Stories Sent To Us From Animal Chaplains
Click on a name to find one of the stories below:
Sam and Ninja's Story
by Chaplain Nancy Cronk
I started this work in Sam and Ninja's memory. Ninja and Samurai came to live with us when they were only six weeks old, while my husband and I were newlyweds. Ninja was a beautiful brown and black domestic short hair, and his brother Sam was white with black spots (or was he black with white spots?). Their names were a no-brainer. When we were in college a few years earlier, we adopted another striped short-hair tiger cat named Bonzai. We left Bonzai with my parents, who fell in love with her, so Bonzai became a permanent residence in their home. (We had a theme with Japanese names for our cats. Years later a cat adopted us and believe it or not, the name on his tag said, "Kamikaze".)
Ninja and Sam were both sweet, gentle, and very affectionate. Sam was skiddish and Ninja was bold. Ninja would warn people to stop petting him with a gentle warning bite, which we learned to respect right away. It was not a mean bite, but it said, "I am done being petted now". Sam never bit anyone. Sam was so sweet and gentle, he could be tied into a knot (we never tried it) and never complained at all. Ninja loved men, and to get my husband's attention, he would lay across any book, keyboard or newspaper that was getting more attention than he was from my husband. He would follow our friend Brandon around our house, which was awful for Brandon because he was allergic to cats. I loved those cats and fussed over them as only a Mom with no kids could. I put the song from Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young on our answering machine. "Our house, is a very, very, very fine house. With two cats in the yard..."
Before our oldest son was born, we left Sam and Ninja with some friends who had a two year old boy. After that vacation, Sam was terrified of kids, and often hid when they were around. As each one of our own children were born, Sam seemed to get more nervous, and began urinating in the house. We tried everything - spraying enzyme cleaner on the spots we could find, putting aluminum foil down where he shouldn't go, using kitty "prozac", etc. Nothing worked, and our house was getting ruined. So, one sad day, we decided Ninja and Sam both would become outdoor kitties. We took a wooden doghouse and insulated it with blankets stapled to the walls and stuffed it with pillows, then put it inside our garage. There they slept at night, unless the temperatures dipped too low, when we would bring them in to the laundry room.
Sam was hit by a car when my kids were little (At least that is what the Vet said. He knew the neighbors hated cats, and assured me he didn't end his life with a baseball bat.) Our next door neighbors callously called and said, "I think your dead cat is in our yard." My kids were hysterical. We took gentle and sweet Sam's body to the Vet clinic, where they did an autopsy (I still have my doubts about the neighbor, but I never told my kids that). The Vet winked at me and said, "In our town, it is against the law to bury animals in backyards, but if someone didn't listen to us, and decided to break the law, this is what they should do: Dig a hole 4-6 feet deep, and use Rubbermaid #xyz container because it is airtight, and other animals will not dig it up." So, being the rebels that we are, we wrote love notes to our kitty, the kids drew pictures for him, and we put them in our Rubbermaid container with the #xyz on it (I don't remember the numbers anymore) and buried him under the apple tree he loved to sit in. We called all of the children in the neighborhood and asked them to come to Sam's funeral (he was well-liked due to his sweet disposition). About a dozen children came over, and while we waited for my husband, one of the children said, "Are we waiting for the Priest?" This was especially adorable because we weren't Catholic. (This same boy is a member of the family with the tragic story I describe on the sermon page - it happened a few years later.) It was at that time I asked myself, "Why don't members of the clergy officiate at cat funerals?"
My husband and I improvised the service, allowing each child to contribute his or her memories to the Eulogy. The children wept as we put flowers on the little Rubbermaid casket, and began to throw the dirt on top. It was a beautiful, bittersweet day.
A few years later, a grounds crew came out to lay a cable in our yard for DSL. The entire crew did not speak English, and I did not speak Spanish (one of many times I have wished I learned it). I tried to explain to them to not dig deeper than four feet, but the only word I could say was "quatro" and shake my head no. Eventually I motioned for digging, shook my head "no" and then went "meow" and then motioned for sleep. You could have heard the laughing in another state. I kept hearing meows and the word "muerto" with lots of laughter. Needless to say, they were very careful digging.
When Sam died, Ninja cried a low, deep guttural cry for days. He paced around the house, looking for his brother and best friend. It was the saddest sound I had ever heard. A strange thing happened then after that -- Ninja took on some of Sam's personality traits. After Sam died, Ninja never bit anyone again. Not even once, for the remaining ten years of his life. He also started urinating in the house like Sam did. Back outside he went to the insulated dog house in the garage. It was heartbreaking to have him alone out there.
Ninja moved to a new house in a new neighborhood with us, and lived until the ripe old age of 18. He loved to sleep on my husband's old charcoal gray car. Everywhere my husband went, the dozens of paw prints on it reminded him of home. Every now and then, Ninja refused to give him the car. My husband would take him off, and he would jump right back up on it again. My husband even let the car roll slowly down the driveway once, trying to see how long Ninja stayed on it. Ninja never jumped off, and after gently turning the corner to go down the street, my husband parked the car and said, "You win". Ninja also liked to have the door to the garage open (for fresh air and sunshine?), so when we opened and closed it with the electric opener, he would deliberately run in front of the beam to make it open again. He would play this game over and over and over, while we tried to outrun him so we wouldn't be late for work.
Ninja hated the dog. The dog is big and goofy and sweet and Ninja slapped him the first day to show him who was boss. Shane the wonder-dog never forgot, and would wait forever for Ninja to walk in front of him, whenever they were headed in the same direction. Ninja figured this out, and would deliberately sit in the doorway between Shane and the backyard. Shane would wait all day to pee, if it meant not crossing that darn cat. Many times we asked our black lab-border -collie-mix chicken, "Are you really afraid of that old, arthritic cat with no front claws?" The dog would look at us, then put his head down as if to say, "Yep".
In Ninja's last two years, he lost a lot of weight (part of the reason is we couldn't keep him out of the dog's food - he loved it and seemed to enjoy making the dog wait for his share). His coat quality became dull and dry, and he ceased grooming himself. He seemed to become forgetful, and would wander into adjacent neighborhoods until some nice family would bring him home to us. We knew he was nearing the end. I wished I could bring him in, but I had 3 children, 2 part-time jobs, and he was completely incontinent. I hated to admit it, but secretly, I hoped he would go soon.
Things got more hectic and more emotionally stressful at one of my jobs. I found myself upset a lot, and agonized over whether or not I should quit. I felt unappreciated and poorly compensated. I remember sitting in my mini-van, thinking about how difficult my job situation had become, and Ninja was outside, crying and crying and crying. For some reason, I just sat in my car, not paying any attention. I was annoyed with my job, my life, and now my needy old cat.
The next morning, I woke up, went outside and saw my kitty's body was somewhat stiff and his eyes were glazed over. He was still breathing, but just barely. I ran inside and got a blanket, and wrapped him up in it. We put him in his favorite spot on his favorite part of the sofa, and we petted him. I felt so sorry and guilty for ignoring his obvious cries for help the day before. My middle son was hysterical, trying to force-feed him water. Apparently, since my son's job was to give him water everyday, he assumed he had forgotten, and thought that was why Ninja was dying. Through my tears, and my sobs, I reassured my kids that he was not lacking water or anything else, and that it was his time to go. Inside, I was beating myself up. Beating myself up for the years we made him sleep in the garage. Beating myself up for being cold and insensitive when he needed me most the day before.
We petted Ninja for hours. The kids stayed home from school and never left his side, as we waited for his breathing to stop. I called the vet every half hour. Eventually the vet said, "I really think you need to bring him in now. It is time. Right now, his organs are shutting down one by one, and he may have pain. Why don't we help him so he doesn't have to suffer." I explained things to the kids, and they agreed. We all got into the mini-van and made the trip. The staff at the vet hospital ushered us in right away, and told us we could cry all we wanted.
Ninja passed just a few minutes after the injection, while we sang the "Mi Shebeirach" (a Jewish song for healing, which was more for our sake, then it was for him). We still have Ninja's creamains, and we have not yet had a service. We all knew the right thing to do was to put them around Sam's apple tree, but since it is no longer our yard, we have not been ready to part with Ninja yet. We know Sam would understand.
A month after Ninja passed, it was the holiday season. I did not want my kids to remember that year as the year they lost Ninja. I took my middle son and my dog to Petsmart with me, and said, "Let's just look at the kittens that are up for adoption." As we walked by the cages, all of the little kitties hid in the corner away from my dog. One little brown and black striped kitty came up to the bars, reached his arm out as far as he possibly could, extending it with all his might, and with his tiny little paw, slapped my dog. My son and I looked at each other in disbelief. He looked just like a pint-sized Ninja.
My son seemed confused. He wasn't sure he was ready to have a reminder of Ninja in his life everyday. He was attracted to a tiny little white and grey kitty in the corner, cuddled up with his Mom. The little kitty had four white paws and was breathtakingly adorable. I asked the volunteer if we could see the tiny little one. She said, "I think this bigger brown and black one likes your dog. He won't leave him alone." I told her my son was choosing the one he liked best, and whatever he said was fine with me. When the woman sat down to process our paperwork, she looked in her files. "It says here, the brown and black one and the gray and white one are brothers, and we want them to go together." She was good. Real good. My son looked at me with his gorgeous this-is-too-good-to-be-true eyes, and I relented. Turns out, the spunky cat's name was Spanky, and the tiny cat's name was "Tiny Tot". And they still have those names today, two and a half years later. And yes, Spanky is in charge of all of the dogs in the neighborhood, and loves sleeping on that old car as much as his predecessor. Both Tiny and Spanky go for walks outside with the dog, and Spanky seems to think he IS a dog.
Side-note: With these cats, I bought a black light to find urine stains if I every suspect any. Black-lights are wonderful, and you can find them in any pet store. They light up urine stains in the dark, and you spray them with an enzymatic cleaner. Presto. Stains are gone, smells are gone, and the cats don't want to go there again. They have made my two kitties very welcome in our home anytime of the day. Life is good. As that old Crosby, Stills and Nash song says, "Our house, is a very, very, very fine house, with two cats in yard..."
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Sugar
Ceremony © 2000, 2007 Chaplain Paula T. Webb
Sugar was a most magnificent pure white feline and very elegant. She "owned" my girlfriend, Lisa, for many years, and I had the wonderful pleasure of feline-sitting when Lisa was traveling for work.
As life happens, Sugar began to lose weight, slowly and almost imperceptibly at first, but eventually, it was noticeable and a visit to the vet was in order. Sugar was diagnosed with just plain old age, and sent home with some vitamins, and high quality food. Over the next few months when I would keep Sugar company, she was still quite the player ~ only for shorter periods of time before getting tired. But we enjoyed each other’s company still.
One particular Tuesday afternoon, my phone rang. It was Lisa. She was in extreme distress. It seems that she had arrived home that afternoon, after a week-long trip, and Sugar was meowing and writhing on the floor. I was very surprised, because I had been pet-sitting her and when I had checked on Sugar that morning, she seemed fine, albeit very tired.
I grabbed my Sacrament Kit, and raced across the street to Lisa’s house. I found Lisa crying over Sugar’s body ~ she had passed away from the time I hung up the phone and got there. Needless to say, Lisa was completely hysterical, and pretty much inconsolable at that moment, since she had been traveling all week for her job and felt guilty, so I went to work on Sugar.
I found Sugar’s favorite blanket, and gently picked her up and placed her still-warm body on it. I asked Lisa if it was ok to anoint Sugar, knowing that Lisa and I had different ideas about religion. Lisa was grateful that I had thought to bring the sacrament kit, and motioned for me to proceed.
I opened the kit and took out a vial of holy water from Lourdes, along with the oil from the Holy Land. As I sprinkled the Holy Water across Sugar’s soft fur, I spoke these few words: "Sugar, as you cross that Rainbow Bridge, know that our love goes with you." I anointed Sugar’s head with the blessed oil, and covered her with her blanket. Lisa and I hugged and cried and I went home.
For the next several days and weeks, I called Lisa and left voice messages for her expressing my condolences, and also offered to hold a Funeral or Memorial for her. I did not get any response from her for almost three months, and I respected her privacy and need to be alone initialy with her grief.
Almost three months to the day that Sugar walked over the Rainbow Bridge, I got a call from Lisa. She expressed her gratefulness that I had, indeed, respected her private grief, but also that I had maintained contact and knew what she was going through. She was calling because she had found a beautiful garden stone with an angel seated on it, and was ready to have a memorial for Sugar now. Lisa stated that although in the beginning when Sugar had first passed away, she couldn’t even think about having a funeral or memorial, because that would mean that Sugar was, truly, gone. She thanked me for understanding that, and my regular calls and messages had made it easier for her to indeed, accept that Sugar was in Heaven. And, so, being ready, we made arrangements for that coming Saturday morning for Sugar’s memorial. All of Lisa’s family and friends were there; her backyard was full of flower arrangments from them, and there was an air of peace among all those in attendance. This is the ceremony I used to honor Sugar:
We are here today because a cycle of nature has been completed and a new cycle with God has begun.
Sugar is here with us now, so let us close our eyes for a moment and take a few moments to say hello to her by sharing the love you feel for her in your hearts, as well as how sad you are that she has passed over the Rainbow Bridge.
God refers to those who have passed over as "Blessed," which when translated, means "happy," fortunate, and to be congratulated. How can this be? Because now Sugar, her spirit, is with God, and is home again. As the author John Milton wrote – "...death is the Golden Key that opens the Palace of Eternity.."
Dear God:
We send the soul and spirit of our dear Sugar to You in the knowledge that you will hold her in the warmest place in your arms, and the most tender place in Your heart.
You brought us together for such a short time on earth, and even though we wish it would have been longer, we will be forever grateful for having loved Sugar, and feel blessed that she was such an integral part of our lives. We will cherish the time we had together.
God, she is with You now and shall remain so for always. And, still, she remains within us, for we are all a part of You. Please take care of our beloved Sugar.
Amen.
She whom we love and lose
is no longer where she was before
She is now wherever we are. ~ St. John Chrysostom
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Jasper
by Chaplain Nancy Cronk
I received a call one afternoon from a woman who seemed very upset. Her husband Barry was retired, and lived far from his children. For Christmas, his children had given him an adorable golden lab puppy, so he would not be lonely while Barbara was at work. Barbara worked in a medical office. During the day, Barry enjoyed taking his one year old lab puppy, Jasper, for long walks in their neighborhood, sometimes beginning as early as 5 a.m. They also went to parks and on errands, and Jasper went everywhere Barry did. Jasper was Barry's best friend, and Barbara was happy that Barry had found a new little love in his life. Barry had a history of depression, and the little lab puppy made his whole world bright.
Barry and Jasper had the same routine everyday, waking early before dawn, and finishing their walk just as the sun was up and the world was beginning to buzz again. One morning, Barry decided that it was quiet enough, he could take Jasper off-leash for just a few minutes. Jasper was thrilled with the sudden freedom, and ran excitedly in circles. Suddenly, a car came squealing around the corner, just as Jasper went into the street. A thud, a loud and agonizing whimper, and Jasper was gone. Barry rushed to him, held him on his lap, and screamed, "NO! Jasper! No! Don't die, Jasper! I need you!" The man in the car got out, saw what he had done, and panicked. As fast as he appeared, he was gone.
Barry sobbed and moaned, holding and rocking the body of his best friend. Eventually, a neighbor came and helped him wrap Jasper in a blanket, and drove Barry to his veterinarian. When they arrived, the office staff called Barry's wife at work, while the veterinarian comforted Barry and explained his options for Jasper's remains. That is when Barbara called me, and asked me to meet her and Barry in a conference room at the hospital where she worked.
When I saw Barry, I knew who he was right away. His clothes were soaked with blood, and he was folded over in his chair, crying softly. Barbara escorted us to a quiet room and closed the door. Barbara explained that she and Barry were not religious, but they needed someone who could help Barry cope with the horrible tragedy that had just happened.
I sat and listened. Barry didn't want spiritual guidance or advice. He didn't need a memorial service for Jasper. He just needed someone to listen. I encouraged Barry to tell me the story in the most detail he could remember. As he did, his body shook at times, and he rocked as he told of his little Jasper gasping his last breath. I asked him questions, giving him the opportunity to tell it again and again. Alone in this room with people who would not judge him for the depth of his pain, this retired Grandfather was allowed to cry as much and as hard as he needed to, and he did. Barry said aloud that it was his fault that Jasper died, and he didn't know how to turn back the clock and make it better again. He blamed himself for his little dog's short life.
I let him say everything he needed to say, and when their was a silence, I asked him if he loved Jasper and if he thought Jasper knew it. "Of course I did! We were best friends." he responded. I asked if he did everything he could to give Jasper a comfortable home and lots of love. He said yes. Then I asked, "If Jasper did something that ended up creating a problem, but he didn't mean to, would you forgive Jasper and focus on how much you loved each other, or would you stop loving your dog? "Of course I would forgive him," Barry told me. "Can you allow Jasper to forgive you, out of his love for you, now?" I asked. Barry started to see that Jasper's love was still there, even if he was not there in the room with him. Barry wondered aloud if he could go back home, see Jasper's leash, and bowl, and pick up where he had left off. Barbara wondered if Barry would be able to get through each day.
We sat in that room for about an hour, and I encouraged Barbara and Barry to schedule a visit with Barry's doctor, who I thought should know about this traumatic event in Barry's life. Barbara agreed to schedule an appointment right away. She also promised me Barry was welcome to go to work with her the next day, if he was not yet ready to be alone in the house with all of the memories of Jasper. I assured Barry that it is healthy to grieve, reminded him he would have good days and bad days for awhile, and left them both my card. I checked on Barry and Barbara in the weeks to come.
Eventually, Barry was ready to look for another puppy, but it took time. Jasper's photo is framed as a permanent reminder of the little dog that gave them such joy for almost a year. Jasper will always have a special place in Barry's heart that no one, human or animal, can ever replace.
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The Last Will and Testament of Your Beloved Pet
by Rev Renee Karen
Death comes to everyone. We are touched by it throughout our lives. We mourn our relatives. Some of us are afraid for our furry friends. We feel unless you are a pet lover no one else understands how we feel.The death of one who has been our friend and faithful companion and taught us the meaning of true friendship is often met with remarks such as “What are you carrying on about “ “It’s Only an animal.” “You can always get another one.” “Only” an animal can give you total acceptance and unconditional love. And therein lies the beginning of the understanding of the magical link called the human- animal connection.This connection is a relationship filled with mutual love, respect and commitment, responsibility and joy. A relationship that is available 24 hours a day. A relationship that is free of judgment and tolerant of every personal defect, alternation and failure. Can we say the same about our “human” relationships?
When are precious pets are ill, we really start to fall apart. We just take them for granted until some serious illness takes place. When death knocks at our doors, most of us cannot even cope. People tell “us to get over it”…All we can do is to get through it.
The five classic stages of grief are: Denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
As a minister, I have helped hundreds of owners
through their grief process. I can go to the owners home and do a memorial service. This helps the whole family and friends in the grieving process. Individual grief counseling is also advised. Find yourself a spiritual person that will help you through this personal and trying time.
I know words sometimes do not have any meaning in times like this. I thought the words from a precious pet may help you instead.THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF A VERY SPECIAL COMPANION.I, your ever-faithful companion because of myburden of my illness upon me, I realize the end of my life is near, so I hereby leave you my words for my Last Will and Testament. I have little to give you in a material way. So many of your human companions strive for material gain. You know how this divides families at the end. There is nothing that I have to bequeath except my love and faith. These I leave to all those who have loved me.
I ask for my owners to remember me always; but not to grieve for me too long. All my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in sorrow and in indeed joy in their life’s happiness. It is very painful for me to think that even in death, I am causing them pain. Let them know that I have had a wonderful life but now I am growing ill and have much pain. I should not want my pride to sink to humiliation. It is time for me to say “Goodbye.” It will be very sorrowful to leave you but; not a sorrow for me to die. Animals do not fear death as humans do. We accept this as part of our lives. What will become of me after death? I will be in a place where I will always be young. A place that will be a paradise for me. Some people call that “Heaven” Yes, animals have souls. God has a special place in heaven just for us.
I have another request. Please find another animal to be at your side. I know no one can take my place, but I will feel better knowing you are taking special care of another pet. I will leave that pet my leash, or my collar. My favorite pillow, or the special place in the car. It would be a poor tribute to me, if no one ever followed me.
One last word of farewell dear ones…Whenever you think of me say to yourself that I was the one you loved; and how much you loved me. 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. May the angels always watch over you as they watch over me. Remember…I will always be with you in love.
You have my permission to share this message.
Written by Rev. Renee Karen, Non-denominational Minister,
Intuitive Pet Communicator solving behavioral problems, Pet intuitive readings and healings, (read for humans as well) Pet Memorial Services and Pet Intuitive Grief Counseling. Joyous Celebrations Ministry, E-mail petministry2000@yahoo.com, Website: www.joyouscelebrationsministry.com
