In memory of Poochie

Hi, blog readers. This is my first post in 7 months, as the heat here affected my health well into the fall season. I'm finally better as we have temperatures out of the 90's and 100's these days.

I write to commemorate my rescued dog, Poocherelli, alias Poochie. He went to the Rainbow Bridge the day before Thanksgiving, as he had broken his collar to get loose, left the yard, and was run over in the street. I was loading my car to head for my sister's, and when I went to load my beagle, Webber, I found him loose, coming to meet me in the front yard. He and I went in search of Pooch, and immediately found him, dead and stiffening, around the corner in the street. Poor Pooch was having more moments of aggressiveness and viciousness, almost like a light bulb switching on and off; I could not determine a trigger for these. I was faced with moving his training to more aggressive methods like a shock collar to keep him from being a danger to our neighbors and their pets. I can only hope that he is cured of whatever caused that shift in behavior now, and of whatever traumas he encountered before he showed up in my driveway and determined to adopt me on my birthday years ago. He was always most affectionate with me, and I'll love that memory of him.
The nightmare I'll carry is that this being the day before Thanksgiving, my vet was closed, and the local animal control folks had gone home for the weekend, so there was no one to pick up Pooch's body. Being a renter, I couldn't bury him in my yard, so I needed to take his body to my vet for disposal or have animal control take him. What I wound up doing was wrapping him in his favorite kennel mat, sealing him in a plastic trash bag, and leaving his body outside my back gate after leaving a message on the animal control answering machine to pick him up whenever they came back to work. I was to be gone for 4 or 5 days to Houston. His body was gone when I returned home. He deserved better than that, I think. Peace and lots of heavenly play toys to you, Poocherelli. You were loved. Donna B.