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Keeshond

Keeshond

Born: 1/15/08

I currently do not have any puppies available. Website updated March 25, 2008.

Dedications

Treat me kindly, my beloved friend, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me. Do not break my spirit with force, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me learn. Speak to me often for your voice is the world's sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footsteps falls upon my waiting ear. I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth. Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for I cannot tell you when I am thirsty. Feed me good food that I may stay well-to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side, and stand ready willing and able to protect you. And my friend when I am very old and I no longer enjoy good health, do not make heroic efforts to keep me going. I am not having any fun. Please see that my trusting life is taken gently. I shall leave this earth knowing that my fate was always safest in your hands.

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PIECES OF MY HEART
©Copyright Jim Willis 2002
From the book "Pieces of My Heart - Writings Inspired by Animals and Nature"
http://www.crean.com/jimwillis


When I was a puppy I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" but then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub. My house training took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day. Gradually you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks, and disappointments, never chided you about bad decision, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them, especially their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent - and I would have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being your dog to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now you have a new career opportunity in another city and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, a fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with "papers". You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?" They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you - that you had changed your mind - that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her eye and murmured "How could you?" Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said "I’m so sorry." She hugged me hurriedly, explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not meant for her. It was you, My beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.

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A Dog's Purpose, (from a 6-year-old)

Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a
ten-year-old Keeshond named Rocky. The dog's
owners and their little boy, were all very attached to Rocky and they were hoping for a miracle.

I examined Rocky and found he was dying of cancer. I
told the family we couldn't do anything for Rocky,
and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for
the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, the little boy's parents told me they
thought it would be good for their six-year-old son to
observe the procedure.

They felt as though he might learn something from
the experience

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat
as Rocky's family surrounded him. He seemed so
calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I
wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a
few minutes, Rocky slipped peacefully away.

The little boy seemed to accept Rocky's transition
without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together
for a while after Rocky's death, wondering aloud
about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than
human lives. The little boy, who had been listening quietly,
piped up, 'I know why.'

Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his
mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more
comforting explanation.

He said, 'People are born so that they can learn how
to live a good life -- like loving everybody all the
time and being nice, right?' The six-year-old
continued, 'Well, dogs already know how to do that, so
they don't have to stay as long.'

Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.

Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn
things like:

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.

Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.

Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your
face to be pure ecstasy.

Take naps.

Stretch before rising.

Run, romp, and play daily.

Thrive on attention and let people touch you.

Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.

On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.

On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady
tree.

When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire
body.

Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.

Eat with gusto and enthusiasm. Stop when you have had enough.

Be loyal. Never pretend to be something you're not.

If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.

When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close
by and nuzzle them gently.

Be always grateful for each new day

Today, I wish you a day of ordinary miracles: May joy dance in your
soul, may love fill your heart and may peace reign