A Letter From Mosby

To Whom It May Concern,

My name is Mosby and I’m a dog—or more specifically—I am a miniature schnauzer and I need your help. I’ve never written a letter before. In fact, I don’t know if any dog has ever written a letter before, but you see, this is very important so I hope you'll understand.

Before I go into specifics, I guess I should tell you a little about myself. I was born in 2011, two days before Halloween, on a farm in central Virginia. I don’t remember much about the farm because that was a long time ago and I was really young at the time. What I do remember is I was part of a litter of three. I have a brother who is salt and pepper. He was adopted after me so I don't know much about what happened to him. I also have a sister who is pure white, and she never lets me forget it. Then there's me. I’m what they call “black and silver," and as far as miniature schnauzers go, I'm the most regal.

When I was little, though, I was kind of rambunctious. 

I don’t know how much you know about adopting people, but there are a lot of rules you are supposed to follow. You have to wait until your eyes are open, your socialization skills have matured a bit, and—most of all—you have to be at least eight weeks old. Now I know all that stuff is important, but when the right human comes along—you cant dilly dally. You have to act quickly. 

That’s what happened when I met my dad. 

I was just over seven weeks old at the time, so I wasn’t really expecting to find my person. But when he walked in, I could tell he needed a friend. 

He had just lost his dog, another miniature schnauzer named Pepper, but he had come to see my sister—you remember her? She was white as snow, but to him she looked just like Salt. I understood the connection, and I was all for bringing my sister along with me, but I needed to make sure this man knew he was supposed to be my dad. 

When he finally sat down to play with my sister, I kept jumping in his lap. When he stood back up again, I followed him around the pen. When I thought I had lost his attention, I barked and barked and barked until he reached down and picked me up. 

Now it’s not something that happens every time between a human and a dog, but if the connection is right, when you look at each other, right in the eyes, you know when you’ve found the one and this was my dad. Apparently he knew he had found his dog also, so he wrote out a check, took me out to the car, and brought me to my new home.  

Oh by the way, my sister came along too. 

The thing about humans is, no matter how many times they have been adopted, they still have to be trained. They need to know that cleaning up pee and poop isn’t a chore—it’s a bonding experience. Most people don’t realize that the time you really fall in love with your new dog happens in the middle of the night. The two of you have been in and out almost every hour since bedtime, and just when your human is about to lose it, you poop in the grass. I don’t know if there is a more special time for a human, but I’m here to tell you when you see the smile on your dad’s face and hear him call you a good boy, it means the world to a dog. It’s why we lick faces—we want to show you in the best way we know how that there is not a purer love than the one between a dog and his human. It’s why a man is called a dog’s best friend.

The next seven years went by like a blur. Salt acted like the queen of the house but I know that my dad and I had a special bond. Most mornings he would pet me on the head and go off to a place he called work. I don’t think he liked that place. I’m not sure how I knew. Let’s just call it doggie’s intuition, but each night when he came home, I would run to meet him and jump into his arms. He might have had a bad day, but I wanted him to know I had been waiting all day for him to come home so I could lick his face. He pretended he didn’t like it, but he would always laugh. By the time he put me down, he was smiling. I love to see my dad smile.

Well, this brings me to the point of my letter. About five months ago I started to notice a change. I was thirsty all the time and I couldn’t see quite as well as I had when I was a pup. My dad noticed this also, and he took me to the veterinarian to see what was wrong. I didn’t really understand what it meant when the doctor told him I had diabetes. I just know when we got back in the car he cried a little. When we got home, he fed me and then he gave me a shot. He kept telling me how sorry he was, but the only thing I was sorry about was that I couldn’t tell him it was okay. I knew he was doing those things to help me. He was doing them because he loved me. I licked his face when he was done, and I hope he understood why.

A few days ago, for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel well enough to eat my food. I know this scared him because I had to eat so he could give me my shot. He took me to the vet who told him I had pancreatitis. I knew it was serious because I felt so sick and because he rushed me to the hospital. I’ve been here for the last four days, and I hurt all the time. I don’t want to leave him alone, but I don’t think I can take the pain much longer. I need his help. He loves me so much he won’t let me suffer. 

That’s the favor I'm asking for. I need you to tell him I said it’s okay, and I don’t blame him, I love him. Tell him I wouldn’t have changed a thing about our time together. He made every day perfect, from that first day on the farm to today—my last day. Also please tell him it’s okay for a new dog to adopt him. I won’t be jealous—I just want him to be happy. 

Please do this for me because I can’t talk.

Thanks so much,

Mosby