The Story of Milo

Booger Toogs.

Booger McToogs.

Booger Face.

Fucking Dog (only when he was bad!)


Milo Pilo.


Old Man.

Gray Face.


Twelve long years I had my Old Man.  I loved him for real.  Some may just say "it's just a dog."  Those people are dumb.

I knew he was mine when I picked up his 9 week old self and he grumbled at me.  He picked me.

That first night he fell out of the cart at Pet Smart and G got him drunk on beer (accidentally!).  From then on, him and G were old drinkin' buddies.

That dog taught me a lot.  I nursed him through Parvo, two eye surgeries, and fox-tail removal surgery on his paw.  We had growing pains too:  countless digging in the yard, too many knocked over garbage cans to count, shoes he thought were chew toys, underwear in the yard, and prison breaks out of the yard that left me in a panic.  Pretty sure God thought G & I might need a trial run before kids.  Milo & Otis did the trick.

In the end though...at the sunset of his life he was perfect.  He knew his place and simply existed with us in perfect harmony.  Every day after work he was waiting at the fence with the same puppyish charm that he never lost no matter how gray/white his face became.  He was a symbol of lives combined and committed.

I knew my time was growing short with my Old Man.  G always said Milo's body would give out before his spirit.  G was right.  I wrestled with decision for a couple of days.  Everyone said I would just know when the time was right to send him Home.  I didn't believe anyone.  Milo would seem bad and then bounce back.  Giving me hope time and time again.  One day I came home from work and G and I both knew.  So, we loved on him and loved on him some more.  I felt bad for myself, but I felt even worse for Penelope.  My precious 8 year old had only known life with Milo.  She loved him; he loved her even more.  From the time we first brought her home until the very last days of his life, I would often find Milo curled up bedside to Penelope.  We took him outside and let him rest in his favorite yard, and as always, G cracked them a beer to share.  Milo mustered a lick or two and went inside.  We knew.

We took him to the vet and they did what they do and G and I said goodbye to a part of us that existed from almost the beginning of Us.  Before marriage, before kids, before bills, before 9-5 life, before all of that, there was Milo.  Twelve long years of the beginning of our history.  As my boy went to sleep in my harms, in between the tears, I did feel joy.  Milo was ours, trusted to us to love and learn from.   And in his final days, I was able to ease his suffering even though it meant I had to endure my own.
I still find myself waiting to see his big face at the gate to greet me.  That part pulls at my heart strings.  However, today Geoffrey was waiting there, and instead of feeling sadness, I felt happy.  Milo was mine and for that, there is no sorrow.

Until we meet again Sweet Boy...

Booger Toogs.

He loved apples.  I loved to kiss that squishy face.

My Old Man.