College of Veterinary Medicine Home Pet Loss Hotline

I picked Mino up at the Humane Society in October of 1993. She was barely eight weeks old, but they had already spayed her, and she had developed a serious skin infection around the incision. She was the last of a litter of Puppies that had been dumped at the shelter; the runt of the litter, alone in the pen, sick from the surgery and infection. What choice did I have? Just the best choice I've ever made. The infection faded, her energy surged, and she remained one of the happiest, healthiest dogs I've known until cancer downed her twelve years later. She didn't learn to swim until she was eight years old, but always loved being in the water; at first just running and wading, and then swimming for tennis balls and sticks

She was my constant companion for all the years of her life; she was with me through divorce and major surgery, I supported her through fights with other dogs and brushes with law (her dislike of cats). While in some ways her personality was "aloof," she didn't like to be held for long, and she preferred sleeping on the floor near me, but not on the bed. However, she was uncannily sensitive to my emotional states; if I was sad, she would pick up on it and comfort me, if I was arguing with my wife, Mino would physically come in between us and try to placate and distract me. There is no way I can relate all that Mino meant to me; I truly feel as if I've lost a part of myself. There is a place in me that she filled that I don't think can ever be healed, with her passing I am truly diminished.
   Posted Sept. 29, 2005  |     Printer Friendly Version