For the Love of Hanna
Missing Hanna
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A Hole in the Heart

A hole remains in our hearts, without Hanna to share our lives.  She filled our home with so much fun, it is hard to imagine life without her.  Her determination and drive to persevere under any circumstance (including illness), was an inspiring sight!  She touched my heart from the moment I met her, and she made me see her.  I/We are so blessed to have had her for so many wonderful years (it should have been more).  She brought us joy in times of pain, and lifted us when we were down.  Her life and her love is surely missed, and we mourn the loss of a great and faithful friend.  Until we meet again Cutey free!



(5/9/08) Hard to Say…


I awoke this morning to rain slapping against the bedroom windows.  The usual sun that might poke its rays through the pane was clouded by mist.  The air was heavy with dampness weighing it down.   It is a dreary day, and the emotions felt, suit the day.


It was one year ago today that my precious Hanna left this earth, by my decision. After two and a half days of treatment left her fighting to breath from fluid retention in her lungs, yet knowing she needed those fluids to flush toxins from her tiny body, I saw our battle approaching the end.  It was a life that neither she (I’m sure of it) nor I wanted to give up.  She tried to show us to the very end that she was strong and happy and filled with life, but her breaths quickened and tightened and she struggled and gagged as she tried to breath. It was a heart wrenching scene.  It was almost as if she really was trying to show us she could get better again, as she tried to play momentarily with her favorite toy, or offered smooches, or attempted to walk with her usual bounce.  But one could see she struggled, and I was left struggling internally.


Her eyes were dark yet seemingly searching for relief in her discomfort.  I felt as if she expected me to do something, but I was helpless.  All I could do was hold her, talk to her, and spend time with her, until I could no longer bear my own selfishness of wanting her to miraculously heal as she had done before.  I was selfish for holding on for so long, but I loved her so.  She was the bright spot in my heart and my life.


Today…I still hold on. While I recognize I can never bring her back, nor hold her here on Earth, she is never far from my thoughts or heart.  I see her climbing the stairs to bed with her tail wagging, and I smile.  I visualize her exuberant dinner dance and a tear streaks my face.  Some times I reach for her at night, only to find an empty space, and I weep.  And today…well…I weep and I smile…I chuckle at her antics and I cry at her humor…I miss her. It seems like only yesterday that she galloped in front of me for the next adventure.  It is said that “time heals.” I guess I believe that, as I may cry less and may remember her more with smiles, but there are still moments of great sadness.  There are times of overwhelmingly missing one who so poignantly touched my life.  Hanna remains in my thoughts and my heart. It is a feeling I will never give up, because she is a part of me, and one can never lose, a part.

Trevar, Darby, Hanna, Rori enjoying summer

Dear Friends


I cradled you in my arms,

And held you in my heart

The day your eyes met mine,

I loved you from the start.


A part of you is with me,

Embedded deep inside,

No matter where you go,

My love for you won't hide.


I see you running in the yard,

Playing with the others,

White as snow and full of life,

Romping with your "sisters and brothers."


Although you left us here on earth,

One day we'll meet again,

And on that day we'll embrace and play,

As Forever, we'll be with dear friends.     D.Smith-Mansell


Hanna & my Mother

Hanna, Aunt Ev, & Max

Me and Hanna visiting at the Emergency Hospital

Missing Hanna

 I miss

 Her smooches

 Her responding to me like no

 other (looking up to make eye

 contact, always wagging her

 little tail when I spoke or

 flattening her ears against

 her head)

The space that she filled

wherever I went

Seeing her and watching her

chase her toy, and gleefully

bringing it back for more.

Her funny talking voice-a

low rumble, with a whine

Watching her gallop across

the yard

Her snuggling next to me at                                                                                                             night and snorting


The turning of her head

whenever a question was


I miss saying, “I’ll save

you!” when  the smoke alarm

goes off, and having

her run to be picked up

I miss picking her up as

she always stretched her

front paws upward as if

To say “lift me.”

I miss her checking new bags

when they came in the house                                                                                                         I miss her going to the veggie

drawer showing us where the

carrots were hidden

Watching her sit when someone

sneezed,  and giving them a                                                                                                              distasteful side glance

Telling her to go get another

dog or Uncle Rob, and watch

her excitedly go and retrieve


For every smooch given, one

was returned

Teasing her about her tushie,

and watching her slowly turn

toward me, and then lick my face

Excitedly traveling to a destiny

in the car, where she might tug on

seat belts, dig in the blanket,

climbing on the tops of  seats, and

then once we stopped, laying down

and going to sleep





Uncle Rob, Darby, & Hanna lounging

Background music:  God Be with You, Until We Meet Again

Hanna & Darby

From the Heart...

Dear Hanna,

            It feels like an eternity has passed without you, but it’s only been just a few weeks. Not a moment goes by, that I don’t think of you, whether it be on “our” morning walk, which I now do alone, or when I’m cooking and you’re not under my feet, or when it’s bed time and you’re not there to snuggle.  I miss seeing your perky expression as you climb the steps to the bed, wagging your tail, and soliciting a body rub.  Every where I turn, you’re not there, and my heart breaks.  I can’t see you, but only in my heart and mind’s eye.  I can’t feel you next to me, and I can’t hear you. But if I focus, I can hear your snorts of contentment and your expressive dinner call.  The house is so quiet, and the activity is low, no one really wants to play like you always did.  Something is missing, and that something…is you.  I guess I never truly realized how much your actions and activities lead the crew, and now without you, they seem displaced too.


I pray that you are safe and happy.  I know that you now have no more needles, no more pills, and any food is yours for the asking.  I see you running with your funky gallop, and happily basking in the sun in the cool grass, just like you did in our backyard.  I see you playing all day long with your cuz toys, or a bottle cap, or a rubber thimble, I never had to worry about you swallowing anything as all you wanted to do was play.  I smile when I remember your three legged dance of excitement for dinner, or your prancing like a horse when a fuss was made or stretching your tiny body across the floor in greeting.  Each morning, I am startled as I leave the bathroom, and you are not sitting there waiting so we could begin our day. 


Your courage and self assurance always astounded me, as you would climb high without fear, investigate all that came in your path, attempt any trick or task and work at it until you were successful, and face pills and medicines and needles, and forget about them all when it was done.  You were always ready to move on to the next adventure.  


I miss seeing you playfully tease Rori or Trevar, with your treat.  How you would stand and watch them, daring them to try, but they never did.  They respected “the squirt.”


Some may think talking to a dog or writing a letter is a “tad off,” but you and I know better. We shared a communication beyond all reason.   I know that you always understood what I was saying.  It breaks my heart to not have you here, and I have to admit, I worry about you without me.  I know how attached we were, and I can only hope and pray that you are well loved and taken care of and having fun.  I hope you know too that I would never hurt you in any way, and if your food was tainted, I didn’t know.  I should have listened to you, but I thought I was doing the best for you because that food helped you before.  Forgive me if I was wrong. It tears my heart to think I may have fed you bad food. 


All I do know is that you were taken before your time.  It all happened too quickly, and suddenly.  I wish I could have brought you back home, at least for your last night.  It breaks my heart to think of you being alone, feeling really bad, and sitting on a cold cage floor at the vet’s.  You always nursed me in my times of need, and I couldn’t be there to tend you, and hold you when you needed me.  I am so sorry.  If I could change it, I would.  I would have brought you home to snuggle, and sleep in your own bed.  Emotions were so high, I thought I was giving you every chance to get the best medicine, and now, I believe the best medicine for us both, would have been for me to bring you home. 


Our last hours together that day were torturous, as you struggled to breathe, yet tried to be happy and loving-my heart shredded as I watched you struggle and held you every so gently.  Our stroll through a local park seemed to bring you some contentment, as you tilted you head to catch the breeze and face the sun, as always.  Each step of our walk, brought me closer to a reality that was too much to bear.  Each minute that passed drew our time together, shorter.  The end was coming too soon, and I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t bear to admit, you had to leave.  Oh how I wish it all could have been different!


It’s summer now, and every time I step outside-I miss you.  How you loved the summer!  Basking in the sun, rolling in the fresh cut grass, sitting next to me in the cool green grass-tender moments and oh so very special! 


My heart fills with tears, and aches when I realize you are not here.  I am lost without you-my playful, happy, spunky friend.  Time goes so slow, and I am reminded of a love lost.


I pray that you are okay and exploring new adventures.  I hope you will be waiting, with all the others, when one day, God calls me too, home.  It is all I have to cling to, I have to believe we will be together again.  I have to.


Run free my precious friend, and know how much I miss you! 


My heart and love always,




The Overwhelming Silence of Dinner


There was a time when dog dinners (and breakfasts) were filled with groans and squeals, three legged noisy dancing across the laminate floor, and excited grumblings standing on hind legs as food was to be served.  Meal time always brought live entertainment to our household.


It was Hanna who provided us with the performance of a life time at each and every meal.  Of course, all would come running at the mere question, “Do you wanna’ eat?”  Each dog has their own responses.  Trevar licks his lips in his ever dignified manner.  Darby, who now has a hearing problem, follows the others galloping happily and sliding on the floor (she was always quiet).  Rori, the youngest of the crew, gives out an occasional bark, but her relationship with food has not always been enthusiastic.  Rori chooses to look at the food first, then yawn, then turn and look for anyone who may be crowding her, and then, she eats.  Hanna’s response to, “Do you wanna’ eat,” typically brought a terrier squared stance with succinct eye contact.  If I dared to move she was galloping in front of me turning to make sure I still meant, “We were going to eat.”  Along the way, she’d turn back and do a 360 degree spin and bounce toward the food bowls.  Hanna could hardly wait until the food clanged into the bowls and was placed before her. She would dance on three legs (more like a bounce/gallop with one foot held up and extended).  If time was too long, she would sit and wag her tail momentarily and then would spin into another 360.  Once all the bowls were filled she knew food was fast approaching and she would begin her excited grumbling hind legged dance.  She always enjoyed (until she got sick) every last morsel of food.  As she patiently waited for all the others to finish, it was her job to clean up.  She headed to each bowl and made sure they were all licked clean, ready for the next meal. 


Ever Wonder Why?

If you've ever loved a pet and lost them, you know the feelings that come with their loss.  Whether they passed away due a natural course of a disease, or tragically, or you had to decide to euthanize, the pain is all the same.  So then why do we continue to bring more pets back into our lives?


After my first Westie Shanna, passed away, I was devastated and heartbroken. I still don’t think I ever fully recovered, but I did continue to live and love.    I knew at that moment that I could never go through that experience ever again.  But isn’t funny how “things” happen when we step out of ourselves, and look at the needs of others.  Brin, Shanna’s ever faithful Scottie friend, was mourning her loss deeply, even months after she passed away.  Because I knew Brin was never without Shanna, I felt the need to get her company-thus, Hanna AND Darby arrived.  Because of Brin, I brought two more companions home to keep her company.  It was a selfless act, because I thought it would help her.  And then, she passed away a month later leaving me with two dogs, and more heartbreak at her loss.


If I wouldn’t have gotten Hanna and Darby for Brin, I would have been dog less. I would not have had 12 plus years of training, scooping poop, grooming, playing, snuggling, performing, visiting, walking, riding, and having constant adoring company at my beck and call.  I would have missed all of that, even knowing that there would come a time when life would end, and I would feel really bad all over again.  It is torture now, but what wonderful years we had together-my life was filled!     


While I am truly doubtful that I will add any more furry critters to the crew, I am glad that twelve and one half years ago, my life was blessed with a little Hanna and an adult Darby.  I think Brin knew what she was doing.  It doesn’t ease the pain of Hanna’s loss, but it does make me think, what life might have been if I hadn’t brought her home. I guess it really "is better to have loved and lost" than to never have known love at all.


Thank you Brin for your insight, and thank you my little Hanna Banana, for sharing your heart and joy, and blessing my life with your presence.  I miss you…I miss  you all!                                  

Our Hanna...
always posing and happy

She's just too precious


Rainbow Friends


For all that have gone before me,

I hope to find you one day,

Know that your heart and mine,

Are bonded in a special way.


Each time I look to the sky,

Thoughts of you come in,

I wonder what you’re doing,

I wish I could hold you then.


But this is not to be,

We separated for a while,

All that I can do,

Is hold memories that make me smile.


Of one thing I am certain,

In a vision some times seen,

The rainbow ends hold you,

Keep you safe as you wait for me.

2007 Dana Smith-Mansell

A very special Hanna Christmas

Losing Hanna


My world was once again turned upside down, as I made the drive to the vet’s office where Hanna was recovering, or so we thought.  Ten miles away from seeing Hanna for our  morning hospital visit, the cell phone rang.  “She’s getting worse,” the doctor said, “where are you?”


My heart plunged to my feet and emotions choked me, “We’re about ten miles away, ”  I said softly.  That was all I remember.  The tears began to flow, and what hope we had blew out the window like a feather. 


The ten mile drive seemed like a hundred, and was filled with heart wrenching emotion.

Tears, then sobs, then calm, and tears again.  The world seemed to be passing by so fast, as my heart pounded within my chest.  “The final journey,” were words that kept going through my mind. 


I began the “bargaining” process soon after the call.  “Please God; just give us a little more time.  I’ll do anything, please just let her have the summer.”  Denial came rushing in quickly, “No the doctor is wrong, he doesn’t know her like I do.  She’s probably just depressed from being in the hospital.  Besides, she was this bad once before and she showed them all!”


Guilt followed in tow, “I should have taken her to the 24 hour clinic.  I should have insisted on new labs.  I should have listened to my own instincts. It’s all my fault.”


Those ten miles took me through such a range of emotions and grief, and I was left to only imagine what I would feel when I saw and held her.  We finally arrived at the vet’s office, and as I put the car in park, tears gushed.  My heart was breaking.


And then, I thought about Hanna.  I could not let her see me this upset; she would know that it was not good.  I composed myself as much as possible, and we entered the hospital.  I immediately broke down again.  Fighting to gain composure, I asked to see the doctor before we saw Hanna.


We sat in the cold conference room, and waited.  Within minutes the doctor appeared.  He explained her lab values had barely made any improvement, but the bigger issue now was that her lungs were filling with fluid.  The very fluid that could help was in fact killing her.  “Why,” I screamed silently, “why?”  He said I would see it in her eyes, “it was time.”


God how I hated those words, “it is time.”  Time in this instance meant “time to die.”  Soon Hanna was carried to my arms by a tech.  She greeted us but not as exuberantly as normal.  Her eyes were dark, and her breaths were heavy.  A lump swelled in my throat.  “Couldn’t we try?”  I thought silently, but watching her and holding only showed me how upset she was that this was happening.  She couldn’t understand why she was feeling this way, and wanted me to make it better, like always.  Except this time, I couldn’t, I didn’t know how.  Holding her, talking to her, petting her, giving her a pill or fluids, and making her feel secure was not going to help her.  Oh how my heart broke!


We left the hospital and drove to a nearby park.  We placed her in the stroller and walked, and sang.  She seemed as content as her discomfort would allow.  We sat beneath a big old tree by a pond, and offered her small amounts of water which she so desperately craved.  We walked and talked, sang and sat, and held on.  There wasn’t enough time left, and all I wanted to do was bring her home.  I’m sure that’s all she wanted.  But she struggled so hard to breathe when we got back into the car.  I was unsure if she knew what was to come or if she was going to die in my arms (which would have been a mixed blessing). 


The sun was shining and it was a beautiful breezy Hanna-type of day.  We waited in the grass behind the hospital for the doctor. As I held her on my lap for the final time, the injection was administered.  Her lifeliess body laid on my lap, and I cried like a baby.  My precious friend, my strong courageous happy upbeat “light of my life” friend was gone.  Oh how I miss her!

Dinner time without her is a tad dull.  It is ominously quiet, and I still wait to hear her excitement…but it never comes.  The three dogs now eat in silence and all that can be heard are toe nails on the laminate floor and crunching.  It is quiet at meal time.  Hanna’s meal time happiness is silent, and our loss is great.  Emotions can overwhelm at these times, so we’re left to cling only to the videos and memories of an everlasting spark of life, our Hanna.


Happy Birthday Jesus-You Took My Dog


As I contemplate the meaning of this Christmas season, of course my faith comes heavily into play.  In preparing to celebrate the birth of Christ and all the joy Christmas brings, I am riddled with sadness, for I missing one who brought such joy to this day.  It is difficult to put into words the excitement Hanna brought to Christmas celebrations.  A video is needed here, but technology has not yet been produced (to my knowledge), that can include video clips in written books.  My Christmas joy is filled with sorrow, as I am about to embark on my first Christmas without Hanna.


As I begin wrapping gifts I am overwhelmed with loss.  Hanna, my constant companion, is not nosing the bags or nudging the papers.  She is not lost in the flurry of bows and gift wrap.  No toy was brought to my attention for a quick toss as wrap time extends. Wrapping used to be much more fun as I always had a diversion.


Christmas Eve was filled with church services and while these are very sustaining, I can’t help but to shed a few tears at the thought.  I weep not only for Hanna, but for all my family, furry and human, who are no longer here with me to share this festive celebration.  So I will tearfully choke through the carols and hymns, dry my eyes and return home to prepare for Christmas morning. 


After church, all the dogs are taken out for their final nightly ritual, and then escorted to the closed bedroom upstairs.  Hanna was always the more demonstrative of the pets seemingly knowing what would transpire downstairs.  My husband and I complete the Christmas Eve ritual by placing all gifts under the tree, dog and cat gifts included.  As we retired to our bedroom we were greeted by all dogs, with Hanna begging to go downstairs.  With a few reminders, “presents will be tomorrow,” we all retire to bed. No visions of sugar plums for me this year, I yearn for visions of my Hanna.


Christmas morning has always been exciting as the dogs could barely wait to head downstairs. However before the trip down, they are privy to a light breakfast upstairs before the magical door opens permitting them entrance to “present land.”  Once the door was opened scampering feet could be heard rumbling down the steps and across the laminate floor.  With great preparation and timing I stand with camera in hand as they bound around the corner, with Hanna leading the pack. Naturally there was a brief stop at the stockings, hung with great care, then on to the mounds of gifts waiting around the tree. 


Hanna always carefully but with great enthusiasm perused all the gifts, some times climbing up on boxes to locate the dog gifts.  Once those special gifts were found a gentle reminder was given for her to wait with the others.  As each one received a gift, tails wagged and paper was shred.  Hanna had great skill in opening; she would snatch a gift from a hand, push her nose into the gift and shred and toss the paper.  Once opened the gift became a pleasurable play time, until the next gift was given.  She always made sure she enjoyed each of her gifts.  Often she would help the humans open theirs as well, but turned a nose up when it turned out to be a box or article of clothing.



Christmas morning will surely be quieter this year.  I’m sure the others will enjoy their gifts, but the spark of the “presents” will be silent.  It will be a happy time in sharing with the others, but we will be reminded of our loss.  Hanna, the perpetual puppy, will be greatly missed.  I hope we can remember all the wonderful Christmas mornings we have shared. 


Christmas is a time of joy, hope, and renewal.  We welcome the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ who helps us sustain our faith.  In Christ we share the love and spirit of life, but we are also mindful of those who are no longer with us.  During this joyous time, missing loved ones occurs with great frequency, how can we not miss someone or something that has brought such love to our hearts?  How can we not reflect on the fun and laughter loved ones brought to our celebrations?  How do we go on without our family members?


Fortunately, it is because of my faith, I can go on.  My trust in God prevails and I know my Hanna, is safe, happy, and free from any illness.  I realize that one day I will join her, with God’s blessing, and her and me, and all the others who have gone before her, will never be without each other again.  So with tears, and a full heart I say, “Happy Birthday Jesus, You keep her until I get there, and thanks!”

Our beloved

                             Did I Poison My Cat?



            Kearsey is a domestic shorthair cat, who has been a part of my life for most of her 18 years.  She was adopted from a local shelter, and of course, came with her own story.  She was found stuck in a drain pipe with her mother and a dead sibling. She has always walked with a limp as a result of being stuck in that pipe. Kearsey is pure black with an adult weight of approximately eight pounds.  She has always been an indoor cat and has been relatively healthy most of life.  However, on March 30, 2007, she took a turn for the worse.  Her back end kept giving out and she would fall, something a cat rarely does.  The next morning I called her vet, but they were booked solid.  They offered to see her but she would have had to be picked up by noon and transported to an emergency facility for further treatment if needed.  Since I already had an appointment for suture removal for one of my dogs at another vet, I asked if they would see her.  They agreed.  As I prepared her carrier and her for our trip, I decided to give her a quick brushing.  When I began brushing her, I thought she was really enjoying her brushing as usual.  Kearsey lay on her side, licking her paw and scratching reflexively with her back paws, or so I thought. 


            Something about her struck me as odd, so I stopped brushing.  Her movements continued and then I saw her head pulled to the side, held somewhat stiffly.  I looked into her eyes and they were fixed and dilated.  She was unresponsive, and was in a full blown seizure!  Kearsey never had a seizure before.  It lasted approximately five minutes.  She eventually became responsive but appeared a bit disoriented.  This scared the daylights out of me.   I bent down to pet and comfort her and she went into another seizure-this time for two minutes.  I gathered up her belongings and away we flew to the vet which is 35 miles away.  Upon basic exam we were advised to take her to an Emergency Clinic, another ten miles of a gut wrenching drive. 


            Kearsey was restless in her carrier (unusual for her) and appeared dazed.  Once we arrived at the clinic I removed her from the carrier to hold her.  I cradled her on her back as that is what she liked.  She slowly hung her head backwards.  She was very limp and minimally responsive.  The nurse gave me a towel to hold her, and my concern for her lack of responsiveness grew.  I finally laid her on the exam table knowing that she never sat still on the table.  She didn’t move and seemed to be sinking into the table.  I petted her-no response. I picked up her head- no response. Finally I called for the nurse stating “I think she’s crashing.”  The doctor came in immediately, and did manage to get her to respond although very slightly.  She was whisked off for blood work, while we waited, and waited.


            Now in hind sight, I had been chalking up some of the changes observed in her over the past few weeks, as age related.  But now…I wonder.  She had been eating one of the foods that we have since learned was included in the recall.  Kearsey ate this canned food for almost the entire year before without any problems.  Around late January early February, there were times when she would refuse the food.  She vomited on occasion which is not that unusual for her, and she was having infrequent urination accidents. She dropped a little weight, so I added other foods (one of those was also on the recall).  She began refusing her nightly treats which was the same product she had eaten for years (now also on the recall list).  Since I have a dog that has had Kidney disease all her life, I might have read more into it, but I kept hearing doctors refer to her as a “senior,” so I was just assuming it was part of her aging process.  Well I was wrong…


            The emergency doctor entered the room with lab results in hand.  Kearsey was in kidney failure.  Her lab work from nine months ago was normal in kidney function.  We discussed several options, one being euthanasia.  I just couldn’t do it-I couldn’t put her to sleep without trying to treat her.  So for the next 24 hours she was hospitalized and placed on IV fluids.  The next day, we were told she could go home, but the prognosis would be guarded.  The discharge report stated, “probable ingestion of recalled food.”  We were told to follow-up with her vet the next day.  That night she greeted the dogs as she entered the room, but was very unsteady.  She ate her prescribed diet with relish and retired upstairs in her favorite dog bed.  She barely moved for the rest of the night.


            She awoke the next morning, used her litter box, and ate a good breakfast, after stumbling to her bowl.  We followed up with a local vet as she does not travel well.  That day, I began giving her subcutaneous fluids.  Now I have a fluid bag for Kearsey, and one for Hanna, my dog with Kidney disease. 


            I don’t know how this journey will end, but I do know I am angry and hurt.  As so many others are affected by these recalled products, I sit and wonder how and why.  As pet owner’s we try to buy the best foods and best care for our pets.  We trust the companies and the regulatory entities, and we trust our doctors.  And then, something like this happens, all these products fed by trusting owners to pets that are unable to speak for themselves. 


            Kearsey will have repeat lab studies in another day, we’ll see where her kidney levels are, and have to go on from that point.  While I know for a fact that she ingested three recalled products, I am told that only a kidney biopsy can reveal the “toxic” fact.  Perhaps when she’s gone, but then again will it matter?  She will be gone, and there was nothing I could have done.


            Numerous discussions on pet deaths, pet illnesses, and bantering is taking place throughout the internet and in all forms of the media.  Some even scoff at the notion that so many have fallen ill.  But, consider, why have so many animals seemingly fallen ill with the same disorders/symptoms all around the same time?  Coincidence?  Did they all have underlying illnesses at the exact same time?  Because some are aging were they considered candidates to develop kidney failure irregardless of anything else?  If so, then why so many, in that time span?  Some one needs to answer these questions, and many others.  Someone has to protect those that cannot speak for themselves.  If we don’t hold the responsible parties accountable, are we then not just as guilty?  Reportedly the tainted product was discovered long before it was ever released to the public-could this not happen in any food industry? We as citizens, even if not animal admirers, need to send the message-withholding toxic or deadly information is not acceptable, ever.


            Did I unknowingly poison my cat by feeding her products I trusted for many years?  I may never know.  She continues her treatments of subcutaneous fluids, medications, and special diet.  We can only do our best to treat her with whatever is available, and hope the special food she now eats, doesn’t turn up on the next recall list.  When she passes, will I have a necropsy?  I am unsure.  I don’t know if I could handle the truth and the possibility that I may have poisoned my cat, by trusting.


Author’s note: Kearsey’s story appeared as part of an editorial in the June/July 2007 issue of Animal Wellness Magazine.  We are grateful to Dana Cox, Editor-in-Chief and Animal Wellness Magazine for their inclusion of Kearsey’s story.  On August 20, 2007, Kearsey lost her battle.  In the weeks prior to her death she lost her vision and she struggled to adjust.  She passed away without me, which broke my heart.


The pet food company offered us a settlement of a mere sum just above $2000, and a life time supply of food.  How insulting!  Needless to say we didn’t dare take their offensive offer-it’s the principle of the situation.  We know there are so many who suffered at the hands of those only concerned with profits…our hearts go out to them.

Email-Would love to hear from you!

You may read more about Hanna and the other blessings of my life on any of my other sites;

Blessed are the Beasts-my personal pet dedication site

My Personal Writing & Illustration Site

Stop Bullying Bobby-my children's book site

Expressive Aspirations-my online sample art portfolio

We are blessed by those we allow to touch our lives-D. Smith-Mansell

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