were by my side always. I stepped on you by accident or dropped things that landed on your head and I always apologized profusely. I miss your pathetic face and you by my side. I hope your not afraid anymore. Just watch me from the Rainbow Bridge even though I know all those other dogs scare you. It will be OK when I get there. I hope you heard me as you were dying. If not you are the best dog that ever lived.
Your Mama