Bella: A Charismatic Dog

I inherited her one summer after dog-sitting for my daughter. She was tiny and pure black with long eyelashes. She consoled me, greeting me at the door every day after my mother and husband died and when I had empty nest syndrome.

I began to take her everywhere: shopping, to movies, restaurants and even to church, often with her perched on my shoulder like a parrot. People fell in love with her as I had. I could not walk through a mall or store without someone asking to take her picture, hold her or pet her. She was my connection to other dog lovers during a very lonely time in my life.

But when I had to leave her if I had to go to work or somewhere not so doggy-friendly, she would experience separation anxiety, sulking till I came home.

I had a bone spur in my foot that had to be removed around that time and I couldn’t put any pressure on it after the surgery. I had to stay home and Bella joyfully kept me company when I slid into the kitchen on my butt, romping next to me when I tried to use crutches. She sat by me during Obama's inauguration as I cheered and clapped in spite of the pain and itching I was experiencing from the pain meds.

She was showing me that we didn’t always have to go out to connect with people not to feel lonely. We had each other right at home!

But one night, more recently, she started to drool a strange white foam. I googled it but it didn’t sound too serious. I still called the vet the very next day and took her in. I took her picture on the examining table, looking sad and imploring with her big brown eyes. The prognosis seemed hopeful. I left with pills and special food, thinking she would bounce right back, like she had before - after a surgery.

That night I slept fitfully closeby, knowing that her breathing was too rapid to be a good sign. She made a shrill sound, waking me up. I picked her up and suddenly her little body went limp. I carried her, in shock, into the room where my roommate slept who didn’t wake up, so I called my daughter, frantic to share this terrible news to somehow deflate the awful realization that she was gone. It was kidney failure and, after thirteen years, my little companion was gone. I was devastated, but my daughter accompanied me to the vet when I had to surrender her. I had never experienced grief like that; it was different than when my parents died. I learned about the “Rainbow Bridge” and trolled Amazon for books on losing a pet.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that she would still greet me coming home or that her warm, furry body would snuggle with me in bed. I even dreamed that she reappeared- then disappeared. I would sob uncontrollably in the shower and could hardly stand to see her little jackets in my closet.

I started to look for another dog to adopt. I wanted a small dog, possibly another chihuahua.

One day I visited a shelter and saw a sad little dog caged away who growled at me when I tried to talk to him through the bars.

I asked to hold him; the shelter assistant hesitated, afraid he might bite. But this little brown and silver dog immediately licked me on the nose! A friend who had come with me that day said, “I’ll get him for you.” The adoption fee was only $120, but I didn’t have it then, having had several car repairs as well as several other unfortunate set-backs. This dog, who I named “Mocha”, has become a true saving grace. He follows me around, kisses me relentlessly, loves to play with our big white cat and makes me laugh.

Confined now by the scary virus, I am contented to take him for long walks, logging the time on a special app that somehow converts our walking time to a benefit for the Humane Society.

Mocha has also taught me the joy of staying home. He pokes his head out of the covers when it’s time to wake up and we get ready for our walk.

He entertains me when I drudge along with housework, shaking his squeaky toy and racing in delirious circles. He growls at anyone who even tries to touch me. He reminds me when it’s time to start dinner. He’s been to church and a couple restaurants and stores (before we were advised to stay home), and I’ve noticed that he also seems to draw a certain amount of attention from people, giving me that connecting opening to visit or maybe console someone about their lost pet. There seems to be some unnamed membership of dog owners and dog lovers that provides an instant recognition, a kind of knowing between us. “Yes, I know what it’s like to lose your sweet companion after losing a spouse or parent or watching your grown children exodus to college.” I also know the courage it takes to let go and allow your pet to die before your very eyes. I know I will lose future loved ones as I grow older - siblings, friends, an ex-spouse, but I will have this little brown dog next to me. Chihuahuas tend to live longer than most species , so - if cared for well - he could follow me into old age. Dogs know the wisdom of contentment, of curling up and taking a nap anytime and yet the importance of connecting with others. When Bella saw another dog she would seductively flip her tail back & forth in a come-hither way and when Mocha spots a kindred critter, he bolts forward. We can learn from our furry friends, maybe to extend ourselves to others in such a way as though saying, “I am here for you, without judgement, especially at such a critical times as this, but not getting anywhere as close physically. The joy my dog experiences when I am home has permeated my soul; I am grateful for this lesson, and when we can once again openly connect, I hope I can show the unconditional love to others that he - and Bella- have given me.