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Tate was convinced he was human, and an aristocratic one at that. We were really grateful he felt he deserved to be showered with attention and praise, because he suffered a fair amount of abuse before he came to us. His veterinary records listed previously broken ribs and teeth gone bad from biting at the bars of a cage he was kept in too much. So the fact he came out of that experience loving people and interaction was a blessing.
He very much helped us heal, too. We had just lost another dog, and were also navigating our older daughter heading off to college. So he helped my wife, younger daughter and me, as well as his adopted canine brother, get through those adjustments.
He liked anyone he met, but he was especially devoted to my wife. He was always at her side. When she grew too sick to work, which coincided with the beginning of the pandemic, he was in heaven, spending five years constantly in her company. On walks together, visiting loved ones together, watching TV together, with her as much as he could be. He was always gentle and learned to be a compassionate companion, cuddling her even more on bad days.
When she eventually began hospice care in our home, he continued his care. If she couldn’t go on a walk with us or a car ride, he would run immediately to her on our return, like he wanted to tell her about his adventures, and like even that short separation was too much. When her last day with us came, Tate lay on her leg, chin on her knee, comforting her as she prepared to leave this place.
Tate and I had about three months to help each other cope with that before he became ill, too. We tried several treatments that all failed to help him. It became clear the kindest thing to do for Tate was end his suffering. It was such a relief when our veterinarian told me about Paws at Peace, and the ability to let Tate make his transition in our home.
Dr. Katy treated Tate and me both with so much compassion and dignity. She explained everything that would happen, and she didn’t rush it. What could have been traumatic wound up actually being a positive, if still emotional, experience.
As much as I will always miss him, it helps incredibly to know he was able to pass here where his favorite person did, and he was happy and comfortable. I imagine him running immediately to her, just like he did when we finished any other adventure. And he doesn’t hurt anymore.
We love you so much, Tater Tot. Until we meet again ...
Since the day we met, just over 8 years ago, this little guy, Benny, stole my heart. He was my little snuggle bug and always glued to my side from that day forward.
Although I gave him more good years than he had bad, before I rescued him, I wish I could have given him more. So very thankful for Paws at Peace for helping him to go peacefully at home, snuggled up in my arms.
Rest in peace, my sweet Benny boy.
Gunter came into my life very unexpectedly. He was brought into my work when he was maybe 8 weeks old. He has been my best friend for over a decade. He was a very special kitty in many ways. He would drool when you pet him. He would drag his back legs behind him when you scratched his booty. He made the best little weeze noises and would occasionally snort. The house is a lot quieter without his noises. I have a clear memory of them in my head. You're very missed Gunter. I hope you're laying in a ray of sunshine, baby boy.
Rylee was our sweet and loyal companion for eight years. The moment we rescued her she filled our life with joy, love and endless tail wags. A steady presence, always ready with a nuzzle or soft paw. Rylee wasn’t your typical golden retriever and that is what made her special. While most golden retrievers live to fetch, carry toys, swim, and happily bound down trails, Rylee had her own way of being in the world. She didn’t feel the need to retrieve, tote things in her mouth, or go on walks. And oh, how she barked at other neighborhood dogs and sometimes at absolutely nothing at all – loud, proud, and frequent.
But what we loved the most were the little moments that showed her unique spirit – like how she always paused to smell the food before eating as if to savor and appreciate what was given to her.
The quiet moments where no words were needed – they are etched in our hearts forever. Rylee’s gentle presence, her soulful eyes, and her peaceful spirit made her unforgettable, RED in color, a truly one kind heart.
Rylee was more than just a dog she was family, a constant companion, a source of unconditional love and joy.
Rylee taught us there is no one way to be a dog. She lived life at her own pace.
We are glad she left the word peacefully, no fear, no sound, no pain, surrounded by love with our hand holding her until the very end.
Thank you, Rylee for every moment -- for the love, for the memories, for every single bark, for being ours. We'll carry you with us, always.
In Loving Memory of Irie and Kaya
Seventeen and a half years ago, what began as a lighthearted disagreement over which puppy to bring home became one of the greatest blessings of their family’s life. The solution was simple, bring home both. And so Irie and Kaya, schnoodle littermates, became inseparable companions and beloved members of the household.
Irie, with her curly poodle fur and spirited will, lived every day with a spark that couldn’t be contained. Fierce in her own tiny way, she barked with her whole body, often lifting her front paws off the ground. She was opinionated, often “sneezing back” when told no, but she was equally generous in love. Her snuggles, pressed close with a deep contented sigh, were pure medicine for the hearts of her people.
Kaya, in contrast, carried a gentleness that softened every room she entered. With her schnauzer fur and soulful eyes, she stood out among her littermates. She had a way of tilting her head just so, or offering a quiet smile, that melted every heart around her. If Irie taught the family gumption, Kaya taught them the beauty of peace and contentment.
Like sisters, they shared everything: playful quarrels, tender grooming sessions, and moments of comfortable distance. They balanced each other perfectly: fire and calm, mischief and sweetness.
In the spring of 2025, time began to weigh differently on them. Irie’s body grew tired, while Kaya’s mind grew clouded with confusion and anxiety. In August, their devoted family faced the moment every pet parent dreads. On August 4th, at home in their favorite bed, held closely in loving arms, Irie and Kaya were gently helped to rest by Paws at Peace. Surrounded by gratitude, love, and whispered goodbyes, they crossed over together.
Seventeen years of laughter, snuggles, lessons, and love have left a bond that cannot be broken. Irie and Kaya are gone from sight, but the ache of missing them is matched only by the endlessness of the love they gave.
Run free, sweet girls. You will be loved forever.
Bentley James Watt (2/2/11 - 7/6/25)
If you knew him, you loved him. If he knew you (or even if he didn’t know you), he loved you. He was my best boy for 14.5 years. His absence has left a void in my heart and my home that will forever remain empty. Life without him is so hard. Unbearable at times. The years I had with him saved me in ways he will never know. I hope he knows how lucky I was to be his human.
Bentley lived to please anyone around him; especially me and his grammy and grampy. He always wanted to be a good boy (albeit, never without a bit of sass added in). He was a creature of habit and I was amazed at his ability to tell time; especially when it came to dinner time or bedtime. He never hesitated to remind you a good 15-30 minutes beforehand that dinner was coming up (and did not stop reminding you until his dinner was in front of him). Bentley loved to snuggle with any opportunity he had and loyally sat on his perch near the front window, waiting for me to return each time I left the house.
He lived for shredded chicken, pup cups and his daily night-night cookie. Bentley would do just about anything for his favorite treats – even sitting in the kitchen for 3-4 hours as the chicken cooked in the crock pot, so he could savor the smell and anticipate the few shreds of chicken he knew I would eventually give him (even though it wasn’t dinner time). It was hard to say “no” to those eyes!
Bentley loved the sunshine and rolling in the grass. He loved barking at passers by and other furry friends as they enjoyed their evening walks. And WALKS! B Boy loved his walks, maybe even as much as he loved his shredded chicken. In his elder years when his legs weren’t working so great, he was determined to keep going…and going…and going, until I eventually ended up carrying him. He walked like he owned the sidewalk and was a nosey little thing if someone’s garage door was open. Eventually I had to buy him a stroller and he enjoyed his stroller rides just as much.
Bentley was also my constant travel companion. He has more air miles than some humans, as we flew to Florida to see my parents multiple times a year since he was two years old. He loved the warm weather, the new smells, the neighbors, golf cart rides, his Florida fur buddies, and sunning on the lanai.
And that tongue! It was his signature feature. Always sticking out at some length, but the further he fell asleep, the further it came out (complemented by a roaring snore). Whether meeting someone for the first time, or seeing an old friend, that tongue was usually the first thing others commented on.
When the unimaginable time came for me to take on Bentley’s suffering so he could be at peace, I could not have asked for a more peaceful, respectful and loving experience. Bentley and I had not met Dr. Katy prior to that day, but she treated us as if we’d known each other for years. She let me dictate the timeline of my sweet boy making his way to the rainbow bridge. Dr. Katy was so calm, so patient, and explained everything step by step. Bentley spent his final moments in my arms, wrapped in his favorite blanket. It was the most relaxed and peaceful I’d seen him in weeks. My heart was at peace for him, yet broken into a million pieces at the same time.
The weeks that have followed Bentley’s departure from earth have been painful, tear-filled and somber. He is now on my mantle and I talk to him often. His physical absence has felt impossible at times, but I have found Bentley visiting me from time to time in various ways (butterflies, wind chimes, tokens of memory from people who knew him, and even through Facebook memories). I still tear up, but I know this is his way of letting me know he is OK, still with me, and most importantly, pain free – continuing to live his best life with so many new furry friends – while eating an endless supply of pup cups, shredded chicken and night-night cookies.
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