One Last Breath

*Written over the course of several days as I remember her*

I wish I knew the right way to say goodbye to a beloved pet. Every human grieves every dog differently.

I've lost two dogs in the span of a year, my latest one passed this morning. I usually process deaths in different ways that channel into writing somehow. Funny enough, my first chapter book I ever written was a book about a dog that passed away.

Let me tell you about Cocoa:

My last chihuahua, Mousi, had passed away and I'm one of those people that I have to have a dog to help with my emotions. Almost like an emotional support animal. With having mental illness, it was imperative for me to have another one. I mourned Mousi for about six weeks until I started searching for a new chihuahua. I was about to find one not far away and for a reasonable price.

We, my mother and I, drove to a small nearby town and pulled into a house's drive that looked like it was a falling down shack. We were approached by a man and we asked him if we were in the right place, to which he said we were. He went in the house to get his sister. She brought out this ten week old, flea covered, wiggly black ball of fur and I knew she was a Cocoa.

We brought her home, cleaned her up, and told the rest of the family the conditions we found her in. A house with a dirt floor, the parents being a couple of standard chihuahuas. Cocoa was more than likely the runt of the litter, more like the size of what they call a tea cup chihuahua, though that's not a true "size" designation. I didn't care, she was going to help me through the worst times in my life.

Three months later, those hopes were dashed. I worked as a bus aide and had just finished cleaning the bus and was heading in to clock out when I misjudged a step and got a Lisfranc fracture/dislocation. Basically, the middle part of my foot dislocated, broke and pulverized bone, and tore tendons and ligaments. It's typically an injury that is a result of a high speed car accident.

I'm not a small girl and obviously am a huge klutz so crutches and even walkers were just pieces of metal that could fly out from under me and I fall flat on my face. So, I was in a wheelchair for six months. I couldn't get down and play on the floor with my little black brindled chihuahua as a puppy to bond. That fell to my brother and father.

Cocoa, was about a year old when Cricket and Ginger came to the family party. We had Chili and Cocoa, two chihuahuas, now added Cricket and Ginger, two crazy dachshund puppies. She took on the roll of momma. Even to the extent of letting them suckle and eventually producing milk. She never had puppies but she had these two sausages the size of her when we first got them, hanging off of her, dragging them around. She taught them to use the doggy door and all the fun stuff young dogs do. She kept them from bothering the old man, Chili. He couldn't handle three busy dogs at sixteen years old. She kept everyone in line.

Cricket became my emotional support because Cocoa was bonded with my dad. She was our glue.

Ginger, one dachshund, unfortunately had back issues and had to be put down. Cocoa changed after the deaths of Chili and Ginger. For awhile she would antagonize Cricket. Push and push. It eventually became where we had to keep them separated so that they wouldn't fight.

After Ginger passed way, we adopted Ziggy, another dachshund. Cocoa fell in love with Ziggy. Until this morning, they were inseparable. After she took her last breath, he curled up beside her, hoping she would wake up.

I walked over to the house this morning, and the first thing my dad said, "I don't think Cocoa will make it through the day." My heart both sank and I knew she was tired and she knew it was time.

My dad looked in on her before going outside for a moment. I heard little squeaking sounds so I got up to look in on her. I saw her laying in her bed, all curled up, making the sounds. Cocoa lost her sight and hearing long ago, but I know she knew I was there. "It's okay, Cocoa." After that moment she made another squeak before uncurling to lay on her side. I knew she was gone when her curled tail, that was always that way even in sleep, went straight. I took a deep breath before opening the door and letting my father know that she passed.

I came into the living room and told my mom what had happened, which had her immediately texting my brother who was really upset.

We have a little pet grave yard in a grove of trees in the back yard. I can actually see it from my office, which was my old bedroom. Mousi, Chili, Ginger, and Cricket are buried there. Cocoa, when the ground thaws later on, will be buried with them. Ziggy and the newest addition to the family, Pickle Pie, will be buried there. They even have a nice headstone my brother made after Mousi.

As of right now, Cocoa is in a deep freeze awaiting until her burial. I think the best newest memory we all hold of her was something she hasn't done since she was a tiny puppy. My brother has a daughter. Cocoa, like most chihuahuas, barked at anyone who came into the house, she had been traumatized. It took her two years to warm up to my sister-in-law, so we had no faith that she'd be yappy the moment my niece opened the door. My brother squatted down beside her and taught her to stick out her hand and let the dog to sniff it. Everyone in the house held their breath, waiting for barking...it never came. We were all shocked and we all watched as Cocoa loved on my niece before Ziggy wanted her attention on him.

Cocoa, was good dog, even with the nickname demon dog. She is one of those dogs that you remember most by her good heart and the lap cuddles she was best at. She made a good level headed dog, even though she liked to bicker with the other dogs. Frankly, she was the peace in the house. The loudest. We knew when someone was in the house.

I know she'll rest in peace in the little grove, where I could see her every day from my office window.

Cocoa, you will be missed, but I hope you walked happily over that rainbow bridge.