Dear Dear Sweet Coco a.k.a Puffy Putt, Cocoa Puff, Stinky,,

Today, October 28, 2024 is the first morning in nearly 16 years without you. No jingle of your collar as you stretch and shake after waking from your slumber, no toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. I’m struggling with my grief and the tears don’t seem to know when to stop.

I’m in bed now, drinking coffee and remembering the mornings when you would lay on my chest and wait for your back rub. You’d close your eyes and softly groan when I massaged your shoulders and paw at me when I’d stop to take a sip of my then lukewarm coffee. It was a daily ritual that I will sorely miss.

I’m drinking coffee alone today. The French doors in my bedroom are open and my gaze has fallen to the courtyard table where our family held you for the last time. I may have to sell that table because the sight of it is too heart-wrenching for me to bear.

I’ve had many pets…the Heidis, Sophie, Pepper, Sprinkles, Rudy…all of whom I’ve said tearful goodbyes. But you Coco were the hardest to let go.

Your little body was failing to keep up with your spirit. You’d lost your sight, your hearing, and I could see that walking and getting up and down were becoming more and more difficult for you. Still, I saw your tail wagging and you still gave away plenty of stinky kisses when I nuzzled my cheek next to your little brown nose. You still never turned down a treat of popcorn (buttered, of course) or sliced apples, or bits of hamburger stirred into that awful kidney diet kibble the vet prescribed. But I had to carry you to your food bowl, and carry you outside and I realized that wasn’t really a very dignified way for you to be living.

Your last day was a good one. The fall weather in Boise was glorious and we took you for a walk along the river. You did well for a little while, stopping to sniff and mark your “Coco was here” spots. But soon we had to carry you, dad and I taking turns. Afterward we treated you to a whipped cream pup cup and a few licks of ice cream.

We took some photos that day. I can’t bear to look at them just yet. Kelly Ann made paw print ornaments that we’ll forever put on our Christmas trees, and I have your collar – all these things are reminders of you but they aren’t you and they can never replace your warm, fluffy body.

I miss you terribly Coco. I loved – love you so much and I pray to God that your are still with me somehow. You will never be forgotten.

Love,

Your Mom