Tribute to Bouncer

Bouncer at the shelter, before we adopted him

Instead of my 'Welsh Legend Monday' I'm devoting today to my beloved little 'rescue', Jack Russell, Bouncer.

Tragically we had to have him put to sleep last Thursday. He had several brain tumours and had slowed down over the last few months, although he was still happy and mischievous, and very, very 'knowing'.  On Wednesday night he started having convulsions and on Thursday we had to make the terribly sad decision to make sure he did not suffer any more.

Bouncer first came into our lives in September 2007.  I had emailed an animal shelter in Wales and they sent me his picture. There were other dogs available for rehoming, but how could I possibly refuse that little face and the silent plea in those dark eyes?  I knew he was meant to be ours.

From the minute he stepped through the door it was as if he'd always been part of the family.  I put the blanket we'd bought for him which he'd been lying on, on the way home, in his bed and he climbed straight into it and curled up, quite at home.  Among his new toys was a red, plush dragon which he 'loved' to death. After a few weeks it was as flat as a pancake, and missing its eyes and horns, but he slept with it every night of his life with us.



He'd been badly treated in the past, and his hip had been broken and allowed to heal without a vet, so it healed a bit crooked and he walked with a bit of a swagger, with his feet pointing to a quarter to three, like a little penguin, as he 'sashayed' along.




He was such an inquisitive little dog and soon found a small hole in the garden fence where he could spy on next door's cat.

I think he believed if he slept on a growbag, he might turn into a Great Dane and not have to stand on flowerpots.

He loved going down  to the horses with us, and would investigate every nook and cranny of the feedroom, where he could probably smell the resident mice and our 'feral' stable cats. 

His favourite thing in the world was his 'treatball' and as soon as he finished his morning and evening meals he would sit and ask for it to be filled with treats and chase it around, batting it with his nose or his paw to get the treats out with a dexterity and expertise that would have made David Beckham green with envy!

About two years ago he started to lose his sight and gradually went completely blind, but he didn't allow it to interfere with his enjoyment of life and still managed to get around and play with his treatball and enjoy his daily 'walkie'. In November last year he had what the vet at first thought was a 'mini stroke' but scans revealed to be inoperable brain tumours. We were devastated.  How could our clever, happy little dog have this inflicted on him on top of everything else?  For a while we thought we were going to lose him, but he was such a little fighter and after a week or so on new medication, bounced back, true to his name, and it was hard to believe there was anything wrong with him, he certainly didn't lose any of his zest for life, or knowing ways, and was still as bright as a button.

We went 'home' to Wales for a few days last week and while we were there he began to have convulsions and we knew it was time to say goodbye to our beloved little friend and companion. He is buried, his paw resting on his red dragon,  in a lovely, peaceful spot on my sister's land, with her two dogs. It seems fitting that he should be laid to rest in Wales, where he came from.  He will be sorely missed by us and everyone who knew him, and will never ever be forgotten.  Rest In Peace little Bouncer, and wait for us at the Rainbow Bridge.

The Three Kitties That Saved My Life By Michael Meyer

I am so pleased to be able to feature this book today, as it actually pulls on my heartstrings on several levels - not least that I can relate to it myself having been through a similar experience when I lost my first husband, John, when he was just 35 years old, it was my horses and dog that saved me, and I can fully understand the comfort Michael's  'kitties' brought him.! 

This looks like a truly worthwhile and touching book and I can't wait to read it!

The Three Kitties That Saved My Life

by Michael Meyer

Inspirational Romance

Categories: Memoir, Love and Loss

Publisher: Pacific Books

Release Date: April 23, 2013

Heat Level: Sweet

Length: 134 pages

Available at:

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Three-Kitties-That-Saved-ebook/dp/B00CGND93E/

B&N - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-three-kitties-that-saved-my-life-michael-meyer/1115440516

Description:

AN UPLIFTING TRUE STORY OF LOVE

Losing loved ones is an awful fact of life; losing one's loving spouse, one's day-to-day partner through life, especially in the prime of life, is one of the most unbearable tolls that we humans are forced to endure. This is the true story of my journey from grieving widower, not caring if I lived or died, to the once-again happily married man I am today, a man who both loves and cherishes life. My three kitties have given me a new zest for living.

Both inspiring and entertaining, my story might just make you laugh at times, or bring a tear to your eye, as you journey along with me.

EXCERPT

My life with my cat, Coco, was good. We had a lot of fun together. Every day was joyful. I never knew from one day to the next what type of trouble the little guy would get himself into. There was always something new to explore, a new pose to assume. 

But I still ached for close human contact. I wanted to be hugged. I wanted to be held in someone’s arms. I wanted to be loved, and to love, but I was scared and I also felt guilty feeling these thoughts, although I realized that they were all rational. I just could not force myself to take the first step in this direction. I would see couples holding hands, and I would be jealous. I would see couples embrace, and I would yearn for the same. I wanted to be with someone who cared for me, and I for her. However, the guilt at thinking such a thing, that I was somehow betraying the commitment that I had made to my deceased wife, still ate at me.

I was scared—of both the future and of what the past had already done to me. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not shake the feeling that somehow I would be betraying Ciba if I sought love again.  I knew I was not thinking logically, but logic really had nothing to do with any of it. I was a lost man, and I so desperately wanted to be found. But that first step was huge, and it was so painful to contemplate. 

“Tiny steps now, Mike,” I remember telling myself, but saying and doing are not the same. 

It was clear that my legal commitment to her, “to love and to cherish until death do us part,” had been fully met, but the powerful emotional attachment still clung to me.  I wanted to get on with my own life, but I could not. Time had frozen for me, and I was its prisoner.

I fought to move on, but I just could not. It was too painful. I spent huge chunks of my waking hours inside my head, trying to think things through. I listened to my sisters, and to my friends. My library of books and pamphlets on how to deal with losing one’s spouse kept growing.

I read everything I could get my hands on, but nothing could help me to break away from my thoughts of guilt. I read and reread, several times over, my complete library on coping with grief. I practically memorized each work. I could have been a professional grief counselor since I knew so much by now. The things I read were wonderfully written, right to the heart. I cherished every word, but still nothing seemed to really provide the jolt that I required. 

That is until one day on the Internet, I stumbled upon a two-page response that a rabbi had written to a young woman who had posed the question, “How will I ever date again?” a year after the loss of her husband. For the first time since I had begun to scratch the urge to meet someone, the rabbi’s words had a profound impact on me, so profound, that after reading and rereading his words, after savoring every word, after thinking deeply about what he was saying, I was convinced that wanting to start dating was not only the right thing to do, but that it was exactly what my deceased wife would want me to do. 

The whole two-page response made total sense to me, but the part that really convinced me was the following passage: “Your husband loved you and you loved your husband—you will never forget that. But his memory should not be a dark cloud that haunts your existence. Your memory of his life should be an inspiration, not a painful albatross.”

Pow! I had been hit smack dab over the head with precisely what my own problem was. I had defined myself as a widower. I was a widower. Everyone I met, learned this. The word defined my very existence. 

And I was a widower, but that was not the whole me. I was also much more than that. I had forced my life into a box, and now it was time to climb out from that confinement. I would do so with love and dignity, never forgetting how my deceased wife had loved me and how I still loved her. I knew in my heart that she would want me to be happy. The rabbi’s words convinced me of that. 

I had no idea how to date. What would I say? How would I act? Where would I meet someone?

About the Author:

Mike Meyer recently retired from 40-year career as an English professor. He literally taught at universities throughout the world: Thailand, Saudi Arabia, the Virgin Islands, and he spent the last 24 years of his teaching career at a California community college. He lives in Southern California wine country with his wife, Kitty, and their two adorable rescue cats. 

Contact Mike on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/MichaelMeyersWritingLife.

Follow Mike's other Tour posts here:

http://www.cblspromotions.com/2013/08/promoblast-three-kitties-that-saved-my.html