When we were born, we were little blind furry balls, squealing for mother’s milk. We tumbled around not knowing which way was up and which was down. And when we opened our eyes, we saw a lot of strange objects and when our little legs managed to carry our body weight, we started wandering around, checking out the world.
We slept a lot and then sought out our mother for milk, and then some more milk. We pee’d and we poo’d. Our birth mother was a cocker spaniel called Beth. She looked after me and my brothers – Milo and Billy.
When we were about eight weeks old, we had our photos taken. Hoomans out there were looking for a pet. We were being presented to our potential new families – hooman ones.
That’s me – otherwise known as Lulu then.That’s my brother, Milo – he was also called Socks – because of his white paws.And our brother, Billy.Then the day came when I was taken away from my birth mother and my brothers. I didn’t know what was happening and I didn’t know I would never see my pooch family again. I was brave and went on a very long car journey to a big city – London. I was facing the strange world all alone. That day, on 16th May, I met my new Mummy and that was it – my new life had begun. Time passed and my allegiance grew – and I knew who I belonged to. But my Mummy was rather hoping to find my brothers.
Then one day in late January 2014, thanks to social media, Mummy got a message from Paula. She had read about me in our blog and asked Mummy if I was born on the 26th February, 2011. Mummy was beside herself with excitement. She had been wanting to find my brothers and it happened. Even if it was just one of them. I never dreamt I would see my pooch family ever again.
In March 2014, Milo and I met up at Stratford-upon-Avon. To be honest, we really didn’t remember that we entered the world together from our mother’s womb. It was too short a time in our lives to have made strong connections before we went our separate ways. From the moment we left our own litter, we started to connect to our own hooman family.
Over the next few years, our hoomans tried to meet up again but like most hoomans they were really busy with things and stuff that we don’t know about. They kept in touch. Time passed.
And then one day, a couple of months ago, we got another message from Paula – Milo had become very ill … They took him to the vet. They thought it was this and that but couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. When they finally did, Milo’s condition suddenly worsened. He became weaker and weaker and he had to be admitted to the hospital over that weekend. His hoomans gave him every possible chance – till finally he could fight no more. And he crossed the Rainbow Bridge last Wednesday.
Good night, my brother. Though we will never run again together while I am still on this earth, I know will see you again some day. Milo, a much-loved cockapoo who gave his hoomans much joy and love, and my brother (26th February 2011 – 27th September 2017)
May’s comment: A friendship was formed because of our pooches. When we met up in March 2014, Milo and Darcy were three by then. As excited as we were about them meeting up, they really didn’t remember the other except they were both cockapoos – and breed recognition has always been strong. In fact, they were both more attuned to us humans than each other. But we were amazed how similar they looked. Milo, being a boy was larger than Darcy – but both, in our eyes, absolutely gorgeous! We exchanged information about them and they were indeed quite similar in their personalities.
And then the dreaded news.
Milo had a tumour on his parathyroid glands. Very difficult to diagnose, I was told by the vet, unless you’re looking for it. It seemed hopeless a week before he passed but his family gave him one last chance – a strong med to manage the toxins and the calcium levels in his bloods so he could be strong enough to be operated on. Milo fought. There was hope, he seemed better. He ate some food and he even went for a little walk. And we all prayed, and we prayed. But his body had taken a toll and he could fight no more. Last Wednesday, we received the news.
NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! It cannot be. 🙁
I had so many words to say to Paula and her family but nothing seemed to convey the deep, deep sadness in my heart – and I could not think of any words that could say enough to comfort the emptiness in their lives.
I whispered into Darcy’s ear that night – and told her about Milo. She may not have understood the words, but she curled up tightly right up against my chest as we both connected bodily. I laid my arm carefully on her body and let the tears roll and soak into the pillow.
I have since taken Darcy to the vet to have a blood test.
Goodnight, Milo. I am glad you and Darcy met up. I wish with all my heart that we had made time, as we promised each birthday that we would. Sadly, the next time you and Darcy meet again it will be over the Rainbow Bridge. It will be a heartbreak … but at the same time we will be thankful for all the love you both gave to all of us.
It’s a strange thing – this dog’s life. They live, they love, they give so much without saying a whole lot. And then they leave the biggest hole in our hearts and unimaginable pain. But so worth it.