Getting a dog wasn’t a precondition to getting married, it was just a fact. Ana wanted a dog – a corgi – and, by God, she was going to get one!
We got married in October, 2012. But no dog. Not yet. We had a delayed honeymoon to go on first, in December. But we talked with folks. Put out feelers. Prepared a deposit.
January 28, 2013, a litter is born. A puppy is chosen, a more red than tri with a white spot on the back of his neck. A care package is sent including a towel with our scent. A name – Bongo? Milo? Milo! Miles Benedict Kenney the first of his name.
March brought an 8 hour drive up to mid-state New York and finally meeting Milo in person. And he was tiny and adorable and quiet and a little bit shy. But his mama had never met a stranger, was up in my lap wanting attention. Was the family dog, the shadow always near by, friendly with everyone, always with the kids, helping raise them.
Milo took after his mama.
8 hours home and he rode in Ana’s lap the whole way – minus the stop at every rest area between there and here to try and get him to pee. Which he probably did every time but even the freshly mowed grass was taller than he was so we couldn’t tell. So we’d stop again. And again.
Home. Playtime. Night time. A bookshelf and other stuff had been moved out of the office and into our bedroom to make room for his crate and pen and he hated it. Whined and cried the first night. So the bookshelf and other stuff was moved out of our bedroom and into the office and Milo and his stuff was moved into our bedroom and he went right to sleep because his people were near by. Day one.
And that was Milo’s thing, his people.
Wherever we were, there was Milo. Jumping onto the couch and into our laps. Maybe with a flip-flop in his mouth. Or a toy he was allowed to have. Or he was on the floor asleep, on his side, or on his back, arms and legs splayed without a care in the world.
Fixed, cone of shame, crying and fussing all night because the cone of shame sucks, but I laid on the floor next to his pen and he calmed right down and went to sleep. His people were near by.
He and Pantera “got along” in that he didn’t really bother her and she didn’t bother him and they both were OK with that. They both shared a love for food and kinda bonded over that, begging for dinner together, Milo confused when Pantera would rub on him, but food was coming so he stayed put.
We got a house in time for Milo’s first birthday, but we also found out a baby was on the way. Milo whined after the baby shower, asking for a soft toy that he saw because he thought it was for him. No, buddy, that’s for the kiddo. He didn’t ask again.
They say your fur baby becomes the dog when your real baby is born. But for Milo, no, he just got to add one more to his people. From the moment we brought our first born home, Milo was there. Just about every picture from those early days have Milo somewhere in the shot, maybe just his nose, maybe in the background, but right there, curious, protective, his people nearby.
He was a constant presence. Late night snacks, bottles, playing, reading, dancing, singing, banging pots together at 2 in the morning, Milo was there. Belly rubs and kisses and being near his people.
Oh, and then the best thing in the world happened! The tiny human got bigger and started eating solids! And dropping them ALL OF THE TIME! And Milo was better than any Roomba and he grew two sizes because his fuzzy face was next to the definition of “food motivation” in the dictionary. If it was in the dictionary.
And another kiddo. And another set of photos with Milo nearby, thinking, sheesh, another one to look after?!?!?!! And he took right to it.
Pantera passed. Milo looked for her. We got another cat 4 months later, and Milo wondered why the previously white cat had turned orange. Then there was Bowie, the golden retriever that was more a horse than a dog, and two more kittens, but Milo took it in stride. Because he was Milo. Because he was happy when his people were nearby and everything else was just gravy. And he loved gravy.
Milo started day one as the Bestest Of Boys TM. He spoiled us. He only wanted his people nearby, snacks, chest rubs, and to know he was a good boy. And he was.
Even when he got sick after 12 largely uneventful years medically speaking, he just wanted his people nearby. Two nights in the ER and the start of chemo, but the moment his people were nearby he calmed down and slept for the first time in days.
He fought because he wanted to be there for his people. Because he wasn’t done yet. He gave it a good six months, but even the best of boys can only do so much against cancer. Fuck cancer.
Milo passed as he lived, the best boy getting the best treats and the best pets, all with his people nearby.
We don’t deserve dogs. Their unquestionable loyalty and love. Their pure joy when you come through that door like you’d been gone forever, even if it’s just because you forgot your keys and you were just there a second ago.
You may think your dog is the best boy in the world, but you’d be wrong, because Milo is the best boy in the world. Maybe yours is a distant second, but clearly not the best.
All Milo ever wanted was his people nearby and he gave as good as he got. Good day. Bad day. Rough day. Any day. This loaf of fur and love was there, wanting to play, or just lay, no questions, no judgments, just don’t be stingy with the belly rubs and share some of those Doritos.
He helped raise our boys. He helped corral a house full of animals. He felt protective of the family when I was away and deferred to me the moment I was home.
He’d give a little “gruff” if he heard a noise and I’d sometimes tell him to cut it out but then a kid would cry or suddenly appear in the doorway talking about a bad dream or an accident.
He either hated doorbells or got excited because he knew it meant a new person to love on him. Even if it was on TV.
He loved going to the bus stop and rolling onto his back for all of the belly rubs a pile of school kids could give him.
He liked steak, turkey pepperoni, vanilla ice cream, bread, peanut butter, goldfish, french fries, nuggets, rice, peas, crumbs, and sometimes food meant for a dog to eat.
He loved his people.
He spoiled us.
He loved us.
And I hope he knows how much we loved him.
Love you, Milo. We’ll see you again, buddy.