In November, A-DOG sponsored a free Pet First Aid/CPR workshop featuring Amy Breton, CVT, VTS (ECC) of Blue Pearl Veterinary Partners of Waltham. Amy generously donated her expert presentation, accompanied by her "demo-dog", Meeko, a 10 year old Aussie mix who has assisted Amy with hundreds of workshops. A-DOG board member Mary McCartney organized the workshop. Arlington's Animal Control Officer, Amanda Kennedy, helped Mary to arrange this valuable, potentially life-saving educational event, which was held at the, Arlington Police Department Community Room. The large room was packed with an enthusiastic audience of pet owners. While admission was free, A-DOG collected optional donations for two charities. These organizations: Frankie's Friends, a charitable pet foundation that benefits pets needing life-saving medical care and the Animal Rescue League of Boston that helps animals in numerous ways, including helping our own Animal Control Officer rescue injured pets or wildlife. The event raised about $100 in donations, and matching gifts from A-DOG enabled us to donate $100 to each charity.

Amy's presentation covered many topics essential to canine and feline first aid in detail (she also briefly touched on emergencies involving smaller pets such as rabbits, rodents and birds.) This included information to help owners identify emergency situations, e.g., abnormalities in temperature, pulse and blood flow. It also discussed how to stabilize injured pets, for example techniques for bandaging, and transfer them safely to the emergency medical facility.   Urgent rescue measures such as CPR and Heimlich techniques to dislodge foreign objects in choking situations were also addressed. However, Amy stressed that, in such situations, it is critical to provide whatever first aid you can but seek emergency professional care as soon as possible. This very thorough two hour workshop included demonstrations of bandaging, CPR and other techniques on the very patient canine "patient" Meeko!  More photos at our website.  

by Bob Sprague

I will miss my early morning walk with you along the scrubby trail on Hill's Hill littered with trash, some of it with scents that draw you closer. You'd tug at the leash, your active nose seeking a clearer idea about whether food lurked amid the refuse.

I put up with it for a moment, and then we'd move on past the clearing where teens drink, your curled Corgi-like tail, bowed over your brown fur tinged in black, wagging in all seasons.

And what of the midafternoon strolls, before I had to get one of our daughters from school? They'd often end with our family's best use of plastic bag that had contained The Times or Globe that morning.

You were part of the capstone of each day for the last nine years after I no longer worked newspaper night hours. Before bedtime, I'd walk down Candia Street to Charles, past the million-dollar "castle" built atop an elephantine boulder on which Joe Daly used to play when he was growing up. (Has the Arlington High School Hall of Famer, in his 80s, grown up yet?)

You knew none of that. You padded along on our nightly ritual, looking for a spot to mark. You stopped short and peered up at the "castle" only rarely -- when the owner's massive mastiff bayed, a frightening low howl.

Frost's poetry sometimes shaped our moonlit walks. I muttered in my mind:

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain-and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

Your poetry was an elaborate squat and pee or a graceful twirl and poo.

I had never had a dog. You were my first.

My daughters, their pleading eyes as large and brown as yours, talked me into it at Buddy Dog in Sudbury in January 2004. About this mutt named Carmencita rescued from the streets of San Juan, Puerto Rico, I asked: "Who will take care of her?" They answered: "We'll help."

The girls decided to call you Cita, but help? It hardly ever happened.

My wife and I walked, fed, cleaned up after you. You appreciated our efforts by joining us on the couch where we watched the Patriots or "Chopped."

That's where, while one of our kids was watching Spanish TV, you growled. We're sure you understood.

That's where you would jump up and head for your corner on the couch, where you looked out the front window. After dark, we kept one shade raised a bit, so you could peer out.

Looking for what?

An occasional passing pooch spurred your rare bark.

Otherwise, you taught all of us calm.

Your cancer emerged in October. More recently, you could no longer jump onto your corner of the couch.

You were a quiet dog, and, as the December holidays neared, you went quietly, under the vet's needle.

You will be buried in our backyard -- and in our hearts forever.

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