Sherby Says Goodbye

Sherby (May, 2001 – February, 2013)
Submitted by Natalie Martiniello

Dear mom,

It is so strange to say good-bye. We’ve never really said good-bye before. Sometimes, we’ve had to part for short moments. When you told me I was ready to retire and that it was your turn to take care of me, sometimes you’d have to leave in the morning without me. But I knew, and you knew, that these moments apart, and the distance, would be short-lived – that we would always come back to each other at the end of each day. Each night, I would find you in the house. I would loyally rest my head on your lap. You would scratch my ears and hug me. You would tell me that I was a good girl. Then, we’d walk together to my big pillow, and you’d say goodnight. But at the end of each dark night, we knew we would see each other again.

Somehow, I know that this time it is different. I saw it in your eyes. I felt it in the air. Something in my heart told me so. I do not know words as you do. I cannot find the words to say what this thing is. But I  know it is different, and that we would have to approach this time apart differently. For both of us, it was different and it would require us to be stronger than we’ve had to be in the past.

You are laying here on the couch. My big pillow is right beside you on the floor. Carlina is curled up against me – her head resting on me, our paws intertwined.

I don’t think any of you know that something has happened yet. We are all just resting, living in the silence. It all just seems to be a normal day… until you call me for dinner. I do not come.

I know you are thinking that is strange. I am thinking the same thing. There is food waiting for me in the other room. Why am I not getting up? Wait. I realize I am trying… but it is not working. There is a weight pressing down on my back legs. I am trying to pull myself up… but it is not working. You come to see me, to try to help me up. I know you are thinking it is just my old bones, but something inside me tells me  it is more than that this time. so much more.

I stay laying on my pillow. Everyone is beside me, trying to see what is wrong, and I know you recognize the signs. It is just as it was a few weeks before. My head feels funny, like it is off to one side. My eyes are not working very well at all. I am sniffing the air, trying to find where I hear your voice. You touch my ear and I flinch because I did not see it coming. But when I know it is you, I wag. I hear you laugh and say “only sherby would still wag, even during a stroke”.

This word, stroke, is a strange word to me. I’ve only heard you use it once before. A few suppers ago. It was when I felt strange inside, just like now. When my legs weren’t working and my eyes and my ears too and my mouth couldn’t close properly. I wagged then too.

I need you to understand why I wagged then, and why I wagged now. Because I am happy. I do not need many things to be happy. I’ve only ever needed you. well, the food and the strawberries helped. That just makes me wag harder. But if you are sad now and wondering whether I suffered during my final moments on this earth, I want you to remember that love is so simple, and so constant. For it touches us all and carries us forward and nurtures us and does not dessert us, even when our bodies and our health do. I wagged because our love was still there, and still is there now, so what is there to be sad about?

I heard you use the phone, that funny thing that makes noise sometimes. Anthony came home. He approached me and my tail wagged some more. Together, Anthony, your mom and dad transferred me onto this funny flat thing, and I was lifted into the air. Usually, I would have found this very strange and probably would have tried to jump off. Puppies don’t really like to be so far from the ground. But though I was wagging and happy, my bones were tired and I couldn’t move, and so I let them and your love carry me forward. I did not protest or try to jump off. I remembered your words, and let you take care of me this time.

In the car, you stayed beside me. You pet me and held my paws. You touched my soft ears. I was trembling a bit because I know the car means we are going to the puppy doctor, and I never liked that very much. But then I started to relax, because, you were here with me and telling me it would be okay. You always trusted me, and I have never doubted you.

At the puppy doctor, I was brought into a room. The doctor looked into my eyes and looked at me all over. She spoke to you but I did not understand. I heard words that sounded like “cancer”, and that word again “stroke”. Then you were silent for a moment and said something else. And she said something that sounded like “….quality of life” and “she had a happy life”. The puppy doctor patted my head gently. Everyone seemed sad, but I didn’t really understand why. Actually, I was really wondering whether anyone forgot that we left the house without my supper. It was getting to be way past my eating time, and this is a big deal to me, you know.

The puppy doctor and your mom left the room for awhile. It was just me, you and Anthony. I like Anthony. He cares for you a lot like I do, but I know that even though he’s around, you still have always loved me just as much. It makes me happy that many people care for you. this has always been my job, but I like to know that when you leave each day, others do the same.

You were on the phone. I think you were calling that happy place in California that I still have not forgotten. What a happy place. You spoke to a few people there. I could tell they were so understanding. I could hear it in your voice, that whoever you were speaking to, they understood what was happening and were supporting you, helping you make some kind of important decision that looked to be hard, but right. And I’m okay with tough. As long as you think it’s right, I will never doubt you.

This is how I see it. Sometimes, in my life, I have had to make very tough decisions. I have had to decide whether to walk forward, or around an obstacle. I have had to put your safety and your happiness first, and the path was not always clear. Sometimes I was afraid, or unsure, but all I had was my training and my love and my instinct. You had the same this night too, and I know from experience,  that these things are never wrong.

A lot of time has passed by. A lot of talking between you and Anthony. A lot of hugs and petting. I am wagging and wondering why everyone is making such a big deal about things. I have you and that is all I need, though I was happy to get that cookie jus now. I am wagging. Wag, wag, wag. I want you to know I am grateful, and happy, and thankful. I am so grateful, and happy… and thankful.

I am being moved to what the puppy doctor calls “a more comfortable place”. I am resting on warm blankets. Anthony, you, your mom and even your brother sit beside me. Everyone is petting me and telling me how good I am.

I especially notice you.

I notice you beside me.

I notice your hands looking at me, as though you are trying to remember me, imprint me in your memory in your heart forever. But oh, my best friend, my soulmate, remember that it is not the way we look or sit or the things we do that leave lasting pawprints on the heart. It is the thing itself, we call love. It has no substance nor does it look like anything in specific. But I promise you, you will never forget what my love feels like. I will cloak you in it, even when I am called away. And even though you say it is your time to care for me, we both know, I have never stopped watching over you… and I never will.
Your brother brought me a basket of strawberries. My most favourite thing in the whole, wide world. Now I am really happy. I even try getting up. You have to admit, that was a really good try this time, but it still doesn’t work so well. No matter. I’ll eat. As long as I have a labby tongue to lick, those strawberries will find a way in my belly. And they do. You each take one to feed me.

The last one I eat was given by you. this was my last strawberry, and my last meal. And I am so happy you thought to give me my favourite food.

The puppy doctor is back. I think I am starting to understand the tears, and the words. And what this strange feeling is. A little voice inside me is telling me I need to go. I think it is strange because I do not  go anywhere without you. I must stay beside you always throughout life, for that is why I am here. I hear you struggle with something very new in your heart. Throughout our time together, your instinct has been to protect me. You have always fought to get me the best vet care. You have always opted for the treatment, the pills, the care that would keep me going, keep me happy and healthy and well. But I see the struggle in your eyes, because something will be happening very soon that you are allowing, and it is something that feels unnatural to you – because your instinct is telling you that you should be fighting for me still, and instead, the right thing to do this time is to let it happen, and to let me go. I hear the words in your heart, as you ignore the urge to say, “stop”, to protect me one final time.
And that is when I know. this time, you have to let me go.

Now, I know you said it was your turn to care for me, but as I lay here thinking about those strawberries I just ate, I know that we have never taken turns – I have cared for you and you have cared for me. This is how it works, and how it always will. And though I cannot talk, this is what I want you to know.

It is okay. Please don’t hurt as you say this goodbye. Please don’t believe for a single moment that letting me go means that I am gone. When I was very young, I left the happy place in California and I went to a special family who loved me so very much. But then I had to say goodbye and return to the guide dog school. I worked with a special person who trained me to care for you. but then I said goodbye to her and started my journey with you.

Now it is my time to leave you on this earth, but this goodbye is different. It is different because we are strong for each other, and because the memories we have forged will hold us up and keep us close, even after you let me go.

Everything is becoming quieter, yet also, strangely, louder. As if, I truly hear what you are saying. I am resting my head on your lap, and you tell me I am good. And I truly believe you. and I truly feel loved.
I did not feel the needle. I need you to know this. I did not hurt.

Images run through your mind. Our first walk. Our memories. Our times together, both happy and sad. Both public and private. Like a film, they run through your mind, and before my eyes, and I think, “what a beautiful, beautiful story we have shared”.

Those final few moments lasted forever, as though we forced them to linger as long as we could, but so quickly, my head felt heavy and I rested it on my paw. I wanted you to know that I would just be sleeping. I hear you say “you look like you are resting” and I am happy. Because it is peaceful, and the very last thing I hear you say before my eyes close for the final time are these words:
“thank you, sherby, so much, thank you”.

And as my eyes droop and I begin to float away, I think, no, my precious friend, my loyal companion….
…thank you.

I am floating. It is light. I have not felt this healthy and young and whole for so long. I can move and jump.. and fly. Was this how it felt when you first held my harness and walked with me? You said then that it felt like flying, and what a beautiful, free feeling it is. I am happy I gave that to you.

You are getting up, and I hover around you, cloak you in my love, where I will, instinctively, remain forever, tucked within your soul, carried within your heart. I am far away, yet still so close beside you. and that is the beauty of love.

I know you were not ready. That you would never truly be ready. But I am writing this now because I want you to be at peace, as I am. I am floating, higher and higher. There are big, pearly white gates. Someone is calling me forward. I know this word, and I go because it feels safe, and warm, and right… and home.

I looked at you far below, and I know that where I am going, I will continue doing what I do most best of all. I will watch over you, and truly be the angel you have always said I am. I will never stop watching over you.

Here the ground is soft and warm. The sun shines brightly and heals my body. I am surrounded by love. There is a buffet of strawberries from every country in the world laid out before me. A platter of dog cookies, and kibbles, and more strawberries is put before my nose. I sniff approvingly and take it all – and the platter keeps refilling.

I see all the other guide dogs that have gone before me. They each wag and prance and seem so light and free. We have all we need to feel whole here, and best of all, we each possess a window, buried deeply within our hearts, that lets us see down to where you are, so that we can continue guiding you forward – even after our time on earth.

And I will continue guiding you my friend. I will hold you up and hold you strong. I will continue showing you how much you can accomplish each time you take a step ahead. I cannot guide you with a harness or down a paved path. But I can guide you through your life and within your heart.

And at the end of your journey, I will be hear to welcome you, just as you always welcomed me.
Do not be sad for me my friend. Be happy, because what we shared is beautiful. This thing called life is not always easy, but what we shared was momentous – and far stronger, and greater, and more worthy than life itself. It runs much deeper, and thus, does not die, even after I do.

So know this final thing, my friend. I am not gone. And just as you explained to me once I retired, it is never truly goodbye. This goodbye feels more permanent, but I will always be right there beside you. and as I close this final tribute to our story, I want to end by telling you the very same words you told me as I closed my eyes to my time on earth.

Thank you, my friend, thank you so much. For loving me, and always doing what was right. Even if it felt so hard. For giving me all that I gave you in return. Thank you, for letting me go, so that I could take my place in the sky and become an angel who will always shine high above you.

Thank you… so much… thank you.

Celebrating GDB’s Oldest Working Graduate: Don Knight

By Emily Simone
GDB Graduate Field Representative

I am writing this memorial in celebration of an amazing GDB graduate, Donald Frederick Knight, age 100, who passed away on Jan. 19, 2013.  He was born in 1912.  When I met Don, he was living in Boulder, Colo., in a high-rise apartment that overlooks the University of Colorado campus His 10th story apartment has the best view of the famous Flatiron Mountain Range in the entire city…no kidding! People might pay millions for this view. Don lived alone and remained sharp as a tack and completely independent up until just one month before his passing. He was a remarkable man in so many ways and is officially the oldest active GDB graduate we’ve ever had.

Don first came to GDB in 1993 at the youthful age of 81 and trained with Marin a stunningly beautiful golden retriever male who had a wonderful, ‘old soul’. They were inseparable for 12 years and had a bond that went beyond anything I have seen in my many years at GDB. Marin was devoted to Don, and Don would have jumped off a cliff for his beloved Marin. Marin succumbed to aggressive cancer in early 2005 and this ended friendship was devastating to all involved… From the local vets, to GDB’s vet staff and the AGS grief counselor, we all wept copiously for Don and his lost Marin.

Don’s next soul mate was Sachi, a spunky little female yellow lab, with whom he graduated in June of 2005 at the amazing age of 94! Don worked with Sachi until summer 2012. Sadly Sachi passed away suddenly from aggressive cancer. Don was devastated to lose his constant companion.

Don loved GDB and over the years, he and I developed a warm relationship. He looked forward to my visits and I tried to visit him whenever I was in Colorado. One of my fondest memories was a time when I arrived for a visit and he had set up TV trays in his living room and served me a lovely take-out Chinese lunch, served on his deceased wife’s best bone china dish ware. It was so very sweet and touching.

Don lived through two world wars and witnessed the invention of cars, television and guide dogs as a mobility aid. He spoke frequently and lovingly of his lost wife and son.

On my last visit with Don, this last October, I took him to his favorite restaurant ‘The Buff’ in downtown Boulder. I asked him what his secret was for living to the age of 100 and still being so independent and sharp. He was humble and couldn’t offer any miracle for discovering the key to eternal youth. He did tell me that sharing his life with his guide dogs gave him a reason to live and thrive….Isn’t that what our mission is all about????

Gail Paulson: Friend, Mentor, Angel

By Aziza Rodriguez

God watched you as you suffered, and knew you had your share.

He gently closed your weary eyes and took you in his care.

Your memory is our keepsake, with that we will never part.

God has you in his keeping; we have you in our hearts.

Nothing could be more beautiful than the memories we have of you.

To us you were someone special. God must have thought so too.

All our lives we shall miss you, as the years come and go,

But in our hearts you will live forever. Because we love you so.

God saw you were getting tired, and a cure was not to be.

So he put his arms around you and whispered "Come with me"

With tearful eyes we watched you suffer and fade away.

Although we loved you dearly, you were not meant to stay.

A golden heart stopped beating, hard- working hands to rest.

God broke our hearts to prove to us, He only takes the best!

I met Gail Paulson when I was fifteen years old. She came to me offering to stand by me while my family and I fought for my educational rights as a blind student in public school. She was inspirational and comforting, and one of the few who would set aside the legal aspect of the fight to listen to me express the stress I was under. Even after the issue was resolved, Gail stayed by my side as a mentor and friend. She was honest and caring, she always had something inspirational to say, or advice to give.

Every visit was begun, and ended with a warm hug full of love. She was forever attempting to smooth out conflict, and see the good side to everything. Gail assisted a number of students in our county to express themselves on many topics, including school, socialization, family, and how that all was affected by blindness.

We took a trip to Catalina Island, where she was around if we needed her, but encouraged us to find things independently and experience the island for ourselves. I took many trips to various blindness related conventions and conferences with Gail, she could always make me laugh. Especially when I didn’t want to wake up early, and she got her present guide dog to lick me into submission.

She loved her dogs fiercely. My heart broke when I answered the phone to find out her sweet Firestone had passed. Hearing the tears in her voice jolted me back to reality, even the people that are the strongest are affected by life and its tribulations. I spent Easter of 2012 with her, hoping to ease the pain of her loss with the presence of my rambunctious guide. We laughed and cried, and talked for hours.

When she left California for her annual trip to North Dakota, I was sure I’d see her at Christmas. Fate had other plans; I could never reach her, which wasn’t all that strange. When my mother discovered Gail had been admitted into the hospital I tried frantically to find someone to give me more information, calling mutual friends, but there was very little news. Soon after, I received the news that she passed on. The thought still brings tears to my eyes, and I miss her terribly.

I despair at the loss, and yet, rejoice that my friend is no longer suffering. She was as solid as a friend as you could ask for, and she will always have a place in the heart of my family. Her wisdom will stay with me, as will the memory of her laughter. My only regret is not having been allowed to say goodbye. My deepest condolences go out to her family, and the friends she’s left behind. She spoke of her children and grandchildren with such love. I find solace in the idea that she is looking down on all of her family, friends, and guide dog teams, with a smile, Firestone sitting at her side, with his head in her lap, wagging his tail. I know she’d wish us all to smile despite the pain, to go forward and make her proud. I’ve lost a friend, but gained a guardian angel.

Marly: Gone But Not Forgotten

By Juliet Cody
(Note: Guide Dog Merl, known as Marly)

Marly is gone but not forgotten. She will be in every fragment of my memory, because from the first day we met at GDB, she changed my life. Our adventures started three days after graduation when we took off to an NFB National convention across the country in Philadelphia. While there, I touched the liberty bell, and my own liberty bell began to toll for Marly and me, proclaiming our new horizons.

The convention taught me many ways to adapt, and being blessed with a Guide Dog like Marly, blindness seemed to have disappeared. The ultimate flavor was when I tasted freedom jogging on the beach without worrying about tripping or falling because Marley’s beautiful eyes were seeing for me. Now marly has left, and blindness has returned. We had eleven miraculous years filled with adventures, trials, love and dedication for one another. SHE left me a legacy that I have written about in my upcoming book, "Building More than Sand Castles." She has also left me knowing that blindness is not devastating; rather, it is what you make of it. Therefore she is compelling me to get another Guide Dog in the near future.

The emptiness, the aching heart, and the tears are not yet healed. Nevertheless, on a warm summer sunset as the waves were breaking, I swam into the ocean with a handful of marly's ashes and rose petals. The wave broke along with my heart when I let my precious guide go. I heard myself saying, "Marly, I will be back to surf with you every Sunday." When I reached the shore, my GDB alumni family was waiting with tears, rose petals and love.

I want to thank the staff at GDB with my deepest appreciation for giving me Marly, my GDB family, and all of the support that anyone could ask for.

 

One of the Greatest Guide Dog Retirement Jobs Ever!

By Rebekah Brod 

Leslie was my first Guide Dog who gave me the freedom of moving safely, gracefully, and quickly in my environment without the stress that accompanies vision loss. Leslie had an incredible sense of adventure. When we traveled abroad, her guidework was perfect, never missing a beat. We had an incredible partnership for nine and a half years.

When I came home with my second Guide Dog, Duke, it was a difficult transition for all of us. Leslie would run to the door with Duke to try to get into the harness. It was hard leaving her at home. I needed to find her something to do because she still wanted to be working in some capacity. I found her the ideal job at Santa Monica College (SMC). My husband, Garry, who was Leslie's driver, said, "Leslie was as excited as a puppy with a new toy when we went to SMC."

As soon as the automatic sliding glass door opened, Leslie was there to greet each student as they entered the SMC Center for Students with Disabilities office. Her job was to provide comfort and support in exchange for love, hugs, kisses, and treats. During crisis situations Leslie worked wonders by having a calming effect on both students and staff.

After working a year at SMC Leslie struggled with glaucoma, resulting in surgery and the loss of her right eye. The students related to her in a new way, by identifying with her disability and observing that it did not effect her job in any way. She will be greatly missed. October 14, 1997—May 24, 2012

Thank you so much for the greatest gift in my life, my Guide Dog Leslie. I am so grateful to Guide Dogs for the Blind for their dedication to excellence.



See the SMC Center for Students with Disabilities tribute video to Leslie here: 
http://animoto.com/play/kMwVqwDaE9F4eKITqmwP8Q?utm_content=main_link

SMC Center for Students with Disabilities Photo (Above)

• Front row, left to right: Jo An Joseph-Peters, Nathalie Laille, Kennisha Green, Leslie, MaryJane Weil, Judy Schwartz, Colin O’Brien
• Second Row, left to right: Andrea Kremer, Ingrid Carlson, Steven Zucker, Elena Throckmorten, Georgia Farber, Billie Puyear, Lisette Rabinow-Palley, Lynn Fugua
• Not shown: Ellen Cutler, Tom Peters, & Ava Gawranski

Mathew: The Dog with a Heart of Gold

By Marilyn Lind

Mathew, my first guide, was a love with a heart of gold. Not that Mathew is the only guide I've had, or currently have, with a heart of gold, but he was something special.

When I left for my class training at GDB, my dad wasn't sure I was doing the right thing. While I was in class he'd call me saying he didn't feel good. After I brought Mathew back home, my dad loved him and he understood what Mathew did for me. Mathew also loved my dad. They seem to have some type of bond separate from the bond Mathew and I held for each other.

One morning I received a call from my dad saying he was sick; my brother took him to the hospital. When I arrived, the doctor said that my dad only had a few days to live and he was placed in the ICU. During that time, Mathew and I would stay with my dad all day (Mathew as the first dog to ever be allowed in this ICU). My dad would pet Mathew and talk to him. One afternoon I told my dad I needed to find a green spot, and my dad responded by saying "Be careful." Those words - be careful - were the last words I would ever hear from my dad. He lost consciousness shortly thereafter. From then on, I'd put my dad's hand on Mathew's head and do a stroking movement. The nurses started doing the same thing when they discovered that my dad's monitoring rates would go down and that he would relax.

Not only did Mathew help my dad in those final days and hours, but I'm convinced that my dad also helped Mathew in a couple of ways. Prior to my dad getting sick, Mathew had been experiencing some health problems of his own. Mainly, his nose would start running for no reason. Our vet was unable to determine what was wrong with him, so I was talking with GDB's Dr. Patti to see if she could help solve the mystery of the running nose. During our time at the hospital with my dad, I'd always take Mathew out to the same place to relieve, and sure enough, his nose would start running.

After my dad passed away, we went to the funeral home. When we got into the building, Mathew's nose started running like a faucet. Immediately following the funeral, I got a call from Dr. Patti, saying she had set up an appointment for Mathew to go to Kansas State Vet School for diagnosis and treatment. I feel like this was my dad's way of helping his friend out.

It was finally determined that Mathew was allergic to a ground cover plant called hostice - which is prevalent in Kansas, but doesn't grow in Oregon where Mathew was trained. Mathew's allergy was so unusual that there wasn't anything that could help him out. Fortunately, a cousin of mine who lived in Oregon adopted Mathew; he and his wife treated Mathew like he was their son. When Mathew died, it was a very sad day for everyone. But we'll always have our memories of this special dog with a heart of gold.

Remembering Havarti

By Barbara and Jerry Edwards (Havarti's puppy raisers)

Havarti

On July 13, 2010, we picked up the most adorable 9 week-old puppy at GDB's California campus in San Rafael, and before the kennel staff member brought her out, she asked if we liked cheese. We thought that was an unusual question but our response was "yes" and she said, "Good - because your puppy's name is Havarti." Our immediate reaction was that she was given an odd name and thought about giving her a nickname, but over time, the name Havarti grew on us. When we took her on outings it was always comical to hear the responses from people when they asked her name. As soon as we said, "Havarti, like the cheese," many of the responses were, "that's my favorite cheese." She did eventually get some nicknames: Little Peanut, Little Cheese (GDB kennel staff) and Little Cheesecake (Andrea Christensen).

We couldn't have asked for a better puppy to raise. She certainly had her moments the first couple of months and we were beginning to wonder if she was going to make it. She was very demanding of our attention to the point she would do whatever she needed to get our attention to play with her. With some diligent training and lots of patience we were able to get over this hurdle and she grew to understand her boundaries. Havarti was very food motivated so she was willing to please us in order to get the food reward when it was appropriate.

During the 16 months we raised her, she had so many opportunities to experience life. We are retired so we were able to take many vacations that allowed us to include Havarti. Her one-year birthday was spent at Disneyland where she got to meet Goofy and Pluto. She loved our camping trips, playing on the jungle gym at the campgrounds, going to the beach and going to the snow. She was extremely well behaved on all of our public outings and knew that when she had her puppy jacket on, she was expected to show good manners. But she also knew that once we were home and the jacket came off, she could relax and frolic around the house.

Graduation Day

One of Havarti's favorite pastimes was getting her daily belly rub. Our routine after dinner was a game of tug. When it was time to stop, we would tell her, "That's enough," and she would let go of the toy and proceed to roll over onto her back for a long belly rub until she fell asleep. She loved her belly rubs so much that when a stranger would lower their hand to pet her, she would slide down onto her back for a belly rub. Of course, that became a training issue and her belly rubs were limited to off training times.

In October of 2011, we received the notification that she would return to the GDB campus in November for her formal training to become a guide. She progressed quickly through the program and completed the phases in early February 2012 but was held back until she could be matched with the right person. That special person, Andrea Christensen, arrived at the GDB campus on March 11 and on March 14, Andrea and Havarti were united and their long-awaited adventure began. It was love at first sight for both of them. They worked well together and Andrea said that Havarti would get excited when she saw the harness in Andrea's hands. On March 31, 2012, Andrea and Havarti graduated during a beautiful ceremony. When we walked up to present Havarti to Andrea, it was evident that Havarti had a strong bond to Andrea as she looked up to her new "mom" and wagged her tail.

Prior to graduation, we noticed during our meet and greet with Andrea that Havarti didn't seem to be herself - not her usual energetic self - but we thought maybe it was due to all the excitement of the day. On Monday, Havarti started showing signs of distress and it was evident that something was really wrong. She was taken to a local vet in Andrea's home town and it was quickly determined that Havarti was extremely sick and needed to get to an animal hospital immediately. On April 3, her health rapidly declined and within a few hours of arriving at the hospital, she passed away. It was later determined that she had developed a very aggressive form of leukemia that goes undetected until the symptoms appear in the very last stage of the disease. There was no way for anyone to have known she had this disease.

A close friend of Andrea's (Glenna Williamson) wrote this about the connection between Andrea and Havarti:

"Andrea called me several times throughout her three weeks of being away from family and each time we spoke, she was thrilled beyond words of the connection and affection she felt towards her new escort. One might have to have an inside look to know and understand that Andrea is full of life and although blindness has been a thorn in her side, she never complained about this obstacle in her life, but she kept determination and with a full blown 'Attitude Ahead,' she was ready to meet, greet and move forward in life with Havarti. Oh how she instantly bonded with Havarti with a new sense of life's direction for both of them. Andrea had a song in her heart of Amazing Grace as she could now sing 'I once was blind but now I see' - of course that being in doggie language.

"Andrea stayed by Havarti's side until the end. For Andrea thought Havarti was there for her, but in actuality...God turned the tables, as Andrea was there for Havarti."

Andrea told us that in the short time she had Havarti, she performed her guidework with excitement and enthusiasm. We all are very saddened that Havarti succumbed at such a young age and wasn't able to fulfill her long time purpose as a Guide Dog for Andrea. She touched so many hearts in her short life and she will always hold a special place in our hearts.

Havarti, you were a special puppy and you made us very proud of your accomplishments. We feel blessed that GDB gave us the opportunity to have you for 16 months as you warmed our hearts with your many puppy antics, and your enthusiasm to please any one. You will forever be remembered as the energetic puppy who loved belly rubs, would do whatever any one asked of you, and loved everything life brought to you.