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.
This helped me with my little cat buddy Archie when I found he had aggressive and advanced cancer. I hope it can help some other people too. I don’t know who wrote it.
“If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this — the last battle — can’t be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don’t let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn’t want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they’ll tend,
Only, stay with me till the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don’t grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We’ve been so close — we two — these years,
Don’t let your heart hold any tears.”
Oh, how I can relate, Tori! Reading your story brought tears to my eyes, even though it’s been seven years since we lost our Siamese cat, Sabrina. She was the first cat I’d had, having grown up with dogs and horses, and was not a cat person–until this kitten. She was so special, despite being rather finicky in terms of those she’d grace with her presence. She was really our family’s cat, close to the three of us and usually ornery or aloof with others. When her kidneys began to fail when she was almost 19, we did all we could to keep her going. You can never prepare for the moment you have to let a pet go, however.
Like you, I didn’t know how we could consider having another cat for quite a while. Yet we missed her so much. By February my husband had found two Tonkinese kittens, siblings, and Yofi and Shayna joined out family in April 2008. They are as friendly and dog-like in how they relate to people as Sabrina was aloof, bringing us and our friends endless joy. I know that adorable pup Milo will do the same for you. Who could resist that face! i”M glad you have him, and for Marley’s sake, too.
Thank you for sharing your story.
I’m so sorry, Tori. Not only for the loss of your sweet Momo, but for not seeing the update of his passing on Facebook. My heart goes out to you and your family. The grief that comes with saying goodbye to a pet (a member of the family!) is so real and raw. I wish you healing and peace, as well as joy in your new relationship with Milo.
Beautifully written. I know the feeling, all too well. But they are never gone from us completely. And one never takes the place that one left, they make their own place. Momo was beautiful, Milo has such potential! And Muffin will adjust. Cats do.
Made me cry!
I’m so sorry for your loss.
Very sorry, Tori. I’m glad you were able to enrich each other’s lives.
I am missing my granddog, Momo. You know he and I had a special relationship. Even though I didn’t see him often, he never forgot me, or my lap! He is irreplaceable, but I look forward to meeting Milo sometime soon! Love you!
He loved you so much Mom! <3
Sorry for your loss put the pawprint in plaster is a wonderful way to remember Momo. I have had several friends loose cherished pets in the last month or so.. I wish you and yours the best with Milo.
~ <3 ~ Lybʻ pwn ʼwndzʻr hyym ẕw dyyan (Love from our home to yours)
Tori, in my 60 years of being a dog owner, I have held three of my darling Yorkies and a Maltese as they went to their final rest. I sobbed each time because I already missed them and their love. And almost immediately, I went and found a new member for my mishpacha. Every dog should have a home with a dog lover, and every dog lover should have a home with a dog (at least one!). I now have Tchatchke, Bissel and Nosh. I call theme “paw firm.” Enjoy all your wonderful animals — welcome to the new baby. Happy Hanukkah!
Wonderful story. Many Blessing to you All! <3 😀
whether you believe in this or not, this new little one was sent to you by your beloved momo. he kew that you needed a little one to love and this is it. also, remember, that you will always love momo and he his there with you.
I am so sorry for your loss and I can totally relate. ..i lost my little girl in july and it was gut wrenching for me. She was my shadow and buddy. I have a new dog now that my sister gave me and she isn’t the same but she is sweet and just as dear and snuggly. I think God is inside every dog’s eyes.
So understood by all of us who have loved and lost a dog. They are always in your hearts, but for the love of dogs, owning another is the best tribute. So sorry for your loss. May little Milo bring new life and warmth to your household.
Please excuse the typo. His name was Momo.
I lost my best friend, a cat also named Muffin, a few years ago. Your story about little Mono was so close to how I felt at that time. Thank you for so eloquently relating how it feels to lose a beloved pet.
My husband gave me two rescued cats last Christmas. I felt disloyal and uneasy, but those furry little faces healed my heart. I know Milo will do the same for you.
That was so beautifully written- putting into words what many of us have felt. I personally believe animals have souls and can be soulmates with humans. I also think it was a great choice deciding to get another dog. if not for yourself and your husband, for your other dog. When they’re depressed enough for you to notice you have to do something. We a similar situation many years ago. We didn’t address our one dogs depression after another passed away and consequently the second one passed away a month later for no “clinical” reason. I’m sorry for your loss and happy for you and your new furbaby.
what a beautiful tribute to your beloved pet. I lost my 13 golden on memorial day weekend and i still miss his energy and presence. And as you say they continue to live in our hearts. I just adopted another rescue dog a couple of weeks ago in large part because my other dog wasn’t doing well on her own. She missed her buddy. It has been an adjustment and we still adjusting to the new addition but it feels more complete or stable some how. So i can very much understand those mixed feelings of still grieving and yet knowing something was missing. I wish you continued healing for your great loss and for a warm beginning with you new addition. May the peace and blessing of the season be with your all.