Kerry was one such dog. I was fortunate to have this wonderful, friendly, loving, smart, funny, and joyful pup in my life. Like all my dogs, Kerry was a rescue, as I adopted her from the Norwalk (CT) Animal Shelter. I admit that I wasn't looking to adopt a pit/Shepherd/Yellow Lab mix, as I had my eyes on a Tibetan Terrier like one I had before in the pen next to her. The Animal Control Officer gently steered me into her direction, and I noticed that Kerry was the only dog not barking loudly, or even foaming at the mouth. She also had what I would soon fall in love with, a beautiful smile that extended from cheek to cheek. Later, I would learn that this is a pitbull trait, and after spending time with Kerry that bright June day, I fell in love with her. She clinched the deal when she sat on my lap and gave me a kiss.
Like all dogs, Kerry was very friendly toward man and beast. When I would take her on walks, especially at the beach, Cove Park in Stamford, CT, our favorite spot, I did notice some people darting out of our path as we approached. I was bewildered at first, but soon noticed a pattern as some people went to extraordinary lengths to avoid us, sometimes even walking into traffic. After a while, I just shrugged it off, though it did get to me at times. I soon realized what all owners of "pebbles" know, that the breed is grossly misunderstood due to ignorance on the part of some humans. Pitbulls, and pit mixes like Kerry, are just like ever other dog, they are born to love, please, loyal, playful, even a little kooky. Maybe this breed is even more so. What pits are not are evil, fighting dogs with powerful jaws. Any dog that is is the result of bad owners. One of the things I realized in owning Kerry is that I would present her as a Goodwill Ambassador and take the time to talk to people who were brave enough to approach a friendly, smiling, and beautiful dog, who only wanted to lick their face (especially babies). On those occasions, I would talk about the breed in particular and the bad rap it gets, and some were surprised to find out with Kerry. All they needed to do was to spend a few moments with her and the misconceptions they had about pits would disappear. Like me.
It's always hard to make the call to put your pal down, even when you know it's the right call. in my case, it was a shock at how rapidly that time came. Kerry was approaching her 17th birthday last year, and after her yearly checkup showed no concerns which didn't surprise me, I imagined her being around for another two years, by my side in a home in one of my favorite regions, the Lower Hudson Valley, as I typed away at my computer. But, nearly one month after her excellent report, the vet contacted me and told me they couldn't continue with her teeth cleaning because they had found an "abnormality." Upon review by a specialist, I was told Kerry had a growth near her abdomen and it likely had spread. Initially, I did not connect this to cancer and the vet never said the dreaded "C" word. It was only on that dark night drive back home that it hit me that she did have cancer,
Her decline was rapid. At times, she barely ate, and slept often. Every now and then, she'd get a burst of energy and we'd go on a nice, leisurely-paced walk, not as long or as aerobic as her early days where we'd walk sometimes for nearly 90 minutes, but for a 16 year old dog, it was remarkable. Then, a few weeks after her diagnosis, it was in late April, 2018, she no longer ate, she was lethargic, and worse, she couldn't smile. Even after the initial diagnosis, while I wouldn't see the full blown mile-wide Kerry smile flashing her teeth, I would see a grin. No longer; I knew it was time.
Words can't express what having such a loving and loyal companion like Kerry meant to me. Next month will approach one full year without her, and it seems longer on most days. A few months after her death, I did adopt another shelter dog, Bella (that's her picture you see on the first page), there will always be a void in my heart for Kerry. Some days after she wa gone, I put into words what I could not verbally express as I wrote a letter to her. As the anniversary approaches, I prefer to celebrate her life which was as full a life a dog can expect. Here is my letter to Kerry, which I keep in her memory box, along with her ashes, collar, leash, and her favorite toy, a football. Love you Kerry!
Dear Kerry,
I will always be thankful to you for “picking me out” that happy day we first met at the Norwalk Animal Shelter. Although at the time I didn’t know it, you helped me discover that as a pit mix, there would be people out there who would grossly misjudge you as “vicious” based on ignorance. If only those people who crossed the street or went into another defensive mode as you and I approached; if they only knew that you wanted to lick their faces, they would’ve known your true heart. I became an advocate for you and your breed, and you became an ambassador because, thankfully, there were many people who you convinced with your love and beautiful, big smile, a smile that always melted my heart, were just like any other dog, full of unconditional love. I’ll always remember with laughter as on your own, would grab your football whenever I hummed the NFL theme as we watched Giants games. You even did so when you heard the theme on TV! And, during winter, playing “Snowball” as you jumped for joy in the snow. Most of all, I’ll always appreciate you for who you were, you were always there during my happiest of times and my darkest days. And, the trust you afforded me from the very first day I took you home on June 27, 2005. I knew of your history in troubled homes and I vowed to you that I would never abandon you. My last words to you on Tuesday night were the same words I said to you that happy June day. I didn’t want to see you suffer anymore, and I was grateful that you had a long, happy, healthy life filled with love. The decision to put you out of your misery was incredibly difficult and having the support of your vet and tech with us, made a painful decision the only responsible, loving thing I could offer you. I know you are in a better place at peace, without pain. I know it was the right thing to do, but it has been painful enough. Ever since your diagnosis last month, I’ve been crying, and like the trooper you are, you’d come by and give me kisses. On the face, of course! Tuesday night I cried so much my eyes got bloodshot and my left contact lens slipped off my pupil, and while the ensuing pain and headache were horrible, I reminded myself you’re at peace. Not a day goes by where I don’t stop thinking that when I finish work, I’ll come back to see that happy, beautiful face greet me. Even though in your last days, this was a difficult task for you to do, you did so no matter what. You may be gone, but my love be for you will never end, my Baby Girl. My Kerr Bear. My Bear. I miss you and I love you. Thank you for all that you gave me. May you Rest In Peace.
Love,
Dad
I will always be thankful to you for “picking me out” that happy day we first met at the Norwalk Animal Shelter. Although at the time I didn’t know it, you helped me discover that as a pit mix, there would be people out there who would grossly misjudge you as “vicious” based on ignorance. If only those people who crossed the street or went into another defensive mode as you and I approached; if they only knew that you wanted to lick their faces, they would’ve known your true heart. I became an advocate for you and your breed, and you became an ambassador because, thankfully, there were many people who you convinced with your love and beautiful, big smile, a smile that always melted my heart, were just like any other dog, full of unconditional love. I’ll always remember with laughter as on your own, would grab your football whenever I hummed the NFL theme as we watched Giants games. You even did so when you heard the theme on TV! And, during winter, playing “Snowball” as you jumped for joy in the snow. Most of all, I’ll always appreciate you for who you were, you were always there during my happiest of times and my darkest days. And, the trust you afforded me from the very first day I took you home on June 27, 2005. I knew of your history in troubled homes and I vowed to you that I would never abandon you. My last words to you on Tuesday night were the same words I said to you that happy June day. I didn’t want to see you suffer anymore, and I was grateful that you had a long, happy, healthy life filled with love. The decision to put you out of your misery was incredibly difficult and having the support of your vet and tech with us, made a painful decision the only responsible, loving thing I could offer you. I know you are in a better place at peace, without pain. I know it was the right thing to do, but it has been painful enough. Ever since your diagnosis last month, I’ve been crying, and like the trooper you are, you’d come by and give me kisses. On the face, of course! Tuesday night I cried so much my eyes got bloodshot and my left contact lens slipped off my pupil, and while the ensuing pain and headache were horrible, I reminded myself you’re at peace. Not a day goes by where I don’t stop thinking that when I finish work, I’ll come back to see that happy, beautiful face greet me. Even though in your last days, this was a difficult task for you to do, you did so no matter what. You may be gone, but my love be for you will never end, my Baby Girl. My Kerr Bear. My Bear. I miss you and I love you. Thank you for all that you gave me. May you Rest In Peace.
Love,
Dad
