I don’t often share personal stories on this blog. Since I started my website, I’ve generally kept the content focused on food and history. Many writers treat their blogs as online journals where they pour out their thoughts, feelings, and emotions. I never really needed that before now. I preferred to keep my personal life and my website somewhat compartmentalized, at times sharing anecdotes and food-related stories from my home life, but nothing too deep. That changed recently after experiencing the loss of our 9 year-old maltese, Momo. In the midst of my grief, I posted his picture on Facebook and was overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support– hundreds of comments from people who understood this pain I was going through. Through this experience, I’ve learned there is comfort in sharing these moments… there is solace in hearing from others who have gone through this difficult transition. The Facebook community really lifted me up during a dark time. I wanted to take a moment here on the blog to express gratitude and pay homage to Momo, this little creature who made such a big impression on our lives.
BTW, if you only come here for food, and you’re not interested in hearing about my personal life, I totally understand. This post starts with a bummer and ends with a smile, so feel free to skip ahead to the happy ending, or just ignore it entirely. I won’t be offended, promise.
The picture above is Momo on Thanksgiving, a few hours before we ate dinner. It was a great day for our little guy. He got to see all of his family celebrating together. He spent lots of quality time playing and snuggling with the people he loved most. He also got to eat lots of his favorite food, unsalted turkey breast. It was a good day.
Things went downhill after that. He’d been battling congestive heart failure for several months, and we knew he was in the end stages– it’s a progressive disease, most dogs only live a year or so after their diagnosis. We knew the end was coming, but you’re never totally prepared for it. The day after Thanksgiving, he couldn’t breathe. I took him straight to the emergency vet, just as I’ve done so many times before as he battled this illness. This episode seemed different than the others– his breathing was very labored, he was obviously in more distress. They tried giving him oxygen and strong diuretics overnight to clear his lungs, which has always worked in the past. This time he wasn’t responding, instead he was getting worse. In the end there was nothing more they could do for him. I held him close, cuddled him and stroked his back, as they put him to sleep. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I was shaking from emotion, trying hard to stay strong and fighting my own urge to sob in his final moments. I know it was the right thing to ease his suffering, but the sorrow I felt was incredibly, surprisingly deep.
I think there is an element of guilt that most people feel when they go through this. Even though it’s the kind and merciful choice, you are making the decision to end a life… your friend’s life, your companion who has stuck by you for so long. The whole experience left a hole in my heart– an emotional hole, but it also strangely felt like something was physically missing from inside my chest. I felt hollow and aching and terribly sad. So did my husband. I think we were both surprised at the strength of sadness we felt.
Momo was such a sweet soul. He loved snacking on turkey and sitting in your lap. Whenever somebody was at the door, he’d bark like an attack dog. I think he believed he was 10 times his size. And yet, whenever he met new people he was as friendly and sweet as could be. He wanted nothing more than to please us. There is something strangely fitting about the fact that he had an enlarged heart… he was the kindest, most gentle little pup I’ve ever known. He followed me around everywhere like my little shadow, looking at me with those big brown eyes. He loved it when I’d make matzo ball soup; I’d tear the chicken from the bones in pieces, always saving the best scraps for him. When I was sick, he stuck to me like glue. When I was sad, he would sense it and snuggle closer. Dogs love unconditionally; they never judge you. They only ask for food, attention and kindness. Perhaps that is why losing them is so incredibly difficult. It’s not a complex relationship, it’s as simple as loving and wanting to be loved. If only human relationships were so pure.
After losing Momo, there was a part of me that thought I’d never get another dog. To go through that pain again, to enter another relationship with a dog knowing that the inevitable end comes far too soon, seemed too great a risk emotionally. We have a Labrador retriever, Marley and a cat, Muffin. I held them closer and let the tears flow. It would hit me in unexpected waves– seeing Momo’s old food dish or his bed would send me into a tailspin again. I didn’t blog much. You probably noticed fewer recipes here. I had to hit pause and be easy on myself. I’m sure you understand.
And then, a funny thing happened. My husband and I noticed our Labrador Marley was depressed. He missed Momo, and we missed having the energy of a little pup– a sidekick for our lab. While at first I felt heartbroken and unable to fathom getting another pet, our hearts slowly opened to the idea of adding another companion to our “mishpucha” (that’s Yiddish for family). A feeling of guilt nagged at me– “maybe it’s too soon,” I thought. I couldn’t replace Momo, he was irreplaceable. Then I remembered how depressed Momo used to get when I was sick or sad. He would lay his head next to mine and look into my eyes, just wanting me to feel better. He never wanted me to be in pain, just as I couldn’t stand to see him hurting. He wouldn’t want there to be an empty place in our home, a hole in our hearts. He would have wanted us to be happy.
And so, a few weeks later, my husband gave me a Hanukkah gift… this little guy, Milo.
Milo is a mixed breed, small like Momo. We’re told that because of his mixed parentage, he may be less prone to the genetic problems that led to our sweet dog’s untimely end (of course, there are never any guarantees in life). He’s 8 1/2 weeks old as of yesterday, a tiny ball of fluff and sweetness and spunk. He’s got a different personality than Momo, who was more shy and retiring. Milo is outgoing and ready to play at a moment’s notice. He also loves to snuggle, when he’s tired he’ll relax in our arms like a little rag doll. Our Labrador has been amazing with him so far; I think he recognizes how young he is. Marley has been remarkably gentle with Milo, even when he’s being an obnoxious little brother. Muffin, our cat, is not too happy at the moment, but she’ll adjust. We’ve been giving her lots of extra snuggles to keep her from getting too jealous.
We are in the midst of potty training, multiple daily feedings, and teaching this little guy the ropes. Every day is a new first for him. Yesterday he barked for the first time. Today he climbed down a couple of stairs, which seemed an enormous challenge for his tiny legs. Where sadness hung heavy like a cloud after Momo passed, Milo has brought new light and energy to our home.
The sadness still hits me in waves from time to time. As we lit the candles for Hanukkah, celebrating the third night of the holiday and Milo’s first night with us, we placed Momo’s pawprint next to our menorah. His memory lives on in all of us. I am so grateful for the years we had with him.
Morgan Greene says
I am sooo sorry for your loss
CONNIE says
Hi–just wanted to tell you that Momo was a very lucky guy to have a loving home for his entire life. Only 2 out of 100 dogs born are lucky enough to have that. He sounded so wonderful and when it comes to the loss of our beloved pets, the biggest honor that we can do to their memory is to adopt another wonderful pet. So good luck with your new baby–many years of happiness to both of you.
Jennifer Schenher says
Beautifully written tribute. I’m so sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you
Amy Acanfora Law says
So sorry for your loss. I have experienced this also several times with several dogs in my lifetime. So sorry it happened around the holidays. I find comfort in all the wonderful pictures I have of all my pets throughout the years. I hope you do also.
Malka Serkin says
Tory, these pets are part of the family. Losing one is like losing a family member. I have 2 cats and I can’t imagine life without them. I am glad this story has a sweet ending. Eventually the sadness will lift and you will have some great fond memories of the beloved Momo.
Staci Begal Reznik says
We have 3 maltese. One is 1 year in remission from lymphoma :-), one has congestive heart failure and one is healthy. Thank you for sharing your story.
Staci Begal Reznik says
Your story made me think of my Gator who has CHF. ❤️
April Misiewicz Albert says
I am very sorry for your loss. As a dog owner, I have four currently. I feel your pain and can understand the grief your other dog felt. I just wanted to mention that all my dogs are pure breds. They were all bred to look a certain way and perform certain tasks. They were also bred from healthy parents who were bred from healthy parents. Many generations of tested and proven health per their specific breed related health requirements. A mixed breed dog is no more healthy than any dog. Purebred or mixed breed. Only generation after generation of testing can grant some assurance of health. Of course there is never any guarantee. I wish you and your new puppy many wonderful years together. Happy Hanukkah!
Laura L. Angel says
So sorry for your loss! It is such a hard thing to do.
Janice Mintz says
Happy Hannukah, Tori.. May you have plenty of new memories with Milo. Enjoy!
Pamela Valentine says
Sorry for your loss. It is always painful to have one our of family pass.
Wendy Hersh Lederhandler says
So sorry for your loss. We had to do that a few times, twice with older dogs and once with a puppy that had a sudden illness. It’s heartbreaking. I felt the same grief that I felt when my father passed. Our furbabies are our children also, they’re just the ones that don’t answer back (although our Casey does sometimes).
Susan Levin says
Tori, my heart goes out to you.
Ginnette Powell says
I am sorry for your loss *hugs*
Jerry Newman says
How beautiful a tribute you wrote about Momo. We grieve the loss of our dogs as strongly as we grieve the loss of a loved one. If Momo could be there with you now, she would certainly be happy you have brought a new puppy in to fill the gap she left. May Milo bring you much joy and may you sneak your wonderful people food to Milo, just a little bit.
AnnandBob Hett says
Thank you for sharing. We know the deep love and deep sorrow of losing a pet.
Nicola G says
Hi Tori,
I am so sorry that you have been hurting, making the decision to let our fur babies go when the time comes is the hardest, but kindest act of pure love we have to go through. We lost our lab mix Bailey suddenly, unexpectedly 3 years ago, it still horribly painful, I still cry often and miss him terribly. But he was a fabulous dog and I am grateful for everyday he was in my life. I cannot think about when the time comes for our other beloved pooch, every day is precious and special, we do indeed cuddle them harder and spoil them more when grief strikes.
Mazel Tov on the new edition, Milo is cute as a button, love the photo with the Chanukia – Chag Sameach by the way.
I agree Momo would absolutely want you to be happy, that is all they ever want for us.
I am very happy for Milo and you, he is very a very lucky little pooch, just like Momo was too.
RIP Momo, G-d speed little one, I know you are enjoying all the turkey you can get your paws on.
IRhonnie IsAgrien says
More prayers, achoti…
Bob Golden says
Very sorry for your loss
Linda Helmick says
Our Roxie passed quietly in her sleep several yrs ago. She was 16. Blind and deaf in her old age, but I loved her so. She is buried out back on our property. I still go out and cry some days. She was so precious to us. Even tho I have another sweet little dog, that I also am very in love with, nothing can replace Roxie. They are all unique, full of love and companionship. Our little Minnie is now 13 and has cancer. I find myself so full sadness sometimes, I don’t know how I will handle her passing. The thought of her being gone forever is gut wrenching. I watch her sleep and whisper I love you’s to her. The tears always take over, but somehow, I will have to handle it. Not sure how yet. But somehow.
Kristin Lovgren says
Mazel tov!