This story was submitted by Susan, one of our wonderful volunteers – she coordinates the Pet Guardian Sponsorship program for Bobbi and the Strays.
When we went to the shelter in February 2007, there were lots of dogs who needed to live in a foster home instead of a cage until they were adopted, but poor Milo was the saddest of the bunch. He was crying out, totally miserable, so we swept him up and brought him home.
His was a true hard luck story. He was a little senior dog who was found shivering in the cold, just before a major ice storm hit our area. How heartless to turn him out like that.
He had been totally neglected. Milo’s coat was matted, his claws had grown under his feet, and there was a tremendous amount of debris wedged between his toes. He could hardly walk. His front teeth were falling out and had to be pulled by the vet.
From the moment he arrived he was different, but we didn’t know why he behaved the way he did. He would ignore us when we called him. We thought he just didn’t like his new name, and to tell you the truth, we didn’t either at first, but several weeks later when he ignored the sound of a bag of chips being opened, we thought we’d run a few tests of our own. He totally ignored all of the sounds that we deliberately made. Milo was deaf. From that moment we were more conscious of how to try to connect with Milo, being careful not to come up behind him so that we wouldn’t startle him, and giving him more visual than verbal cues. Even though we knew he couldn’t hear us, we never stopped talking to him. He always made you feel like he understood by looking at you with those serious eyes.
Sweet little Milo
His deafness explained why he’d ignored us, and the condition he was in when he arrived at our house told us why he wasn’t comfortable being held and loved. He just hadn’t received many cuddles before.
From the start Milo had lots of accidents. At first we thought it was a matter of adjustment, but then figured out that it was a matter of his physiology. He just couldn’t help himself. The last of the carpets in our home were ripped out, and Nature’s Miracle started arriving six gallons at a time.
Milo was supposed to be an easy adoption because he was so cute, and there were people who were interested, but when they heard about his special needs and incontinence their interest evaporated. Milo needed someone around most of the time to clean up after him, or to let him out. Several months later we decided that this would be Milo’s permanent home since he had learned to trust us and to even accept being cuddled for a few minutes at a time.
We would love it when he would come up to you and bump you with his little nose to let you know he was there, requesting a pat on the head. His wanting to connect with us almost felt like a gift.
Milo with his Mom
Milo with his Daddy
At first he walked well, but then a few months after his arrival he got very ill. The vet never said what it might have been, but after that Milo was never the same. He had a heart murmur and would have to stop several times when walking to the corner and back. His back legs became unsteady and most of the time his steps were slow. Fortunately we have a fenced in backyard, so that wasn’t a problem, we would just carry him up and down the steps, but it was a shame to see how fragile he had become so quickly.
Milo spent a lot of his time sleeping, usually because his frequent diarrhea attacks were so draining, but in the mornings, he would follow you like a little puppy, all eager, tail in the air, just waiting for you to warm up his breakfast. It’s the only time his youth would return to him as he did his little happy dance. If he was that cute as a senior, he must have been incredibly adorable as a younger dog.
Milo didn’t have any sense of smell and relied totally on his vision to find his food bowl. You could set it down next to him, but if he didn’t see you do it, it might as well not have been there. When you did focus Milo’s attention on it, he would be filled with joy. Milo lived to eat and would usually get fed whenever he woke up from a nap because it was difficult for him to maintain his weight.
Milo would make us smile because he was such a sweet, innocent little guy who would get mixed up at times, walking into a corner and then standing there trying to figure out how to get out of it, and prance along proudly at other times. He got along with everybody and everything. Baby kittens? No problem. New dog in the house? Okay, welcome to the family. But the absolute cutest thing he did was join the rest of the dogs in barking when we came home. Most of the time he would be asleep, but when he was awake, he would join the happy insanity of greeting, yodeling his special little hello, wagging his tail, and be blissfully facing in the wrong direction. You’d walk in, get surrounded by nine barking, smiling faces, and there would be Milo in the middle of the bunch, just as enthusiastic as the rest of them, but just as sure that someone would be coming in through the back door instead of the front. You couldn’t help but laugh at his excitement and uniqueness.
He was our special, frail little baby, and the frailness increased as the months went by. He was hospitalized in July, and needed another IV a week before his death. He started on a new treatment plan of five different medications, and they seemed to really be working. The Prednisone even restored the spring in his step. That’s why his last day came as such a shock to us.
His day started out well, a happy dance for breakfast, but then he started to fade so quickly. By the afternoon he couldn’t stand. We rushed him to the vet. Milo was put on an IV, and we were given an update on his condition. We were told that we should begin considering euthanasia just in case nothing could be done. When I brought Milo to the vet I feared it would be the last time I’d see him alive, and so it was.
Like many of you we have had to make the ultimate decision for the four-legged members of our family when they were suffering, but Milo’s last gift to us was to spare us from having to make that choice for him. He slipped away during the night.
His little bed is no longer in front of the grandfather clock. It was too painful to come down the stairs and see it empty.
Milo in his bed by the grandfather clock
Milo, you’re in a much better place now, free from pain. In your own special way you made us better people. You touched the hearts of many people. We miss you so much.
Milo really did know what joy was. He took delight in the little things. When he’d fall, he’d pick himself back up, raise his head and walk off, his ears bouncing with each step. In spite of the many physical difficulties Milo experienced, he would always find something to be happy about–a few minutes of being cuddled, or a surprisingly long nap in someone’s arms, the anticipation of the food being prepared for his meal, or the joy of being a part of the pack waiting for his family to walk through the door. He was the tiniest little dog in that bunch and they could easily have pushed him out of the way, but once he spotted us he’d find a way to worm his way through the crowd, tail wagging with joy until he reached us.
Little Milo is on Susan's lap.
To me he was Milo, to his Dad he was Milosh, to one of his long-distance friends he was Mighty Milo. Milo’s eyes never failed to touch people. They really were the windows to his soul.
Milo, thank you for teaching us that it’s the little things that make you happy and to keep on going when things get difficult. We’re so glad you were a part of our lives.
Rest in peace little one.
I would also like people to know that Milo’s last years were made possible because of the kindness of his SPONSORS taking care of his medical bills and other special diet bills. Our sponsors have huge hearts and may not even truly realize how much of a difference they make! Thank YOU!
