When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.... Author unknown.

If you would like to commemorate a lost friend in the pages of The Agility Voice and here on these pages of this website, email Virginia Harry with the words you wish to say and a picture of your lost one.

Oz Harry (CSC) 17.3.00 – 5.10.10

I had enjoyed a weekend’s agility with my dogs, and Oz had come 2nd in Champ Steeplechase. (The CSC after his name indicates he was a Champion of Steeplechase. It was a class made for a dog like him, who loved to go very fast without turning too much!)

A couple of days later, when I was in the process of making last minute arrangements to go to the World Champs, I noticed Oz wobble a bit on his back end when we were out for a walk. I pushed him gently with my foot, and he wobbled again. Strange. When I came to think about it, he’d been, well, standing and staring at me in the house more than usual, but I just figured he was enjoying getting in my way.

Over the next day or so he got a bit worse and I took him to the vet who told me she thought he’s probably got possible vestibular disease or had a mini-stroke. I spoke to loads of people who all told me about Vivitonin and how they knew or had had dogs that had, eventually, come round from this kind of neurological episode. Oz was put on high strength steroids for about 10 days. I went to a friends at the weekend, and we were going to go for a walk. I went to help Oz get out of the van, he barged past me but then got his foot caught and fell to the ground. He couldn’t get up, and was clearly very distressed. My friend and I made a hoist for him and put him back in the van.

I was waiting for the steroids to take effect any minute now, but he didn’t seem to be getting any better. His head was tilted and he was like goose-stepping with his front left leg. But then I felt hopeful because I went to visit another friend on the 29th, and once he’d warmed up he was walking around fine and 'looked happy'.

The weekend of the WCs (to which, of course, I didn’t go – and thank, thank whatever there is to thank that I didn't), we did short walks in the park, and I had to put him on a lead to stop him actually running, because he was running sideways and couldn’t balance. In fact, his whole left side wasn’t right.

By this time Oz couldn’t get up or down the stairs without my help, but I dragged the poor bugger up there to bed with me anyway because I wanted to be with him and vice versa. Tuesday morning he was standing up, ready to go downstairs, so I felt optimistic, but as he got downstairs he really, really stiffened up on his left hand side. I managed to get him to follow me round the garden so he could wee – the steroid were making him poo through the eye of a needle and pee for about 5 minutes at a time. I wish I’d never put him on them.

By Monday, he was very stiff on one side and now not really trying too hard to move. He looked dazed and confused. I took him to vet who saw instantly that he wasn’t any better, but appreciably worse and thought he was blind. She said he’d need an MRI scan and tried to send me to the Royal Vet College but I asked to go to Noel Fitzpatrick (the Bionic Vet) who is a genius and luckily does neurosurgery as well as orthopaedics. Couldn’t get in on Monday but had a 9am appointment on Tuesday 5th.

The minute we walked in the consulting room Noel said that it wasn’t good, wasn’t good at all and that of all the things that my vet thought it could be, I should consider the possibility that it might be a tumour. I didn’t, of course. It couldn’t possibly be.

2 and a half hours later of me staring at his consulting room door, everyone else had gone when I went back in to collect Oz. No Oz. Noel showed me the MRI, and there was a massive tumour, not only growing up into his cerebellum but also down into his larynx, which was why he’d struggled to eat his food the last couple of days. It was the first time I had ever heard him actually crunch rather than inhale his food. I’d put it down to the fact that he was clearly a bit demented and very wobbly. I never thought for one moment that there was anything wrong with his throat.

Noel hadn’t brought him round from the anaesthetic and I got the line that everyone dreads... how much kinder it would be for him not to wake up, blah blah. Of course I agreed but, as you will appreciate as only dog people can, that it was one of the worst moments I’ve had in my life. And that’s saying something.

So, we said goodbye and then Noel showed me the tumour that had grown down into Oz’ larynx. There’s no way on this earth that, seeing that thing, anyone else could believe that this dog was competing successfully at Mapledurham just two bloody weeks previously. He was only 10 years old and so incredibly fit and strong and vital. He was such a powerhouse to work and always far too good for me but never anything less than thrilling to compete with in obedience or agility.

Of course I’ve been thinking about our relationship with our dogs, and whilst I completely understand how “pet people” are distraught when they lose their dogs, when we embark on a working partnership, we invest so much time and patience and mutual trust and understanding I believe we really get to know our animals intimately, and how different they all are, just as they adjust and try so bloody hard to understand what the hell we want when we’re trying to get them to wiggle in and out of sticks stuck in the ground.

The way Oz looked at me the last few days, as if to say “What’s happening, Mum?” and constantly making sure I was there... well, I can hardly bear think about it. And whilst I won’t be able to include in his obituary (which will probably be this, actually) a long list of his achievements I’m pretty sure he had a fun and happy life, which just ended far, far too soon.

For me, this pic shows his essence and sheer kindness (the pack leader but I never EVER saw him raise his lips and he would let all the pups crawl all over him – Diva spent the last few days licking him and cuddling up to him) more than his agility pics do.

Taken from me far too soon, my beautiful, fearless, tender boy. I can’t believe that I will never again be run ragged around an agility ring or knocked over sideways by an over-enthusiastic A-recall. Oz was a magnificent beast and the leader of my pack – including me. We are a bit lost without him, and miss him so much. He’s the last thing I think about when I go to sleep, and the first when I wake up.

Thanks to all my friends who have been so kind and understanding during this heart-breaking time. Another piece of my soul has died along with him, my Big Guy, my Ozymando, my Main Man.


 
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