MY WENDY—THERE WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER AS SHE WAS HER OWN LITTLE PERSON AND MY HEART

It is with great sadness that I announce the passing of my beloved “Wendy” who almost made it to 15. Ch. Rattlebridge Dutch Treat ROM—the first wholecolor ROM. She won the National Brood Bitch Class twice and helped retire two lovely Llardo figurines, which I treasure, of Cavaliers with young girls.  The awards do not matter; she was what mattered.  I loved her with all my heart and she loved me equally. Her heart was great but old age indignities got to the point when she needed to rest.  She rallied so often as she truly did not want to leave me to fend for myself as she was always with me to supervise. I was her total slave and she made sure that I knew it. What can I say?  She was my total heart and I cannot believe her diva bark isn’t ringing in my ears or that her ears are not in my face and her head on my neck.  Over the years her ears caught so many of my tears. I had to let her go one week before the second anniversary of Al’s death. Now she can order Al around and the other Rattlebridges at the rainbow bridge.  I always say that if  you cannot face the agony of losing them, you never have the joy of having them.  She was my joy, my heart, and my salvation after Al died. Rest in peace my Wendy.    Meredith

The following poignant says it all.  I have given my heart to many dogs to tear and with their passing my heart is truly torn.

"The Power of the Dog"

by Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie --
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find -- it's your own affair --
But . . . you've given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit hat answered your every mood
Is gone -- wherever it goes -- for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept'em, the more do we grieve;

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long --
So why in -- Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

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