MacHenry Labradors

27/08/2024

I interviewed the president of New York Animal Hospital a few months after this tragedy. He told me how he and others set up an animal hospital on site to treat any and all animals hurt here and in the surrounding apartment buildings. They were not prepared for the truth. None survived. But, they did treat the search and rescue dogs who pawed through that fetid, flaming, scorching hot mess, desperate to find the people their heightened senses told them were there. The vet ... a man who pulled down at least six figures in his position as president...was shaken still, when I interviewed him and had trouble recounting what he saw and experienced. The dogs would not rest. Many collapsed. All are dead now, and many died too soon from the effects of that toxic hell hole. May their memories be a blessing but remember. Our animals deserve our best. We do not come from weak people. Do not forget this. Never forget.

Just in case you forgot, this was Ground Zero on 09-11-2001 and You promised that you would never forget.

15/05/2024

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11/03/2024

For us all....THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF AN EXTREMELY DISTINGUISHED DOG by Eugene O'Neill
I, SILVERDENE EMBLEM O'NEILL (familiarly known to my family, friends, and acquaintances as Blemie), because the burden of my years and infirmities is heavy upon me, and I realize the end of my life is near, do hereby bury my last will and testament in the mind of my Master. He will not know it is there until after I am dead. Then, remembering me in his loneliness, he will suddenly know of this testament, and I ask him then to inscribe it as a memorial to me.
I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their days hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about how to keep the objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value I have to bequeath except my love and my faith. These I leave to all those who have loved me, to my Master and Mistress, who I know will mourn me most, to Freeman who has been so good to me, to Cyn and Roy and Willie and Naomi and -- But if I should list all those who have loved me, it would force my Master to write a book. Perhaps it is vain of me to boast when I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust, but I have always been an extremely lovable dog.
I ask my Master and Mistress to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long. In my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in time of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that even in death I should cause them pain. Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their love and care for me), now that I have grown blind and deaf and lame, and even my sense of smell fails me so that a rabbit could be right under my nose and I might not know, my pride has sunk to a sick, bewildered humiliation. I feel life is taunting me with having over- lingered my welcome. It is time I said good-bye, before I become too sick a burden on myself and on those who love me. It will be sorrow to leave them, but not a sorrow to die. Dogs do not fear death as men do. We accept it as part of life, not as something alien and terrible which destroys life. What may come after death, who knows? I would like to believe with those my fellow Dalmatians who are devote Mohammedans, that there is a Paradise where one is always young and full-bladdered; where all the day one dillies and dallies with an amorous multitude of houris [lovely nymphs], beautifully spotted; where jack rabbits that run fast but not too fast (like the houris) are as the sands of the desert; where each blissful hour is mealtime; where in long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning, and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth, and the love of one's Master and Mistress.
I am afraid this is too much for even such a dog as I am to expect. But peace, at least, is certain. Peace and long rest for weary old heart and head and limbs, and eternal sleep in the earth I have loved so well. Perhaps, after all, this is best.
One last request I earnestly make. I have heard my Mistress say, "When Blemie dies we must never have another dog. I love him so much I could never love another one." Now I would ask her, for love of me, to have another. It would be a poor tribute to my memory never to have a dog again. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, now she cannot live without a dog! I have never had a narrow jealous spirit. I have always held that most dogs are good (and one cat, the black one I have permitted to share the living room rug during the evenings, whose affection I have tolerated in a kindly spirit, and in rare sentimental moods, even reciprocated a trifle). Some dogs, of course, are better than others. Dalmatians, naturally, as everyone knows, are best. So I suggest a Dalmatian as my successor. He can hardly be as well bred or as well mannered or as distinguished and handsome as I was in my prime. My Master and Mistress must not ask the impossible. But he will do his best, I am sure, and even his inevitable defects will help by comparison to keep my memory green. To him I bequeath my collar and leash and my overcoat and raincoat, made to order in 1929 at Hermes in Paris. He can never wear them with the distinction I did, walking around the Place Vendome, or later along Park Avenue, all eyes fixed on me in admiration; but again I am sure he will do his utmost not to appear a mere gauche provincial dog. Here on the ranch, he
may prove himself quite worthy of comparison, in some respects. He will, I presume, come closer to jack rabbits than I have been able to in recent years.
And for all his faults, I hereby wish him the happiness I know will be his in my old home.
One last word of farewell, Dear Master and Mistress. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: "Here lies one who loved us and whom we loved". No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.

For Buddy. Son of Frenchie. Son of Reba. Grandson of Stella By Starlight and River. Father of many, including Lucy.

04/03/2024

If Buddy O'Reilly Walter's folks read this, please respond.

07/01/2024

30/12/2023

My daughter wrote the following about her pup. I do not have permission to post this, but I don't need permission. I'm the mama, and she's my girl, and he's the boy we loved. Hercules Bailey - Mixed Martial Arts Purebred Lhasa Apso.

Hercules was never described as a good dog. Maybe it was his hair that didn’t match his plans and matted easily. Perhaps it was because he had a liking for all things naughty or maybe it was because he identified as human. Ultimately, he didn't fit the bill and that was fine by him. He did things his way, when he wanted to.
Herc dogged with only the big guys- Labradors, German Shepards, Rottweilers, any pup 50 pounds and up was his jam. Dogs less than 50 pounds had to have impressive skills- like goat herding or tennis ball catching. They were cool. Dachshunds were not. Dachshunds both frightened and disgusted him. Dachshunds were beneath him- literally- and that unnerved him.
Those who had never met a Lhasa were always so surprised by his big bark; which matched his personality far better than the bob haircut most groomers tried to give him. He was a watchdog and a damn good one at that.
On three separate occasions Hercules moonlighted as a school therapy dog- when my mom brought him to her high school English class before giving him to me sixteen Christmases ago, when he helped teach KIPP 5th graders about innate vs learned behavior in Chelly's science class and, finally, at my heart school, Mt. Leb. These "work days" were brief - one day each- but they fit his personality to a T. He was a social guy and not opposed to loving attention that teetered on fawning adoration. To put it in other words, Herc appreciated when people saw him for the icon he was.
Honestly, Herc was eager for all attention; negative was as exciting as positive- sometimes more so! His shenanigans caused us to tie him to the fridge as a pup to keep him from destroying the few belongings we had as fledgling adults. Later in life, he got in trouble with the law causing me to bail him out of the Upper Valley Humane Society parking lot late into the night. Then there was that time the neighbor came over to tell us that his wife, while getting her nails done, had seen a picture of Herc on some other lady’s phone because someone had found him. Turns out he had gotten out of the house while we were leaving for work and we had had no idea. Tim had to pry him out of the arms of a middle school girl who had renamed him "Caramel". Lest we not forget, there were also the seagulls he chased despite the whole flying thing and the Tangled Roots Farm pigs he charged over and over again, high voltage fencing be damned!
In recent years his eyesight and hearing had declined. Due to that, his big bark was rarely heard. Doors became evasive so yipping at a random wall became customary. Then Copper left and Pippi came. Life wasn't as he knew it and he wasn't able to be his big self. Tia Maeve described him perfectly, “a bitter widow”, and we made the decision to let our grumpy guy go.
For 16 years, Hercules was my committed companion and emotional salve. He loved me completely- cranky hearts always find each other, I suppose. He loved us all - even the three Bailey kids, whom he may or may not have resented on occasion.
The one thing that got us all through his passing was the idea that he was reunited with Copper. We agreed that single fact alone was enough to make heaven appealing to him. And we know Penny, Ruby, Desi and Cooper were waiting for him, too. The last guy of the gang to join the party. (Hercules always did understand the importance of timing when it came to attention.)
There’s a hollow in my heart that’s hard to describe and flares up at random times. Tim, too, has felt the weight of losing this guy, which has been immense despite Herc’s small frame and measly 18 pounds. He was family and committed to our chaos. He stuck around after Copper couldn’t to make sure we got settled in a new house and, as Tim says, he made sure Pippi was prepared to take over. Most of all, he made sure we got through one more Christmas with him- my forever Christmas pup. I miss him and I will forever be grateful for the steady love he gave me. I wish every person in the world could experience such a connection.
Maybe dogs don’t have to be “good” to be great.

He never was a good dog.

But he was always my dog.