How do you say goodbye to a friend? My Dad always told me that pets are wonderful. They give us unconditional love and support their entire lives. They are our friends, man's best friend. When the time comes, be a good friend to them, do not let them suffer. They deserve that and more.
Today, we got home from the girls' softball games and Mocha was not herself. She was wobbling all over, struggling to stand, staggering. She tried to follow me around when she could and I would just catch her nearly falling over. She was wide eyed and drooling. I just sat with her and stroked her. I knew in my heart, it was that time, but to actually have to make that decision was gut wrenching.
She licked me as if to say, it's okay. I knew her mind was still there, wanting to love us, but her body wasn't cooperating. Years of arthritis had taken their toll on her poor rear hips. I double dosed her with buffrin to make her more comfortable and it seemed to relieve some of her shakes.
Telling my kids that she was going to the hospital to see the doctor and would probably not come home was awful. William burst into tears. He didn't want her to go, he hugged her and said, he'd miss her. Quinn fell apart. Hayden and Lydia didn't really get what was going on.
We got a sitter and took her to the humane society.
They were wonderful. I just held her soft head in my hands and stroked her face and ears like she loved. She dozed off and into a peaceful passing.
I got Mocha a week or two after I graduated college. My Mom and little brother actually went to the APA to pick her up for me while I interviewed at Washington University for a position I didn't get. After that, she and I were constant companions. She let me hold her while I cried through boyfriends and breakups, let downs and disappointments. She slept in my bed with me until my husband took her spot. She let him into her heart as her master and then accepted four kids into her world without hesitation. She comforted me while my Dad was sick and let me cry into her fur night after night. She nudged me when I was sad to let me seek comfort in petting that soft head. She let me lay with her when my Dad passed, just sobbing.
Mocha has been the only constant for my entire adult life. From the beginnings to the ends. She was my best friend. I hope I was hers.
From the get go, she was special. I chose her when she instantly flopped on her back and started knawing on my overall snap. She would fall asleep as a pup in my lap, flat out on her back, spread eagle, completely relaxed. As she grew, she would greet me with such enthusiasm her rear end couldn't handle it and she would wag, wag, that tail until she practically fell over. We used to say she had perpetual puppy syndrome because she always acted like a pup.
The past four or five years, she really slowed down, but she was ever determined to clean up the scraps at dinner off the floor, beg mercilessly at the table (which I admit to letting her), and lay in the foyer to our home, guarding the castle.
I'll never have another dog like she was. There is simply no replacing the best dog in the world. God speed Mo, god bless, and find my Dad, he probably has popcorn (your favorite, and his), he'll take care of you ol' girl.
