I am writing to let you know that my dog Beary (his Heartland name), who I
adopted in 2003, died at home on December 21st. For me he was the perfect
dog, the best dog in the world, the joy of my life. He had a great life
traveling with me all over the country: we drove from Maine to Berkeley, CA
and back twice and worked together as well in Washington, DC, New York
City, Boston and Princeton NJ. He spent his summers with me on a Maine
island on 12 acres by the ocean. He was a bit of a wreck when I got him --
one vet said he was 2, one said he was 6. He was found in a cemetery with
his brother Teddy. Over the years he continued to blossom more and more
and became increasingly social until he was only a little bit shyer than a
non-shy dog. Yet he was always quiet, and occupied rehearsal rooms and
faculty meetings making no disturbance at all. He was beloved all over the
country in the theaters and opera houses where I work.
In the last two years he was plagued by very bad arthritis and his mobility was
more and more compromised. In late December he had a health crisis and we
discovered his lungs were filled with fluid, and the diagnostics seemed to
indicate his lungs were full of cancer. His chest was drained once, but I then
brought him home as there was no further treatment possible. On the 21st, as
he began to have difficulty breathing and I called an in-home vet. However he
died in my arms before he was euthanized -- the little sedative the doctor
give was enough to take him over.
You can read visit his memorial page and see pictures and read his obituary
You'll see he has over 50 messages from actors, writers and theatre people all over the country, including Peter Gelb, the head of the Metropolitan Opera in New York.
Thank you for helping to bring Beary into my life. I also adopted a cat, Shelby, from you a few months later (she was the "test cat" at the shelter for Beary). Shelby is still with me, but quite sadly, went into renal failure a few days after Beary died. I don't think she'll be with me much longer.