On Loss…
My friend, Milo ….
By Cara Chang Mutert
Losing a dog is like losing your best friend. I lost one of mine a few months ago. It’s been a real tough one on the old heart.
I’ve written about my pups before. They have been my saviors more than once. Milo was always so eager to please. We nicknamed him “Smilo” because he would curl up his lips, wrinkle his nose, and show his front teeth and literally smile to all of us when we came home. You couldn’t help but smile back, usually ending up laughing out loud, regardless of how the day was. It was his most endearing trait, among so, so many.
He was not the first dear friend I’ve lost, human or otherwise. But this one cut like it was one of the first. It was fast and sudden. Totally unexpected. He was just 4 1/2 years old.
The shock of it still has me weeping when I wake most mornings, but the tears are finally slowing to a few trickles now. Not sure why this has been such a painful one, except that his love was completely unconditional, and we shared a love for laying around together, and he comforted me through some of my great human losses, including the loss of my father.
He breathed love into me when I had nothing left. He licked my tears when they wouldn’t stop. He was my pillow when my head needed to rest. He was my soft landing when the world felt hard and my life felt like it was in shards. The imprint he left will never leave me.
He was sensitive, excitable, a patient brother, a focused hunter, and super smart. In dog training, he was the star. On his first day, the trainer singled him out to the class as an example of how trainable dogs could be. I was such a proud puppy momma that day. He was our protector. Part husky-hound-mutt, he would diligently patrol the edge of property every morning and night to ensure his domain and secure ours.
A few days after Milo died, my son Clay came home to clear out some of his old stuff. He happened upon a tattered old leather wallet, so soft it was falling apart at its seams. It was my father’s. He opened it, and deep down in the bottom of one of its narrow compartments, he found a little piece of paper. It was a fortune from a fortune cookie that my father had saved years ago.
It said, “A light heart carries you through all the hard times.”
The wallet and fortune were on the counter when I got home that day. My husband Rob explained that Clay had found it and felt I should have it now. Tears welled up again.
The fortune felt heaven sent. Like a message from above to help us through our earthly struggles. To my son, from my son, from my father, and from Milo … to me.
It was a gentle reminder on how to go on, when life goes on.
Hearts will never forget, but with a little help, may yours too feel a little lighter today.
