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Shoshone Mae said good bye


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Shonie was at least 15, maybe 16. She's been cruising through old age, aided by just a touch of jealousy/competitiveness with Gibbs.

 

A couple weeks ago, she seemed to be more tottery and I chalked it up to aging. This weekend, she was even more tottery, with no appetite. Monday she started passing black, liquid stools. Blood work showed very low platelets, (20,000) and even lower RBC. We did an ultrasound today, and there was a 4.5 centimeter mass in her spleen. The mass was probably the cause of her internal bleeding.

 

We opted to let her go without any more intervention. She passed away in my arms a couple hours ago. I saw the roof of her mouth after she passed, and it was white like ivory. It was her time.

 

She was a dog with indomitable will and persistence. She was also a bit nutty, and delighted us with her insistence about the only correct way of doing things, which was her way, of course.

 

We're very grateful that we had this last year with her. She taught us a lot about dogs, and about determination, and about patience. She is in a place now where her poor feet don't hurt and she can run as hard and fast as she wants.

 

We miss you, Queen of Everything.

 

Ruth and Terry

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I am so sorry for your loss, Ruth and Terry. I expect a personality as big as Shoshone's leaves a substantial gap in your home and hearts, but she also obviously left behind many delightful memories. Rest in peace, Shonie.

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Sounds very much like our old MacLeod, our King of Everything (and Don't You Forget It). A dog with a personality like Shonie's leaves a very big hole in your life and heart, but leaves a very great legacy in your memories. So, when the tears have slowed, you will be grateful again for having had her.

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Aww, Ruth and Terry, I am so sorry to hear about Shoshone, but glad that her passing was peaceful and painless. You always did the right thing for her and she had a wonderful, long life with you...what a gift! I am so glad I got to meet her.

 

Hugs to you and Gibbs too!

 

Amy

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I'm very sorry for your loss. Shoshone always sounded special in your posts. I'm sure you'll be seeing a flash of her out of the corner of your eye for quite some time. I hope that all your grand memories of her will soon get you to a place where, when you do, the little bit of tears will be accompanied by a big grin, "Yeah, she was really something!"

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Lots of hugs for you and your family at this sad time. Even tho I never met her I sort of feel like a "know" Shonie through all of the stories over the years - she was obviously a special girl!

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I'm so sorry to hear about Shoshone. She always sounded like a wonderful girl. May she run free in green fields. She will live long in your heart.

 

 

 

We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted his head to challenge some intruder. These are good places in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else. For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked, and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture lane where most exhilarating cattle graze, it is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, nothing is lost, if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.

 

If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call - come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death and down the well remembered path and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they shall not growl at him, or resent his coming, for he is yours and belongs there. People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing. The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.

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I just know that Shoshone and our Fergie are having a wonderful time being young again, playing in the sunshine, chasing eternal squirrels, and waiting for us on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.

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