carols_stuff | (no subject)

You know, one of the saddest lyrics I ever heard was an addition to Mr. Bojangles - "I wonder why it is that a dog never gets to live too long, but they still have to die old."

Cho’s Story

The first part of March, 1998, I had received my tax refund and was ready to go shopping for a new puppy. With Bobby along and the Boise paper in hand, we headed to the city.

We looked at a lot of dogs that day, none really appealed to me, though. I wanted a white Pom; I’ve always been very partial to them, starting with my first when I was 13. But the white ones we saw were huge compared to their litter mates, and the litter mates just weren’t ‘it’. And I very much didn’t want a black one, memories of my mothers dog just clouded my feelings too much. But at the end of the day we’d seen them all but one ad that was for several litters, all black, from a breeder in Meridian. Figuring what the heck, why not look anyway, we called the man.

When we got to the house it turned out that it was a single father and his daughter. He bred several litters at a time and the funds went into an account for his daughter’s college education. Smart man. They had 5 litters, from 2-4 puppies each, all black, or with just a touch of white on them. I wanted a male and he only had two. We met the father, beautiful all black boy that was energetic and very friendly. Then the puppies. He showed us the first one, black with a white star, but it was just another dog. Then he got the one form a different mom and he was so tiny, solid colored, and fit in just one hand. And it was love at first sight.

We sat on the sofa talking for a bit, making sure, but the little guy whined whenever someone took him away from me. As we talked it turned out that he was the brother of a man we knew through martial arts, and that our head instructor had dated his sister. Small world. When we got to talking dates of birth and pedigree, it turned out the little guy was born on Jewell’s birthday. There were just too many coincidences, and the little thing was glued to me. So I bought him.

On the ride home Bobby tried holding him and talking and all he’d do was whine, until I said to let me have him. He draped himself across one thigh and slept the whole way home. Not a peep out of him.

When we got his papers a few weeks later we found that he came from a line of exotic colors, his grandfather was blue. It took us a couple of weeks to name him, nothing we came up with really worked. But he went everywhere, except work, with me. I’d set him in my purse and he was happy as anything. Finally we asked our instructor if he had any suggestions, and he did. And so was named ChoDan, which if first degree black belt in Korean.

Cho made friends with everyone, while he was frightened by strangers, they didn’t stay strangers for long. His best buddy was our big dog, Smitty. It was quite the sight to see the little black ball of fur and the collie-retriever romping around, or curled up together sleeping.

Eventually we got a little female for him and they made puppies three years later. Sadly the female was too small to carry them and we lost the litter, and almost her. That was our first and last try for baby Cho’s.

When we started adopting the kitties, Cho was thrilled, finally someone smaller than him. And as each has joined us, he’s made friends immediately. His love of small children always amazed people, little dogs being notorious for their dislike of children being proved wrong by his enthusiastic love for each and every one.

When Smitty died in 2006, Cho was lost for a bit. He looked for him everywhere and when he couldn’t be found, he’d lay with his head in Smitty’s food dish, or nuzzle the old soccer ball that he’d played with. After we’d all adjusted some to the losses that year, we had three in less than a month, I found a little tennis ball for Cho, and we’d play soccer up and down the house until I was ready to drop, but he was still going strong. The only thing he liked better was fetch, and he’d play until your arms fell off, then want you to kick it for him.

Sadly, we all get old, and so did he. On a visit to the vet for his rabies shot, our new doctor discovered a substantial heart murmur. We monitored him for awhile, but when things got a bit worse, he was put on medication. Being the great little man he’d always been he took his pills without any issues, coming when told it was pill time and swallowing when they were placed in his mouth.

But the last few months he’s gotten worse. His medicines are increased, and he’s had to have an antihistamine added to the drug mix. And it’s helped some, until this weekend.

He started having severe coughing fits, bad enough that I really expected one of them to kill him, his little heart to give out. I asked you all for suggestions, and I appreciate all the ideas. The things that seemed to help for a bit was steam, but that didn’t do much by this morning.

I dropped him off with his buddy, Dr. Holderman, early this morning, to see what e thinks, but we all know where this is going, don’t we. He’s old now, he was 10 in January, and his heart is getting worse by the day. He’s been a very loving and faithful companion and best friend for all those ten years, and still as much my boy now as he was that first day.

When Ann called tonight at 6:00 and told me they were done with him, to come over, I’d already prepared myself that the time had come to let him go home. Amber called before I got there and walked down to meet me. I spent some time loving him, and talked to the doctor again, and when Am got there we told him goodbye and let him go. It's going to be really hard to go to bed tonight, there won't be any furry body to curl up with and kiss me goodnight.

He’ll be cremated and back in about a week, when he’ll be placed on a shelf with Smitty, who’s been sitting there patiently waiting for his friend to come play ball.