A little over 11 years ago I was feeling a void in my life. We were married, but not yet ready for children. I wanted a cat or a gerbil, and wasn't happy raising just houseplants. My husband shared the void, and was strongly against the cat idea - he even claimed he was allergic (he really is). So my husband got me a Nintendo DS game with dogs in it. I spent time playing that game and raised a Yorkie named Momo all while tending to my real life houseplants. I was killing it! A couple of months passed and my avatar dog was not helping my fill my void - the thoughts of a fish crossed my mind, maybe a turtle, or possibly some small rodents... A friend of ours mentioned that her friend was going through a divorce and needed a home for her miniature Schnauzer - the dog was housebroken, a few years old, and had a sweet temperament. The dog's name was Tinsel, and while I wasn't crazy about the name, I figured I could tolerate it or at least train it under a nickname all while getting licks, cuddles, and doggie kisses. I planned out my life with little Tinsel. Late in December, before Christmas break, I left for work. Tinsel was to come live with us that day and all I had to do was get through another crazy workday before getting my first dog. When I arrived home, a tiny little dog ran up to me. He was black and tan. He was spunky, curious, and beautiful. I thought, surely this is not Tinsel, it appears to be a Yorkshire Terrier. The plans with Tinsel fell through, she remained with her father through the divorce... yet my husband did not want to disappoint me. So he found a breeder and picked out the most active puppy of the bunch. I immediately fell in love and so did the dog with me. I had all these plans to crate train, obedience train, and make my dog a therapy dog... but things didn't pan out that way. Instead my little Momo, as I named him (short for Morimoto, my favorite Iron Chef) became a little terror, my own little embodiment of me, anxious, quirky, and full of energy. He knocked over trash cans, hoarded dirty socks and underwear, and barked at the mailman. But, he was still my baby. Momo and I spent all of my free time together, we went visiting
friends, did costume contests, and shared a pillow at night. We walked the Greenway, explored creeks, and spent hours at the dog park. During the day Momo would rip the blinds out of the windows, knock down tables, and tear up paper. He ended up in obedience school and obtained a calmer, more stable rescue Yorkie named Yoshi to give him a playmate. They were fast friends who ultimately became brothers. The two fought like crazy, but could be found cuddling when no one was looking, and standing up for each other when push came to shove. Science calls it pack mentality, but I called it brotherhood. Momo liked a handful of people but he was obsessed with me; truth be told, I was more obsessed with him. Momo and I were thick as thieves. In fact, I think he loved me, Yoshi, and Terrence in that order. Then just tolerated everyone else.
Being that I'm a runner, my goal was to train Momo to run 5Ks. He wasn't expected to get bigger than 7 lbs, but I figured we could at least walk together if the running didn't work out - Momo outgrew the expectations and weighed 18lbs at his last vet check. Over the years, Momo became my steadfast running partner, running 9 minute miles, consistently running 4-6 miles 3-4x a week, and showing a fondness for trail running. He could run longer distance but showed strength and love for those shorter runs. He even had running friends, Cleo Andrews and Moses Crawley, whom he looked forward to running with. I could never keep up with him, yet he loyally waited for me at every turn.
Momo was fortunate to be there for so many milestones... he listened to my rambling on about work woes, was there to congratulate me during blessings, and helped me welcome home all three of the Bumgarner babies. He was interested in Ava for some reason, treating her as an alpha, but never figured the twins out. He still loved them as his own.
About two years ago, Momo quit sleeping through the night. My body grew accustomed to his
frequent wakings and I kept telling myself this was part of owning a dog. Then one day, I woke up and the floor of the kitchen was sticky. I mumbled that morning about the kids probably spilling Sprite and not cleaning it up, so I begrudging cleaned it up... then I found more and it happened again... I realized it was not Sprite at all, but sticky urine. My tiny treasure was sick - we had to get him to the vet, he probably had a UTI, I thought. We got Momo to the vet and received news that he may have diabetes. Worse yet, hard to treat diabetes, or Cushing’s Disease. We were relieved to have an
answer, but terrified by the what-ifs... however, we could work with daily insulin shots. But then a few days later, the insulin wouldn't work --- not at all. Momo quit moving, he quit eating, and he quit being Momo. The vet called to check in Momo and we opted to take on palliative / hospice care for our little boy, our first son. I assume you know where the story goes...
His last day on earth, he didn’t move. He laid out in the rain and sulked. When I arrived home from work and my run, he took his last steps to greet me - he fell to the floor but his tail wagged with purpose. At 3:00 in the morning, on New Year’s Day, I found Momo, sighing heavily, panting, and shivering... I covered him up. Terrence told him it was okay to go - to pass - to be at peace. Within 30 minutes, Momo took his final breath. I was heartbroken. I still hear the jingling of his dog tags and turn to look, but he's not there. Momo is buried on our property now... he will forever be a Bumgarner.
I never knew such a tiny bundle could bring me so much joy and so much pain. My heart broke when I saw him lying in the floor listlessly. The last morsel of food he refused left me empty inside. Looking into his once beautiful brown eyes, that were now clouded made me miss the trashcan being emptied into the floor and all his shenanigans, including barking at dogs on TV and his fear of tape measures. To Momo, my best friend, having you these past 11 years has changed me irrevocably. I benefited from being your friend, your mother, and your human. You made me realize that joy can be found on the trails, with you by my side, passing the time. That cuddling on the couch is necessary and that hanging your head out the window on a sunny day feels amazing. I am honored that you greeted me so lovingly, throughout the day, and showed affection so freely. I will always miss that look you gave me when we ran together and the way your ears fell back on your head. I loved the way your tail wagged and the way you jumped up when you saw your favorite people. One day I will move on, but I'll forever hold you in my heart. The love between a dog and a human is incredible. One of the best loves you can feel.
After a pet passes, some believe they go to a special heaven where they wait in a huge field surrounded by other pets, all well, warm, and happy... once their beloved owner passes the two cross the rainbow bridge into heaven together. And while that comforts me, I just want to know that we gave Momo the best life possible and that during his life he was happy, loved, and cherished. That’s my biggest comfort.
A few years ago I started questioning lots of different things. Such as, do I like who I have become, how can I grow, and is there anything impeding my progress? Certainly these questions bring lots to the table and tons to think about. I came back continually to how healthy is my relationship with alcohol? On July 5th of 2019 I decided to take a break from drinking. What I didn't know, was that this break would turn into something more meaningful and more real that I ever could have imagined. I learned a lot, and realized this could not be about a break, it had to be about recovery.
Here I was, a 38 year old speech pathologist, athlete, and mother. I'm so much to so many people, but I was crippled by a need to drink. For me it all started as a preteen who tried Kahlua at parties and snuck vodka when no one was looking. Over the years it turned into frequent partying, poor choices, and occasional black outs. I often felt bad the next day and could not really remember the night before. As an adult it turned into glasses of wine at dinner, in the evening, and often with friends. It turned into a habit, one that I was not proud of... and it took years to come to this choice after being unsuccessful with stopping numerous times.
I haven't talked a lot about my struggles or my changes, just gone
through the motions. A few friends have helped and listened through my
decision to stop drinking and have supported me. I decided to talk
about it with some other friends and I had a whole lot of backlash.
There were the naysayers, "you can't do that - are you crazy? - you love wine." Or the folks who didn't
understand that it had control of me, "you aren't addicted... I know addicts... they aren't (pretty, successful, insert adjective) like you..." But the
hardest people, were the ones who made my struggle about them - which
lets be honest, when we can't listen we quit communicating altogether and I still can't talk to those people about it. What would
happen is I would say "it's been 55 days since I last drank," as I am
holding back tears and trying for the life of me not to be ashamed - and
the response would be "well, I don't drink that much, so it's not a
problem for me..." Needless to say it's been really hard. 
At this point, I choose not to go into more details of it, because it really doesn't matter anymore. I used to drink and now I don't. It's not a secret, it's my story - and I opt to move forward. I choose happiness over any pain which requires being one-hundred percent present - in my actions, in the moment, and in my life. I want to train on a different level, as swimming has made a huge comeback in my life. It's not really just a hobby, it's become my thing - and that's important to me. 
