Rocky is, was, my little Yorkie. He was a friend who stood by me at all times, a protector. He was there when my husband left, he was the first thing I did for me with no regard for my husband. I got him for me. And when my husband left, Rocky was my boy! He was such good company, a real cuddle-bug, so cute. A great watch dog too. And now he’s gone. I’m still trying to take it in, expecting to see him in his little bed when I get home from work, ears perked up because he hears me coming. I tried but couldn’t write this sooner; it happened about a month ago. Here’s the story.
Rocky had horrible breath at times so I bought him a bag of those teeth cleaning bones, a brand that is sold in many stores but not the most popular. I gave him one about 3:00 on Sunday and by 8:00AM Monday he was dead. I’m not saying the bone killed him but here’s what happened. 
He ate the bone and about an hour or two later, threw up. It was a white liquid, like the bone, and a piece that he hadn’t chewed. He was fine, playing, running around, so I took him outside for a while, on his leash. I tried to keep a good eye on him outside because he seemed to eat anything, even a rock one time, and I didn’t want him to eat anything bad for him. But we were in the grass and as vigilant as I was, I can’t swear he didn’t ingest something. Anyway, around 10:00 I got into bed and as I always do, lifted him up to lay down with me, which he did for a minute but then leaped off the bed. He did his usual for a while and then heard my son, but didn’t chase him as he usually does. Clue number 1. I also thought, when I lifted him up that one of his legs seemed funny but he ran around on the bed and then jumped off, all normal. Clue number 2? In the middle of the night, I got up for the bathroom and he stayed in his bed as he usually did but sometime before I drifted back off, I heard him throw up again. Clue number 3. My thought was that I would clean it up in the morning because if I got up, then I wouldn’t go back to sleep. I got up at 6:30 and my baby was lying in his bed, limp, tongue hanging out. I missed all the clues that seemed so insignificant at the time and missed the chance to possibly save him.
I freaked. “Rocky, Rocky”, I called to him. I felt his side and he was limp and I thought not breathing but he heard my voice and rallied. I froze and then my son got up and came in my room and couldn’t believe what he saw. I wrapped Rocky in a towel and picked him up while my son made some calls. I laid Rocky on the bed and started to get dressed though I knew it was too late to help him. I could just tell. I was going to race down the road to the vet but then he convulsed and died in my arms. I still can’t believe it. I just sat and held him, numb. Everyone left for work and I laid him out in his bed, with his pillow and blanket, his favorite toy, dressed in his hoodie. We were going to bury him that night so I made sure he was safe, and then had to go to work myself, crying all the way. I felt like it was my fault for buying those stupid bones. So what if he had yuk breath!
All night, when I could have gotten some help, that poor baby was dying. I don’t know if he ate something outside or if it was the dental bone. When I walked him in the dark he could have eaten something that I couldn’t see but for me, my guilt is the same no matter what it was. 
So my little companion, my little fur baby, is gone. The grief that I felt, and feel, is way more than I would have thought. I’ve never been a “dog person” but this little boy got into my heart and meant a lot to me. The depth of my grief is surprising to me but he was in my life through the whole separation. He even bit my ex one time and I secretly cheered. (It was only biting his Carharts so it didn’t hurt!) He’s buried under the tree out front and I find myself standing at the window sometimes, just looking at the spot, trying to understand what happened. Though I really can’t. I still have all of his things in my room, clothes, bowls, crate, bed. I’ll get around to packing it up, sometime. I told my grandson that Rocky’s mommy was crying because she missed him so he went to visit her. He’s only two so believes that. I still come in the door like he’s going to be there, but, well, you know……he’s not. 
I miss the hell out of you Rocky. Rest in peace little boy.
Me and my Boy!
A Cup of Tea...and a Book 