I had nothing at all to do with Mo coming to live with us. Michelle and the girls headed off one Saturday 10 years ago, and returned with a black and white ball of fluff with an attitude and a white stripe across his backside.
“He came from Morris’ Road, so we’ve called him Mo.”
I feigned displeasure. No-one believed it. Not even me.
Toby, however, was most put out.
Toby - Toad, informally - was the faithful old family dog who was sighing and shuffling through his autumn years. He reckoned he deserved some dignity and gravitas during that period. Mo robbed him of that, but eventually brought an occasional spark of youth to his rheumy eyes, and a begrudging kind of companionship to his final days. Toad’s inevitable departure was painful for us, but anticipated; and made much easier with the youthful, boundlessly energetic and idiotic presence of Mo to bring a smile to our faces.
Mo’s departure this week was, on the other hand, sudden, unexpected, and deeply saddening.
His time as part of our family brought us great happiness. To each of us he granted the gift of unquestioning faithfulness and devotion. He was the smartest idiot I’ve ever encountered, but his love for each of us was without bounds and expressed on every day he was with us.
He is greatly missed.