Mocha’s Last Ride …

When we first saw tiny Mocha, the vet advised us that she was the runt of the litter and therefore might be a little slow in life.  She will be just fine, I assured him, just fine.  Besides, we’ll just call her Mocha-Mocha in case she doesn’t get it the first time.

As things turned out, Mocha was not slow in any way.  She even learned to spell much quicker than her peers. When she looked up at you with her wide eyes and barked twice, we knew it spelled “g-o” as in she wanted to go for a ride.  Four  distinct barks and there was no doubt she was spelling “w-a-l-k.”  She was rarely denied, looked forward to her car rides, and wore out a lot of leashes.

Mocha also loved laps and her soft blanket.  And small raw carrots and WW’s homemade macaroni and cheese … and french fries from McDonald’s.

Being the runt of her litter made Mocha feisty.  She also was fast, especially when you dropped a tiny morsel of anything edible.  You could kiss that morsel goodbye.  And if it happened to be a french fry, it never hit the floor.

As chihuahuas go, Mocha was as good as it gets.  The only possible comparable was her predecessor, Yoda, who was calm and deliberate and ladylike.  Mocha-Mocha would have none of that.  More like a tomboy with a devilish gleam when she was up to no good. She knew she shouldn’t, but she was going to do it anyway.

Mocha especially enjoyed the long ride to The Cabin – most likely because the ride always meant a stop for McDonald’s french fries at Exit 80.  No doubt, she could sense when we were nearing that exit.  After two fries she would nap in her blanket the rest of the way.  She always waited for another fry but she knew better.

Mocha’s 14 years with us followed Yoda’s 11.  How could we possibly ask for more?

Then the vet told us one Friday to take Mocha home for the weekend in hopes that she would rebound.  The look in his eyes said something else: the weekend most likely would be our final couple of days with her.  Something had happened, almost suddenly, as she settled down onto her pallet; no more spring in her legs, no gleam in her eyes, only pain.  Fourteen years had taken its toll.

So we took her home for the weekend.  Nothing would perk her, not even a dab of WW’s macaroni and cheese.  She just wanted to rest.  So, she slept with us Saturday and Sunday nights although I was awake most of Sunday night, looking at her and asking God to take her gently.

Monday was a sad day.  I held a sedated Mocha as the vet gave her the injection.  Within seconds she was at peace in my arms and on her way to greet Yoda.  Indeed, she was taken gently.  The vet suggested cremation, but we already had a site picked for Mocha – she would be buried next to Yoda at The Cabin on the lake.

Mocha’s last ride was two hours of total, sad silence – except at Exit 80 to order french fries. Cuddled in her favorite blanket, she rode in her usual place on the seat next to me.  She would be buried in her favorite blanket, snuggled up with her favorite toy, a couple of carrots … and french fries – a double order.

Unlike us, Mocha-Mocha would be just fine.