Mia, Shirley & Goodbye: Losing A Pet

She pawed at the back gate every day but this time was different. After several minutes of fence rattling, Shirley came out and gave Mia what she wanted, opening the gate dividing our back porch from hers, and letting Mia cross over into her yard.  It was her favorite place.  Shirley was our neighbor, but to Mia, she was “Grandmama”.

Shirley loved Mia as much as we did, and we always joked that Mia loved Grandmama Shirley more than us- but it wasn’t really a joke. Mia was a special, loving pup with legitimate, healing energy. She loved us endlessly, but we all knew we played second fiddle to Shirley. Shirley was a “dog whisperer” to Mia. 

They understood each other. They had sleepovers when our family went away. When we returned home, excited to see our pup, she would sometimes be reluctant to come back across the porch to us. It wasn’t that she didn’t love us, she just really, really loved Shirley.

Mia often begged at the gate for Shirley to invite her over. Sometimes, the invitation was replaced by a handful of treats flying out Shirley’s back door, over the low wooden porch gate, and into our yard where Mia could suck them all down almost as fast as they appeared.

She was a 13 year-old Shitzu-Schnauzer mix with soft, wispy, black fur, a beautiful loving soul, and incredible tongue endurance. I once let her lick my face for 55 minutes straight, just to see how long she would go.

Mia hadn’t been acting quite right for several months. She was old, and we were trying various meds to help her regain some of her youthful energy and ease. 

Mia went into Shirley’s house as usual that day, but she didn’t stay long. I was still out back doing yard work and was surprised to hear Shirley and Mia come outside so soon. It had only been about 20 minutes.

That’s when I really began to see where we were.

“She’s not right.” Shirley said. “Somethings wrong with her- she needs to see a vet.”

I told Shirley we had just been to the vet and that we were tweaking her liver meds, but I agreed that Mia seemed more sluggish than before. 

“I’m worried about her.” Shirley went on. “She isn’t acting right.”

We knew.  But Shirley’s assessment was still worrying.

Shirley and Mia hugged, Mia gave her an unusually short series of licks, the gate opened, and Mia came back to our yard. That’s when both our hearts broke. 

Mia’s because she knew she had seen her beloved Grandmama for the last time. Mine, because it became clear what was happening. She had gone over to say goodbye to her dear friend.  And I was about to lose mine.

Looking into her eyes as I hugged her, I saw a deep sadness that shook me. I put her down, and as she walked around the holly tree toward the front door, her body sagged and deflated. She moved so slowly.   

Mia stopped and looked back over her shoulder at Shirley. Twice. 

I wondered through my suddenly rushing emotions, what it must feel like to say goodbye to someone you truly love, knowing you’re soon to die. Chances are I’ll find out at some point. How do you say goodbye to someone you’ve loved your whole life? Maybe Mia showed us that day.

She went into the house and lay down in her bed like usual. She had stoically held herself together the past several days and now we knew why. She wanted to say a proper goodbye to Shirley. Now that she had, she could let go. And she did.

My family and I realized that all the warmth and affection Mia had been showing us the past few months, had been leading up to this. It was a long, loving goodbye. What we thought was a shoulder problem was really an undetected pancreas problem that she had been working hard to conceal for months, even from the vet.

We spent the next 2 days going over every possible course of action to restore Mia’s health, but no legitimate options existed. After the Shirley visit, Mia allowed herself to give in. She didn’t move much, her eyes grew big and worried. We stayed by her every minute trying to keep her as comfortable as possible, although the drugs made her seem only partly there.

We cried a lot. We suspected we were on this path but even when you know for sure, it still seems to come as a surprise.

Two days later the inescapable moment came; time for the final goodbye. Mia was ready. We knew we had to.

I’ll never forget Mia’s insistence to see Shirley, or her reaction as she came home and walked away. As I age, I wonder more and more how and when the next goodbye will come, and how we, as humans, adjust to the loss of those that are important in our lives.  I’m reminded of the cliches we hear so often about appreciating our lives and our relationships, about not taking anything or anyone for granted, and that nothing is guaranteed beyond the present moment.  It’s all good advice, but none of it will make the inevitable goodbyes any easier.

For more stories, including how I first met Mia, and a dog sitting blunder, visit my personal blog at www.fiveoclockshadow.life.

21 thoughts on “Mia, Shirley & Goodbye: Losing A Pet

  1. We lost our beagle, Dude, this February to lung cancer. We had him put to sleep at home in comfortable surroundings with everyone he had known there. He , too, made the rounds to say goodbye to everyone. I’ve known people I haven’t cried as much over. That dog knew, and he wanted to let us all know that he was okay with it. We weren’t, and you captured the eerie way that dogs interact with us beautifully. Excuse me… Have to find the tissures.

  2. What a beautiful post, Todd. Amazing job writing about the special friendships with our beloved pets and finding that hard, right moment to let them go. So touching! Sending thoughts of comfort to you all!!

  3. I had tears in my eyes as I read your post and could picture the last moments of Mia’s life.
    Heartfelt writing.
    So sorry for your loss.
    Sending thoughts and prayers your way.

  4. I am so sorry for your loss Todd! Mia’s story made me cry, pets are amazing and when they pass away they leave big empty spaces. I have a lovely cat who is 13 and his sister passed away 2 years ago. I still think when took her to the vet because we saw her suffering so much. I still see her on the vet’s table scared but reassured at the same time because we were next to her. Then we decided to let her die, she got the FIP, a virus that you cannot heal. We were with her until the very last moment. It was so sad. I can’t think about it without crying, the love pets give us is extraordinary! Thank you for posting such a beautiful story!

  5. My deepest condolences. I feel your pain and the bittersweetness of your memories. I lost my horse, Dolce, nine months ago. Like Mia, he had a capacity for love beyond me, his rescuer, partner and rider of 15 years. One wrangler would scratch his back and nuzzle his velvet nose like an expert equine masseuse. But actually, it was just her vibe that his “horse sense” gravitated towards. She is a gentle soul, as was he. As was Mia. Thank you for sharing.

    1. Thanks Lisa- so sorry to hear about Dolce, sounds like he was very special. 15 years can build such strong bonds, as you know.

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