Woofers + Chocolate!

d.d. dawg (Diana), Mad Dog (Melinda), and Milkbone (Mary), celebrate the arrival of WOOF books with chocolate/chocolate cake!

Pre-order Today! Amazon

Perks of Being Over Fifty

*Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them either.

* No one expects you to run...anywhere.

* People no longer view you as a hypochondriac.

* There is nothing left to learn the hard way.

* Things you buy now won't wear out.

* You can eat supper at 4 pm.

* You can live without sex but not your glasses.

* You get into heated arguments about pension plans.

* You no longer think of speed limits as a challenge.

* You quit trying to hold your stomach in no matter who walks into the room.

* You sing along with elevator music.

* Your eyes won't get much worse.

* Your joints are more accurate meteorologists than the national weather service.

* Your supply of brain cells is finally down to manageable size.

*You're not "up" on the latest dance moves...and you don't care.

anonymous author(s)


Milkbone (Mary)

Loss -- Andy

I have cried so hard the last few days. My eyes are swollen and sore, but yet I continue to sob. My heart feels like it has been ripped out of my chest and I hurt—all over. The pain of grief is unbearable.

But it isn’t a mother, father, or close friend that I am grieving for. It is my cat. Only an animal lover can understand that losing a beloved pet can be just as painful, because our pets are truly part of our families.

I found Andy all curled up in his favorite napping spot. After sixteen years of being my constant companion, he was gone. I’m glad he didn’t suffer.

I got Andy from an animal rescue place when he was five weeks old. He weighed a pound and a quarter at his first vet appointment. He was so scared that he was literally shaking all over. When I picked him up and cuddled with him, he sighed and relaxed in my arms. And the rest is history.

We went through so many changes together—several long distance moves, the death of his brother, his struggle with diabetes, and the death of my husband.

I don’t think we humans can truly love unconditionally. We try. But our pets are experts at unconditional love. They never argue with us when we come in from a bad day at work. They don’t try to “fix” what is wrong. They never say a word about the extra pounds we have gained, or ask us “What in the world did you do?” when we come back from spending big bucks at the hair salon. They just listen and love.

They have their demands though. Andy would greet me at the door, meowing for a treat and a rub. At night sometimes, he would yowl—just to get me to wake up and acknowledge the fact that he was there. And the last eight years of his life, I had to give him insulin shots twice a day. But all I did for him only made me feel needed, wanted and loved. Through it all, I feel like he gave me a lot more than I gave him. He only asked me to love and care for him. And, in return, he gave me total unconditional love.

The house seems so empty without him. I long to hear him purring in my lap, and looking up at me as if to say: “You’re the greatest thing since tuna fish!”

Andy, I am so glad I had you for so many years. The pleasure you brought me will help turn this sadness I am feeling now into wonderful memories. Rest in peace, buddy.

Melinda