Brought Mosby's ashes home today. They did a nice job - very pretty wooden box, and they also made his paw print in clay, with his name on the back. He's up on the mantle with his collar, for now, at least. I have to admit, it doesn't really feel like him (Mosby is soft and warm), although it's reassuring to have him back here and not out there in limbo.

We cancelled the vacation we had planned in September, because we'd planned it around him, and will do something else. We were really looking forward to taking him on vacation. This all came on so fast. Two weeks before we put him down, he was out at the barn cruising around, and went all the way down to the lake, like old times. Then he started limping that week, and of course at first I blamed myself for letting him do too much at the barn. We never imagined the osteosarcoma had returned.

I don't know why we only got 6 months. It seems unfair. We were told that he had all the markers to have a really good prognosis, that he had a good shot at a year or more. But it wasn't to be. I try not to think too much about it too much. It'll be hard going to the barn without him this weekend. Miss our boy.

Thanks, Sally. I'm pretty fatalistic in most circumstances and think that it is what it is, and things happen as they are supposed to. It is hard not to feel a little cheated, though, and jealous of those who got more time, or who didn't face the return of osteosarcoma. I don't begrudge anyone, and won't, though. It is what it is. We had the time we had, and no more, for whatever reason. It is what it is.

All of the sweet pups on this website - none of them deserve this diagnosis. I hope that sometime soon they can find a good osteosarcoma vaccine that works, so that everyone gets more than 6 months or 12 months or however many months, because it's never long enough.

At any rate, I put together a blog post that's mostly pictures of him, to celebrate his life. Rather than duplicate things, here's the link. It's a lot of pictures, just a heads-up. And this is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to pictures of Mosby. I told my coworker the other day, I've never been so grateful to live in the digital age. I have so many pictures of Mosby, including of his last few days, that I will cherish forever.

http://mosby.tr.....-of-mosby/

Three weeks yesterday. 

While I can generally interact with society again, the barn remains a challenge. I love seeing Arlo and spending time with him. But the memories are so strong, and everyone keeps asking how I am, and saying they are sorry about Mosby, and I'm just an awful mess. Yesterday I saw Cindy Lou for the first time since we lost Mosby. Cindy was his best friend and is the sweetest dog. She also looks remarkably like a young Mosby in the way that she's built. So when I first saw her, out of the corner of my eye, I had a moment of disbelief. Then I realized it was Cindy and lost it. She ran up to me, looking for Mosby. Her mom told me she was sorry about Mosby, and immediately walked away. I felt bad - I knew it was because she was crying. She loved Mosby, too. I know that eventually going to the barn will be therapeutic - maybe it already is - but these days it's just like the faucet turns on and doesn't turn off. I hate crying in front of people, so I spend a lot of time focused on Arlo until I can pull myself together. 

In our house, the empty space persists, both physically and emotionally. Our house even looks empty without all of Mosby's beds, bowls, towels, harness, piles of pill bottles, etc. I hadn't touched the runners until yesterday, but we had bought a new rug and wanted to see how it looked down, so I had to pull up a bunch of the runners, and it was like tearing my heart out. Mosby's collar, on our mantle, is a symbol of Mosby as a whole, but the runners are a symbol of the six month struggle and everything that he endured (more than 6 months, when you could the pain from the bone tumor before diagnosis and amputation). 

And that's the heart of a lot of the pain, to be honest: the guilt. My sweet, sweet, tolerant, stoic boy, who couldn't tell us how much his leg hurt, who had no say in the amputation or the chemo. Who suffered setbacks and pain and adverse reactions to antibiotics. And who, in the end, fell victim yet again to the same damn bone cancer we were trying to beat, whistling softly to tell us there was something wrong, even though the vets kept telling me he was fine. I know you should never second-guess yourself at a time like this, but it's hard not to. I will never know if I made the right decisions until the end. The last one I know was right. If Mosby suffered because of my mistakes, that is something I will have to bear, but at least I did right by him in the end. 

I miss my sweet boy so much. 

Thank you, Tina (and handsome Manni and Ortega). Your words really helped. Arlo is well familiar with me sitting in his stall (even if people are around, I can kind of hide in there without them seeing me) and crying, whether about Mosby or work stress or anything else. Horses are infinitely patient and never judge (unless you are withholding peppermints).  

"But the one thing I do know is that we made those decision out of love. And since you're like me: we made those decisions trying to do what's best for our dogs. For no other reason." 

Yes. And I can tell you, no one who has followed Manni's story would say anything but that you have always made your decisions out of love and what's best for Manni. And you will now, even if you're facing the worst decision now. Maybe it's easier to see it in other people than it is in ourselves. 

"But the one thing I always wanted to be able to say was that I tried everything to make his life better. And I know I did." 

Yes, you did, and you have and you are. And that is certainly what I tried to do for Mosby. 

Sending hugs and Arlo kisses to you and Manni and all who love you both. Thank you so much for your words, and please know that we are thinking of you guys. <3