Animals and the Afterlife (20 page)

Kooter

Gladys Hypes, Homemaker West Virginia

I’
M WRITING THIS IN MEMORY
of my beloved schnauzer, Kooter Dan VonKraut. After fourteen years of love and dedication, that precious soul crossed over while being held in the arms of my husband and myself. I’m not sure where to begin with this journey but I can tell you for sure that it’s far from over.

Kooter became sickly with kidney stones at a young age. He had two operations to remove them and on the third occasion our vet said he could not do the surgery again. Kooter would need a special operation that our vet had never performed and needed to go to Richmond, Virginia, but our vet did not think he would live that long. Upon my request, our vet did the surgery and Kooter lived for ten more years.

I must tell you a little about myself here in order for you to see the whole picture. I have clinical depression, brought on from an unloving, uncaring upbringing. I am fifty-four years old and have never come to terms with the whys of my raising. Life has been very hard for me to adjust to. I have been blessed with a wonderful husband, three fine children, and eight grandchildren, but still the void remained. On several occasions I felt the need to end my life. I knew my family would mourn and probably would not understand, but they would surely get past it and move on. But Kooter … there would be no understanding for him; and, as he would not eat or drink if I was not home, I knew he would suffer to his death if I weren’t here. My life was spared so he could live.

Kooter suffered through three strokes, one massive. At the time of his third stroke I was totally unprepared to survive without him. As he lay unable to hold up his head, I begged God not to take him, and that very evening he was up and walking around. Dr. Krese, our vet, was always in awe of Kooter’s desire to live.

When Kooter’s time eventually came, my husband and I did not leave his side. I slept on the floor beside him and consoled him throughout the night. At 3:30
A.M
. my husband and I made the decision to have Dr. Krese relieve him of his suffering when his office opened. This was unacceptable to me, so at 3:45
A.M
. I asked God to please take him home so I did not have to do that horrible thing. Fifteen minutes later, he was in God’s hands.

Kooter’s presence is everywhere … I can’t explain it. I don’t want to explain it … I only want to know and feel it. His scent is here … my husband has picked it up twice and two times for me, all at different times. He’s simply been passing by. I went to a search engine to search for Websites where I might learn the things to do to bring him closer to us and the first Website I clicked onto brought up a picture of a black schnauzer lying on a rug … my Kooter. My heart overflowed.

This is but the beginning of great things to come … until the light shines brighter. In spite of the tears, heartache, and loneliness, my life has been changed for the better due to his passing. I have come to realize a magnificent and unexplainable thing that has happened since Kooter’s passing….

As I mentioned, I have clinical depression; and along with that there was so much anger inside of me, anger that I had dealt with for as long as I can remember. I never did fully understand where all the anger came from. As Kooter lay dying in my arms that terrible morning, I soaked his coat with my tears. I later told my husband I felt that, because of the tears, Kooter took part of me with him. Little did I know at that time …

Since his passing there are no signs of depression or feelings of anger. My heart is very heavy and sad, but there’s a difference between these feelings and depression. Somehow, far beyond any understanding on my part, I believe that Kooter took my depression and anger with him, knowing I could not function on a normal level if he weren’t here to help me. I owed my life to him while he was here and it seems I will be in his debt forevermore. What a wonderful God we have that is able to accomplish such a task.

Kim’s note:
Gladys continues to experience various signs of Kooter’s presence. She recently shared the following: “My husband has seen Kooter out of the corner of his eye several times. I myself have not but I have heard him in the house three different times. Thinking it was my little Gibby (our youngest schnauzer), I was shocked to find him elsewhere beyond being able to make the sounds.”

She then added, “I wanted to share with you what I am now doing in memory of Kooter. I do woodwork crafts and am decorating our groomer’s office. A sign hangs in her office that reads:
‘Crafts donated in loving memory of Kooter Dan VonKraut.’
It has helped me very much to move on somewhat and yet not leave Kooter behind…. I most certainly have found that love never dies. It’s been almost a year now since his crossing, and my heart is filled with as much love for him as if he were still with me.” Perhaps he is.

Miss Moostache

(A “Debutante” Fishie)

Azar “Ace” Attura, Artist, Photographer, Animal Rescuer Virginia

M
OOSTACHE AND HER BROTHER
B
UMBLEBEE
were two very cute but
tiny
goldfish, swimming in the big fish tank at the pet store. For 89 cents each, I brought them home from the pet store to live with me. Although I had been raising goldfish for twenty years (and many of them lived to be five, six, even seven years old), when I saw Moostache, I was in awe of the responsibility I had of raising her and keeping her alive. She was—at most—six months old, which is still a “baby” for a goldfish, and incredibly tiny—no bigger than the nail on my pinkie. As I watched her and her brother (Bumblebee, who was slightly bigger than her, and had stripes on his fishie-butt, hence his name) wriggling frantically and fearfully in their little plastic bag, I wanted nothing but the best for these little frightened fishes.

I gently opened the bag and poured them and their water into a large fishbowl (already filled with some dechlorinated and aerated water), adapted a small outside filter for it, and then made a screened cover for the top. They were safe from jumping out, and their tank was clean and aerated (goldfish need lots of oxygen), but the two little fishies were so scared, that for the next two days they tried very hard to burrow out of the rear of the bowl by perpetually wiggling their little noses on the glass. I fed them twice a day and talked soothingly to them. Soon they realized that I, the big shape with no gills, was the source of their food and their sweet-talk.

Bumblebee was brash and a little bigger than his sister. Moostache and the Bee soon began to wiggle over to greet me and “yell” at me in goldfish (“silent yapping” is more like it) for their food. Moostache reminded me of a chubby little baby girl in a dainty little dress (her fantail), as she wriggled and impertinently “yapped” at me in goldfish language. Mom called her “The Debutante,” because Moostache would yap, cheerfully toss her head, and wiggle her fantail like a queen (see, they
do
have personalities!). I was her loyal subject.

Moostache was female. How did I know? Well, not to sound sexist, but she acted like a little dainty lady. And then as she grew older, I could tell—female goldfish have nonsymmetrical butts. Male goldfish have symmetrical butts and sometimes get “tubercles” on their gills (looks like five o’clock shadow) and sometimes on the edges of their dorsal (front) fins. The Bee was a male fishie.

They were a unique pair. Sometimes I would get up in the middle of the night for a drink of water, or PB&J sandwich, and when I passed their fish bowl in the dim light of the hall light, two pairs of bright eyes would be staring up at me. Wonder if they got the munchies at 2
A.M
. too?

She and the Bee got along well, but one day I introduced a sweet little Lioncap Oranda (fancy goldfish) into their tank, whom I named Beauty. Goldfish, being social creatures (they travel in schools) like to hang out together. Beauty was no exception. She swam over to Moostache, who promptly put the equivalent of her fishie-nose into the air, and swam away. Poor Beauty was snubbed! After doing this several times, I guess Moostache felt she had maintained the pecking order, and the two of them coexisted peacefully. The Bee was always a “hail-fellow-well-met” type of fish, so he got along with everybody.

One Fateful Day

When Moostache matured and grew bigger, her ovaries (egg-sacs, whatever) deflated her swim bladder, and she began to have trouble swimming. She’d stagger over to me, just as happy as ever, and would continue to toss her head and yap for her food. But one day as she tossed her little head, she fell over, righting herself just in time to avoid crashing to the floor of the tank. She even looked a little scared after that happened. Sadly, that was the last time she ever tossed her head at me. After several days, her swim bladders gave out altogether, and she would lie on her side on the floor of the tank (she was now living in a five-gallon fish tank—she was still quite small).

A Very Brave Little Lady

Although Moostache was now doomed to a life at the bottom of the fish tank, she still maintained her cheerful demeanor. I kept her in the best of health, even though she was now crippled. My mom lost a great deal of mobility in her legs at the same time (diabetes)—she would drag herself over to the tank to see Moostache (she called her “the Kootchy Kootchy Fish”) and Moostache would daintily drag herself over to greet Mom! I think they were very good for each other’s morale.

I would medicate her with special aquarium medications for gold- fish (or would use goldenseal, which is a powerful natural antibiotic) when she sometimes got the equivalent of “bedsores” from lying on her side on the bottom of the tank. She would heal. I always kept her tank clean, and sometimes I would feed her (in addition to her regular food) a little bit of brownie, which I’d roll up in my fingers and drop in the water so it would fall right in front of her waiting mouth—what a treat it was to her!

The End …

One night, I “heard” Moostache calling to me in my mind—it was as though a little child was delightedly calling to its friend or its parent to say, “Come here
quick!
And look at what I found!” I walked quickly to the tank, stomping a bit on the floor with my feet, because she had learned to recognize that those vibrations (which she could feel through the fish tank) meant that I was coming over to her. She had pulled herself to the front of the tank and was looking at me sweetly (they
do
have expressions on their faces!). I “stroked” her nose through the tank glass, and she seemed very happy. When I started to walk away, she tried to wiggle after me, as though she were pleading, “Stay a little while longer, please!” So I did. Then I had to do chores, and I promised her I’d be back soon.

When I came back a few minutes later, I saw that she had turned to face the back of the tank. She had died. But she and I had said our final good-byes—she knew. I had no idea that she was dying … I was so sad. A bright light in a beautiful tiny body had been extinguished.

Tears were streaming down my face as I went to pick her up with the net. Her body, which had lost much of its color in death, suddenly became bright again—was she still alive? I left her there in the tank overnight. I didn’t sleep much that night.

The next morning, I went over to her tank. Her body was in the same position as I had left it the night before. Her colors were faded; her gills were still. Yes, she was dead. I picked her up with the net, and when I lifted her from the water, instead of dead-fishie smell, I smelled a wonderful fragrance (which I later recognized as oleander!) coming from her body. A “Sweet Odor of Goldfish Sanctity,” perhaps? I’m not making this up.

I wrapped her in lace, with some of her favorite red-flake fish food (to sustain her on her journey to the next world), wrapped this little “shroud” in tin foil, and then taped it all so she would remain untouched by multi-legged things. I left home early, before work, and buried her under a wild cherry tree in (what I have now renamed) “Goldfish Park.” This park is not too far from where I lived, and it held the little bodies of many of my fish pets (flush ’em? Never!). It was a damp and muddy day. The lilacs were blooming, and I put some over her tiny shroud before I covered her over and tamped the soil back into place (covering everything over with leaves).

I had to go back home to change my shoes, and when I entered the apartment and looked at her tank, there was such a sense of emptiness in my soul—I felt such a great loss! Mom and I had lost a faithful friend. Her brother, Bumblebee, lived to be seven years old, and died from a tumor on his head. I treated him well to his dying day, and I am sure Moostache was very happy to see him once more.

“Only” a fish? No—a wonderful living creature who gave and received joy. I hope that when Miss Moostache daintily swam through the Pearly Gates, God would have been most pleased to place this plump little lady with gossamer fins on the golden flowing robes of His lap.