It was cold out that day, bitter cold.
The rain was turning to ice; it was cold as it hit me as I left for work.
You were out going for your walk, not even cold.
I told you to get inside; it was nasty out,
And I quickly patted you as you walked by.
"See you later," I said.
I was in a hurry – I didn't take the time.
I should've taken a few more seconds.
I should've hugged you goodbye.
A few hours later I answered my phone as usual.
It was not a hello – not work related at all.
I recognized the voice of my 16-year-old son.
I can still hear the words today –

His saying, "Mom, Gunner got hit . . ."
I felt frozen.  I shook. I couldn't move or think.
Call Grandpa, my usual.  He can fix anything!
For an hour I sat and waited – pacing, shaking, crying.
I had no answer.
I couldn't call; I couldn't talk to anyone.
I needed to know you were okay.
I went to leave; I couldn't drive.
The icy rain was coming down faster; the roads were even slicker.
I kept calling – finally I got through.
I could hear you cry through Grandpa's phone.
I wanted to hold you – but you had Nick.
He held on tight, telling you he loved you.
For a long time, in the cold –  it took forever.
Your boy, your best friend, held you in the cold, wet ice.
An hour or so went by, and finally they got you on your way for help.
We thought you would be okay.
We slept well that night, thinking you would be fine.
We didn't know you were in so much pain.
The morning came quick, the next few hours even quicker.
Within a phone call we were told you were not well.
What to do?
My head was rushing.
No!  I can't!  Is it not fair?  Should I make you suffer?  Only for our benefit?
Just so we may have you a little while longer?
"Gunner won't be Gunner" is what I was told –
Never run, never play, not the same you anymore.
I saw your face – you looked at me.
You looked hurt, in pain – my big strong dog, so weak.
We lay with you.  We hugged you, held you,
Over and over telling you how much we loved you.
God! I could feel it – how much love you gave us back. The warmth of your fur, the love in your eyes.
It was now time,
"I can't.  I can't!" I thought.  "Isn't there another way?  Another answer?"
We both held you, Nick and I.
A bond we will always share, my son and I.
No one knows the pain we felt.
We felt you go, into your sleep
You pained no more.
As tears still run, we still see you, we still hear you,
You are in our dreams.
I hope this is the way you are telling us it is okay – you are okay –
That we did the right thing.
You know that we did it for you.
So you are at peace.
And waiting for us to meet you again.

– © 2003 by Kelly Ryan
kgun122@yahoo.com
Used with Permission of the Author

On February 23, 2004, Kelly writes,

For several weeks after Gunner passed, my son (who was 16 at the time) and I were up every night, talking and crying. I think it took us a couple of months to get back to some semblance of normal. Each night I would pray, "Gunner, please send me a sign that you are okay and understand, and you don’t hate me for what I did."

One night, my youngest son found Gunner’s snowman toy and gave it to me. I broke down and cried uncontrollably, kissing the toy and pleading, "Gunner please give me a sign. I need to know that you are okay."

I was just a mess. In time, we talked about getting another dog, but I knew I was just not ready for that. One day, a stranded cat showed up on our doorstep, and as I continued to feed him, eventually he became one of us. Now "Charlie" lives inside with all of us, and he is ever so friendly. My son Nick and I have told each other that we can’t believe how this cat actually acts like a dog. He does really weird things just the way Gunner used to do – he even burps and rolls on his back and stares at us when he lies in front of us.

A month ago I went to a psychic fair, out here in Buffalo NY. I had never before met the man I saw. As he finished my reading, he asked if I had any questions, names etc. that I would like to know about. I said, "Can you write ‘Gunner’ down on a piece of paper?" He did as I asked, then he began to moan. "I see him running in tall trees with a horse. Who had a horse?"

"I did," I said.

"I also see a German Shepherd."

I said, "That’s him!"

The psychic asked, "What do you want to know from him? I see that he is fine and happy and okay."

I began to cry. "I need to know if he understands why I had to do what I did to him , and if he is okay with it all."

The psychic moaned again. "He wants me to tell you that he sent you a sign that he was okay. He sent you a cat who needed you, but he knew that you needed the cat more than the cat needed you!"

There is ABSOLUTELY no way that man could have come up with this story! And there is no doubt in my mind that this is my cat, CHARLIE!