by Melody Bish

Created on: November 26, 2009

Having grown up on a 75 acre farm in Western Pennsylvania, I often witnessed animal death and, though I never grew immune to feeling sadness at the death of a beloved animal, I never felt the whole gamut of emotions surrounding a pet's death until three year ago.

In 1996, I rescued a four month old border collie, summarily named "Getty," from the local humane society; shortly thereafter, I visited a local pet store to secure some dog supplies and found a woman dropping off a group of Newfoundland puppies. ,The next time I saw my boyfriend, I mentioned the puppies. Two weeks later Valentine's Day and a baby Newfoundland, ultimately named "Winfield" arrived; I was now mother to two canine lads.

Through the years, both dogs developed uniquely special personalities. Getty easily became the leader; he was confident in his superiority, chased squirrels, played fetch, and swam at the local dog beach. Winfield was different; the veterinarian even mentioned Winfield's silence. One morning I heard a sound unlike any other I'd ever heard; a cross between a howl and a bark; Winfield had discovered his voice and, at the same time, his personality began shining through, as Winfield now played tug with Getty; began swimming and "talking" in the uniquely Winfield voice he developed. Life, with my two lads, was good; my boyfriend was history - I had custody of Getty and Winfield.

I noticed a small lump on Winfield's rear flank in 2003 and brought the matter to our veterinarian's attention. The vet felt Winfield had a simple cyst and didn't offer any words of concern. Through 2004 more and more cysts appeared on Winfield yet, since he continued all of his activities - including eating me almost literally out of house and home - I denied anything serious could be wrong.

As part of Winfield's regular 2005 exam, Doc Tom - his vet - told me that surgery was now necessary to remove two large cysts on my Winfield's rear flank. I asked a series of questions relative to what a surgical procedure would mean to Winfield's quality of life and was assured he would bounce back just fine. Winfield didn't bounce back; he came home after same day surgery with oozing incisions. From the day of surgery, Winfield and I visited his vet many times; each time I asked the question so hard for me to utter, "Is it time to have THAT talk?" The consistent answer was "no" and I was told to take Winfield to the University of Pennsylvania's Veterinary Hospital for a further opinion. My dear Winfield loved

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