This is the banner from her Facebook page:
I think this is a very generous and sweet thing to do. Memories are powerful. Loved ones are never truly gone as long as they are remembered. Here is the tribute I emailed to Stacey:
Kasey. How I miss your gentle brown eyes. It was love at first sight.
We met because of the coincidence that my department head was a home visitor for the golden retriever rescue. Our adoption app went to her and she walked over the next day to ask if we were determined to have a purebred. When the answer was no, she told us about you. That you had been rescued from the owner who beat part of your ear off when you were just a puppy. That the family who rescued you had to give you away now that you were grown; the man was deployed to Iraq, the woman had a baby trying to learn to walk, and according to her, you “knocked the baby down”.
You were so skinny because their dog was old and fat and ate diet food so you, a growing pup, ate it too.
But they didn’t beat you. They taught you to sit and to have good doggie manners. And they reached out to the rescue before taking you to the high kill shelter. Good folks.
We brought you home in the back seat with your head cradled in our adolescent son’s lap. You didn’t know what to make of our yard filled with flowers, grass, bushes, trees. Yours had previously been bare dirt. You hopped up to drink from the birdbath, then came inside and slumped onto the floor with a big sigh and went to sleep. Home at last.
You were there when I got home from work during the worst year of my career. Night after night we sat on the deck together. I put my arm around you and cried and you licked the tears away. You sat with me contentedly while I poured out my frustration, humiliation, and exhaustion. You were always there for me, the ideal listener and comforter.
The night before the Super Bowl when you were seven, I felt a little lump under your chin. I thought it meant you had a sore throat. When your human sister the vet tech came over to watch the big game I asked her about it. Her face fell and she said, “Oh mom.”
Because it was found so early we could stave off the inevitable for one more summer. That’s all I wanted. One more summer with you.
I waited a week or two too long to let you go. I’m sorry. The pain, for me, was unbearable. You would have borne anything for me.
The day you died…I still cry. You went so peacefully. You were ready; you had already said your goodbyes. The doctor said she would prefer to sedate you first but I knew it wasn’t necessary. You went to sleep knowing that you were surrounded by almost all of your family - me, Ted, our son, our daughter, all of us telling you what a good boy you were and how much we’d miss you.
My last words to you were, “I love you Kasey. Now you won’t hurt any more.”
Thank you for being our Best Dog In The World, Kasey.