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.
Joe says
Thanks for sharing this. Such beautiful heartfelt writing. Nothing more to say than <3
Anne Lambert says
I am so sorry for your loss of Momo. I have lost dogs who meant the world to me and I know where you are now. It is a bleak place. There is a true story of a child who, on the death of their dog in his home, replied that dogs live less time because they know so much about love to begin with that they don’t have to stay here as long. I believe it. I am glad you have a dog. Not because he will replace Momo, that could never happen, but because he will help fill the hole in your heart. I have a 16 year old dog who is doing downhill rapidly. In addition, I have lost an 18 year old cat, a 17 year old cat and a 10 year old car in the last four months. My animals live long but my heart breaks every time I lose one. I do understand and thank you for keeping your heart open.
Marilyn Shaw Scherl says
On October 4th this year I had to say goodbye to my best friend and companion of 14 yrs. Sam was the beat of my heart and the warmth of my blood. He was my hero. He saved me from a deep dark depression. Sam was 10 weeks when I adopted him and I’ll never forget that soft bundle of red fur bouncing out of the cage and knocking me back to a sitting position. We adopted one another. He shared my food, my couch and yup..he shared my bed.
Sam also had congestive heart failure. Sometimes he would look at me and I could see the pain in his eyes and then he would bounce around the room when he saw me holding his leash. When the breathing became more labored I knew what I had to do for this friend whom had done so much for me. I felt bad about my decision yet I knew it was best for him.
It’s been almost 3 months and I cry just about every night. I don’t get to feed him and I don’t get to walk him. I don’t get to hug him and see his brown eyes looking back at me. I miss him.
Reading your story really touched me and brought back that hollowness that is heaviest. The love and the loss.
Thank you for sharing with us.
Tori Avey says
Marilyn I know all too well how you are feeling. It’s a really difficult illness to navigate, and so tough to know “when” it’s the right time. Know that you made the best decision for your boy at the right time. Nobody loved him more than you did. We are so lucky to have them for the brief time that we do… I feel like they’re our guardian angels.
Christina M Williams says
I am so sorry for your loss. I had to put my 18 year old pet soulmate to sleep in May. I still think of him daily and cannot get around the grief and guilt involved in that kind of decision. Sending massive hugs your way.
GiGi Keith Windsor says
So sorry Marilyn. It’s such an awful disease.
Marilyn Shaw Scherl says
We all know pets years are shorter than people (G_d willing). We become such parents over our furkids. When we have reached that painful decision…we still cannot prepare ourselves for something so permanent.
Thank you all.
Kellie A Black says
Here’s my 4y/o fur daughter, Shelby
Stephanie Freeman says
I lost my dachshund, Bandit, earlier this year, and it’s hard to let go of someone you love. Casie (my cat, who also adored Bandit) and I are facing our first Christmas without Bandit, and we’re managing as best we can. Although I’ve thought about getting another long haired doxie (which Bandit was), I didn’t want to rush into getting one until Casie and I were ready. Blessings to all of those who’ve lost a furry friend.
Sheryl Gorden says
I had to put Simba my 13 year old terrier to sleep in July. It was so so hard, but she looked at me and I swear her eyes said “you have always done for me what I needed and I know you are doing what I need now”.
Tori Avey says
My friend told me that I would know when it was the right time, and it’s true. There is a certain point where you just know. It’s never easy, though. Sending hugs.
Jeffrey Cymbler says
Thank you for sharing. Happy Hanukkah from my first dog (a Maltese poodle), Kelev, who will be 2 in February.
Pat Tempesta says
Dogs are all love, and it is unconditional love. If you have been on the receiving end of the love of a dog, you are changed forever. You have been blessed and Momo will be with you,forever.
Carla says
Tori, I’m so sorry for your loss. It is, sadly, a pain that I’m all too familiar with. I grew up with a variety of pets. The most recent loss was 4 years ago now, or beloved, 20 yr old cat, ‘Puss’. We still get too choked up to find a new cat. But a very sweet bunny, Lola has helped us immensely, to survive our grief, and now, though we still miss our little boy, Puss, we can’t imagine not having Lola around, with her funny mischief making.
Milo will love you well, I’m sure. Sending gentle hugs, healing and wishes for a very happy Hanukka!
Diane Hradsky Walker says
I recently lost my big baby also… It’s tough..
Linda Water Nelson says
Unconditional love on four feet.
Beatriz Contreras says
Thank You for sharing your story. Blessings for you and your family!
Kellie A Black says
So sorry Tori for your loss.
Rosemarie Nothey Guerrero says
It is good to vent. Sorry for your loss
Alice Schachter Feinstein says
Hi Tori. I lost my 14 year old pug, Jack, last December. I can’t believe it’s been a year since Mr Sweetness died. I too was shocked at the depth of my grief for sweet Jack. The only cure for my tears were our 2 new pug puppies, Cobi and Rocky.
Life goes on. I understand. Much love, Alice
Bunny Marks says
Good luck & happiness with your new little ball of furry love! Many of us have been there. We understand!
Denise Jones-Williams Malan says
Thanks for sharing Tori. I know how hard it has bren on you and the family. I still cry when I hear my mother’s voice telling me my little four-legged brother didn’t make it thru his surgery. I’m crying now. Glad you have found a new family member. He is a cutie. Mazel Tov and Happy Hanukkah
Lorraine Hanks says
I understand the grief of losing a pet. I had to put my Zoe down, a 14 year old Lhasa Apso on November 10. Zoe was by my side after my husband passed. She was my mother’s best friend and laid beside her the night she died. When I got home from a crazy, hectic day at the law firm, she gave me unconditional love. Her quality of life had deteriorated to the point that I felt I was keeping her alive just for me. So one morning, I took her to the vet and did the true gesture of love for this dog. I have since come to terms that I made the right decision for all involved. I miss Zoe every day but take great comfort in knowing I gave her a wonderful home and a lot of love.
Debbie Searfoss says
So sorry hugs
Rose Inzirillo says
Momo looks like my Maxie who we lost 3yrs ago. It took us almost a yr to get another, she was the sweetest soul ever. We now have a sweet boy.He’s a joy… but my heart still hurts for our Maxie. It was as if you were telling my story. They don’t leave your heart, but we now know she went to heaven.