In memory of Keno 2002-2009

I can hardly believe I'm writing yet another tribute for yet another one of my little ones. This past year has been so difficult for me in so many ways, but the most challenging moments have been watching my little family get smaller and smaller as time goes on. If you're a long time reader of my blog, you'll remember that I lost my little Noel back in March of last year. In December, I said my goodbyes to my sweet Zoe who had been battling cancer for several years. Three months later, my beloved Beowulf slipped from my life. Little did I know then that Isabel, my dearest companion for the past ten years, would start on a journey that she would never finish, and she passed away just four months later in July.

After all this heartache, after all this pain, I honestly thought I wouldn't have to make such a hard decision again, but there I stood Monday morning facing my worst fear like I had done so many, many times before. As Dr. J started to explain to me the extensive and painful surgery that Keno would have to endure should I wish to keep him alive, I couldn't help but wonder if I wasn't stuck in some sort of twisted horror movie that just keeps repeating over and over again. I starred blankly at him as the words fell from his mouth. Tears streamed down my face. His words became a tangled mess of confusion in my head, and I started to feel that deep ache in my heart. It's an indescribable pain, really. My heart, having been ripped open so many times before, was once again bleeding in pain, and all I could feel was the deep throb of sadness.

I looked at my little man and knew I couldn't be so selfish as to put him through all of this just to keep him by my side. I knew that letting him go was the best option for HIM. I knew what I had to do, yet my confused mind could not process the thought of saying goodbye, again, to another one of my family members.

Keno passed on so peacefully, and I'm so grateful for that. It was as if no one else was in the room except for the two of us. I held him in my arms as I had done so many times before. I nuzzled his nose with mine and whispered that I loved him and that I was doing what I thought was best for him, not for me. He gave me one last approving look, then laid his head down and was gone.

And once again, I was left to find my way home through a waterfall of tears. All the past wounds that had started to heal were ripped wide open, and the pain of losing all of my furkids over the past year, over the past decade, came flooding back. Just when my heart starts to heal and I feel I can move on, another one slips away. It's just not fair.

They all hold such a special place in my heart, and I wouldn't trade a second of my memories with them for all the time in the world. Thinking back on Keno's life with me over the past five years, I feel blessed to have had the pleasure of being his "mama." We rescued him and his brother, Poker, when we lived in Vegas back in 2004. The operator of the shelter said she was waiting for the perfect couple to take them home since their previous owner had to go into hospice care. I was so honored when she said we could take the pair home. Their shenanigans kept us on our toes, and although Keno's personality took a while to shine through, we knew he was pretty special from the start. He was such a rambunctious little guy, and he had a thing for wanting to stick his nose near our mouths to identify us. I remember he would get the most beautiful winter coats. He truly was the sweetest little thing.

He loved rolling around on his back in what I liked to call "The Otter." He especially loved playing in the curtains. I'm so glad I captured it on film.



We had recently bought the pair of them this very plush bed that we named "The Bowl." Keno took to it immediately, and I often found him either snuggled up inside snoozing or in the "pop goes the weasel" pose.

We will miss you, Keno. Be well with your brothers and sisters, and until we meet again...

XOXO,
mama & daddy