Mongo B. is in Doggy Heaven.

Mongo B.

Age 15, January 01, 1993 - July 06, 2008

Our whole street will remember Mongy for her bark-waggin' welcome for the ice cream truck.

Nickname: Snore-Tootie, Mongy Doodle-Dog, Punky-Dunkers, Mis

We adopted Mongo to be a buddy-dog to Beemer after his doggy soulmate, Shelly, died. Though they weren't doggy soulmates, they were best buds. Her owners, with heavy hearts, had posted Mongo's photo on the PetsMart bulletin board. They had three sons in the space of four years and felt Mongo's needs were being ignored in the face of their children's needs. I took Mongy for a "test walk" in the park with Beemer and "the deal" was made. Rachael and Rick stopped by later in the day with Mongo's favorite toys. As Rachael cried in our driveway, I said, "You can't tell by looking, but this IS doggy heaven." And we worked to make her life as good as she made ours.

Asleep, she noised-off at both ends; we nicknamed her "Snore-Tootie".

A few months later, summer arrived. One day, I found myself being dragged along by Mongy, while Beem, in "creeper gear", moved with all the speed of the space shuttle being inched to its launchpad. "What gives?" I wondered. Then I realized that Mongy was trying to catch-up with an ice cream truck. When I called to ask Rachael if Mongy knew what the ice cream truck was, Rachael thought that she might. Each of the boys gave Mongy their last bite when they were treated. Once I knew that, I made sure Mongy had a ridicuously expensive giant ice cream sandwich whenever the truck came down our dead-end street. One particular driver... between "real" jobs... took care to schedule his run late, so I had time to get home from work and treat Mongy. (Thank you, Larry!)

Mongy's tail worked like a windshield wiper on highest speed when we talked to her. When we came home, her whole body vibrated with joy. (Though she would bring us this toy or that... she would never let us have it.)

Mornings were our best times. Bob and I work different shifts, but Mongy liked to eat with "the entire family" present: though the food was available all day, we both had to be there for it to be mealtime for Mongy. (When one of us was out-of-town, Mongy wouldn't eat for several days, until hunger won out.) After her breakfast, she'd hop on our 11-foot-long sofa, laying claim to the middle six feet. For some reason, she always chose to present ME with her fanny. My job was butt-cuddles while Bob provided ear-twiddles, head noogies and throat scratches. This would go on for about five minutes, then she was done with us. She'd jump down to one of her favorite napping spots and snooze unless she "heard food happening". (Mongy alerted to the sound of a hard-boiled egg being cracked or deli-bag being opened, just in case treats were becoming available.)

She was a world-class moocher, glomming everything from cantalope to "crunchies" (what I dubbed the spine part of romaine lettuce). When begging, she would gaze solemnly, but never drooled. If her gaze wasn't rewarded with food in a few minutes, she'd move a half-inch or so closer... just in case we, somehow, didn't notice her Royal Round-ness. In our absence, toilet paper was her favorite treat. ("Gee, Dad and Mom, I just love the snap-off snack dispenser you got me.") We were forced to hide it before/after use.

As her long-walk days gave way to a short ride and micro-walks in that-or-that park (Mongy needed variety! We couldn't go to the same park every day, could we?!), I wrote a song for her to the tune of (more-or-less), "Funiculì, Funiculà" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Funicul%C3%AC,_Funicul%C3%A0):

I love the park! I love to run, it's so much fun;
There's lots of room... for me to zoom!
I love the smells! I catch a whiff, I run to sniff:
There was a deer! It stood right here.

Squirrels! Bunnies! 'Possums and raccoons!
See the tracks there! Hear the birdies' tunes!

I love the show! It's getting late!
I have to go! Don't make me wait!
Walk me there or drive me there, just get me to the park!

And because she really loved me, she didn't laugh and point when I sang it to her.

It's been just under three weeks since she passed into Doggy Heaven. It's not home without her. Coming "home" to the place without Mongy is probably the hardest: no blissful barkin' and welcome-waggin'. I find myself looking in her usual park-it spots; then feel The Loss again. Without thinking, I'll address her; then remember she's gone. One night, I poured "our" amount of cereal, but there's no "us" anymore. How she was woven into our lives! How much better she made each minute!

"I'm glad you're my dog, Mongy-Doodle. And I'm glad I'm your people."