DEDICATION: In loving memory of Ursa Magnus Del Vero Amore...

This is her dedication (the full one) for the Winter issue of Mission PETS coming out soon.  It'll be live December 1st!  I have edited this a bit for the e-zine to take out some of the "details" that perhaps people may be offended by.  But I will include the FULL dedication here, only.

---------------------------

It is with a heavy heart and the greatest sorrow that I announce the passing of my gorgeous best fur-friend, Ursa. On Monday, November 8, 2010 at 3 PM my family made the decision to humanely euthanize Ursa.  She had been diagnosed with malignant melanoma this year and she took it in stride, as she did most everything in life, until her last 2 days.  One night she went to bed fine, the next morning she was immobile.  The lymphnodes in her neck and under her chin were so swollen that the pressure was too much for her to put her front leg down (her right front leg also had a tumor on it) and with hip displaysia, her back legs were giving out on her from supporting her front half.  After a day of laying around, all though she was still eating, I decided I would call the vet.  That morning, she didn’t eat.  We all knew it was time to let her go and release her from her pain.  All though I knew it was the right decision, it was the hardest one I have made because I knew that the consequences were grave; I would never hold my baby girl, again.  I tried to help her out to the truck, but she collapsed into a pile of leaves.  My husband and father had to carry her to the truck, her last ride with us.  Oh, how she loved car rides. On this car ride, she lay panting in the back, unable to really move.  She tried to sit up several times, but couldn’t hold herself up longer than a few seconds to sneak a peek out the window.

Those last few weeks I had cried often, whenever I found myself alone.  That day, the whole drive to the vet I held it together.  As soon as I got to the front desk, I lost it.  I felt so awful for the woman standing at the counter, I tried to turn around and I apologized profusely.  It took me a good minute or two to regain enough composure to tell her I was there for Ursa’s appointment.  Her very last appointment.  She was so sweet, and they were all so accommodating.  Several women came out with a stretcher and together, with my father, they carried Ursa into the office. We waited in the room for Dr. Wen to open the door and enter.  He came in with a large needle that housed some pink liquid.  He tried to give her a treat.  She never refused a treat, in fact she usually tried to con him into giving her several!  She denied it.  She didn’t even lift her head or flinch. After a moment, he shaved the hair off one of Ursa’s hindlegs and drew the needle in.  I watched my sweet girl, waiting for a sign of the injection working.  Nothing was happening.  I looked back and forth, waiting, for something, anything.  I had never been present when any of my animals were put down, this was my first experience.  I felt like I was waiting for a very silent eternity, that giant needle pumping through her blood for what felt like forever. Suddenly, Ursa’s body tensed and the vet tech said, “it’s okay girl.”  She took one last, large breath... and it was over.  She looked the same, so I wasn’t even sure it was in fact over until Dr. Wen checked for her heartbeat, looked at us, told us he’d give us a few moments and walked out.  I also had never felt a lifeless body until now.  I kissed Ursa’s head, taking in her smell one last time.  Her beautiful body lay motionless, still, quiet.  I looked at her face, and I could tell her spirit had left.  There was no devilish grin like the one she always wore. And so, a random Monday became a day I would never, ever forget.  (continued on next page)

I shared a bond with Ursa that was very special.  And my heart had been broken this day.  Most of my friends and loved ones told me not to worry; Ursa was still with me.  Heather Hovis, Mission PETS’ Animal Communicator, shared with me a very special message.  

She said, “I feel strongly in telling you this is a transition in your relationship with Ursa.  She has left her body but her soul and light are very much alive.  You two will develop a new way of feeling connected and communicating once the grieving process has completed.  You may feel her sooner.  Don’t be surprised if Ursa connects with you and wants you to come play and be present with her.  You have the ability to sense her. I am sending a big hug and lots of love.”

Heather always seems to have the right thing to say at the right times.  I thank her a million times over and it still isn’t enough.  She’s helped me on many occasions, several of those having dealt with Ursa.  

What do you say in memory of a dog that had given you so much? Who had taught you so many life lessons?  Ursa taught me SO many lessons.  I once spoke to an animal communicator who told me Ursa wanted me to share her story... to write a story or book about her. And I am going to... I have a few ideas. Just need to find the time, and the heart, to do so.  I will definitely keep everyone updated on this.  She had MANY lessons to share with the world.  

Ursa was not your average dog; she was a real hell-raiser from day one.  But, through her mischievous acts she taught me patience.  To sit back and relax, to take in the whole picture and realize that it’s okay to play.  She taught me unconditional love.  Loyalty.  Acceptance.  No matter what life threw at Ursa, and it sure threw her lots of lemons, she smiled and moved on as if it weren’t even happening to her.  She was bulletproof.  That dog was always happy, whether she was in pain or not. When I’d yell at her for being her persistent and relentless self and acting up, she’d almost laugh at me.  She was unmoved by negativity.  That darn dog was amazing.  I almost envy her for view of life, her love of life.  She had a love of life that you couldn’t miss from a mile away.  She sparkled and shined.  Ursa was the Rottweiler that made people who feared them, love them.  Everywhere she went, she was adored.  And she loved everyone, too.  She loved trips to the vet just so she could get rubs and treats.  She loved being the center of attention.  She demanded attention, respect and love.  And I so willingly obliged.  She was so very dear to me.  She truly was my baby girl.  

Ursa helped me on my mission for my own life.  My love for her pushed me to create the e-zine.  It was this unconditional love for her, and concern for her and other animals, that drove me to follow my passion and my heart and become the founder of Mission PETS.  She was like my Coach, my Guide, my Angel.  And my very best fur-friend.  Words cannot describe the depth of our bond, or the void that can only be filled with the presence of her joyful nature.  For now, it will suffice to say that our home is so very quiet without her and we all miss her so much.  I love her more than words can express. 

Sometimes when I turn the corner, I swear I see her there, waiting for a treat.  Waiting for me. And when I wake up in the morning, I almost feel her laying beside the dresser by the bed.  I may only have photos or memories of my precious girl, but I hope... I know... one day I will see her, again, on this side of the Rainbow Bridge and together we will cross into eternity together.  And I will love her up and hold her and kiss her so many times to make up for the time I lost while I remain on this planet in the physical body.  It may have been a short life, but Ursa led a full life.  And she made my life full too.  

Our physical time together with our animals is so short; take a few moments extra to love them up and appreciate them for all they are, and all the lessons they can teach you. And why not try to enrich the life of a needy animal in honor of a life lost? In Ursa’s honor, I will be teaming up with a nonprofit whose name I will disclose soon to raise money for people who cannot afford cancer-related vet bills.  Facing this horrible disease is bad enough; having to worry about being able to afford the bills to help your canine friend just makes it ten times harder.  I understand this; Ursa’s bills put us in debt.  But I could NEVER imagine saying no to something that could help her because of money... mere pieces of paper compared to her precious life. I will send updates about this to Ursa’s blog, www.lovingursa.blogspot.com - be sure to check us out.

I like to say, “in life and love there are no impossibilities.”  Ursa taught me that life is limitless; meant to be lived fully and with expression.  Keep her legend alive; live today as full and joyful as you can.  Accept what comes and live in the present moment, the Now.  When I express those words I see her impish grin and my heart is happy. 

I love you, Ursa, and you will forever be my baby girl. I miss you so.