JimCavalier.com

That was today.

This morning, Mom came to get me while I was working. “Something is wrong with Milo.”
He had been sick during the night and had an accident in the house, unlike him. But he was refusing to drink water and was lying in the dining room near the door. His breathing seemed labored, and he was barely acknowledging us. Then, finally, when I pet him, he got up and meandered out the door, head slung low and walking a little bow-legged. Not like himself at all. Something was very, very wrong.
He laid down in the grass and again seemed distant. I stroked his neck and down his back and looked for him to acknowledge, react in pain, or respond to help indicate a problem. I went into the house, and when I came back out, he had made his way down the hill and was lying down facing a large tree. I could see that he had been sick again. I told Mom to call the vet. We got their voicemail as they had not opened yet. I said we were taking him to the emergency veterinary hospital. I got his harness that he always recognized meant a ride in the car. Rather than getting excited at its sight, he didn’t react as I put it on.
He wouldn’t get up when I coaxed him to go to the car, a giant red flag. He loves the car. I carried him to the car but couldn’t get him in the back seat of my ridiculously tiny vehicle. He laid down in the grass next to the car and was almost entirely unresponsive. I thought we had lost him at that point.
He became a little more alert after being sick to his stomach again. At that point, with much effort, I could lift him into the car’s hatch, where I had a blanket awaiting him. As we drove to the hospital, he managed to sit up and put his head out of the window. Although he wasn’t wearing his usual “smile” with his tongue flapping in the wind, I found it mildly encouraging.
They took him on a gurney at the hospital and led us to an examination room. Eventually, the doctor informed us that there was a build-up of fluid in the sac around his heart. She explained that a tumor usually caused this. There were a couple of possibilities. First, the tumor could be severe cancer known to spread and was generally terminal. Or the second type of tumor that would cause the sac to fill, but surgery to remove the sac could delay the inevitable for a few years. The immediate course of action we decided to drain the fluid and see if the sac filled again. If it did so rapidly, and mostly with blood, we would need to say our goodbyes as that meant the lethal of the two tumors.
They drained the fluid, and he came through it well. He was being kept under observation, and we were allowed to see him. He was lethargic, still a little groggy from the anesthesia. He reacted to us as we petted him and spoke to him. The next step was for them to observe him for a couple of hours to see if the fluid came back. If not, we would be referred to a cardiologist. They told us to head home and that they would call us with any news.
We lived roughly 5 minutes from the hospital and received a call about 20 minutes after getting to the house. The fluid was back, primarily blood, and we should come to the hospital quickly.
Arriving at the hospital, we were quickly ushered into a consultation room where we discussed the terrible choice that we were to make and planned for “aftercare.”
Milo came in on a gurney. He was still a little out of it and having trouble breathing. I think he had known the score from early in the morning. We made our peace, praising, petting, hugging, kissing, and “booping” his nose.
He had begun whimpering before the doctor returned, and I was worried that he was suffering. I cradled his head and held him. Within moments the doctor came back and, with some kind words, guided us through the procedure as Milo slipped away in my arms.
Since returning home, the house feels completely empty and eerily quiet. His toys are still scattered throughout the place where he left them. I can’t bring myself to move them.

Milo had been with us for 11 years. So much more than a pet. We brought him home when our yellow Lab Sammie was reeling from the loss of her big brother, Mac (our black Lab). We thought we were going to lose her to grief. Instead, we found Milo, and she fell in love with him as much as we did.

In 2012, I moved back to Pittsburgh to help care for my father when his cancer became more than Mom could handle on her own. Two weeks after my arrival, Sammie died in my arms from what I assume was a similar ailment. Fortunately, Milo was fine on his own as we couldn’t have been able to get a puppy with my father’s condition at the time.
Milo saw us through losing Dad. The pandemic. Thousands of highs and lows. He was the only dog that I ever knew to appreciate music. Django Reinhardt was a favorite of his. He was my pal, co-pilot, navigator, confidant, straight-man, bed-messer-upper, official food tester, life coach, and best friend. Milo loved unconditionally, without reserve, and made the world better everywhere he went. He was the kind of person I still hope to be someday.

Goodbye, Pal. I love you. Thank you for everything.