FOR SEVERAL DAYS, JoJo health had been declining rapidly. On Wednesday, July 21, while I was still at work I got a call from Mike, who had just gotten home.
     He said JoJo had met him at the door as usual, but he barely touched his dinner, his legs were shaking with tremors and he seemed very weak. Mike laid him in his little bed, and Shaun climbed in with him. Gently, Shaun washed his sick friend's eyelids and head. As weak as JoJo was, Mike says he continued to wait for me. He looked toward the door and listened to every car that passed to see if it might be mine.
     When I got home, JoJo was not at the door to greet me. I hurried in to find that he had gotten even weaker and did not seem to have much time left. I scooped him up into my arms and cuddled him close. No more than five minutes later, JoJo fell into a seizure.
     He shook helplessly as Mike administered Valium to help stop the seizure. After the quaking ceased, JoJo seemed dazed and barely clung to life. With JoJo still in my arms, I rushed to the phone and called the emergency service at the University of Illinois Small Animal Clinic. I asked for JoJo's neurologist, Dr. Lisa Klopp.
     The intern who answered said she was sorry, but that Dr. Klopp had gone home. I cried and begged her, "JoJo's dying and needs her now. He's a personal friend."
     Dr. Klopp told us afterward that as soon as she heard JoJo needed her, she said, "I'll be right there."

DURING ALL THAT FOLLOWED, Dr. Klopp did so many things to help us through those difficult moments. She met us at the door, took JoJo into her arms, and showed us to the emergency room. After a short examinination she said, "It's time." In addition to the brain tumor, JoJo's lungs had also filled up with fluid, showing that on top of everything, his heart had begun to fail.
     I cried as I carried JoJo into an adjoining room. Even fighting for his life, JoJo was more concerned about my tears than he was for himself. He fought to stay alert so that he could watch out for me.
     Dr. Klopp decided to use an intervenous catheter so that she would not have to poke his poor collapsed veins so many times. But as she began to insert it, Shaun whimpered for his stoic friend, who as usual, did not flinch or cry.
     As she finished, JoJo fell into another seizure.

I HELD HIM AND CRIED as Dr. Klopp administered medicine to calm his shaking. As he quieted down, I said I realized that I need to be strong for him so that he could relax. I whispered, "You know, JoJo, you can lie down now." And as he did, sighing as if at last giving in to the need to find some rest.
     We had a few minutes with him then to whisper quiet words, and reminisce about the good times and his many adventures. And of course, the time was too short.
     When Dr. Klopp and her assistant returned, she began the procedure that would put our little one to rest. She administered the final medication, and Shaun let out a cry.
     As I held and comforted JoJo in those last moments, I thought about the times when I would take him to a secluded spot and slip him free from his leash. "Go!" I would say, and he would take off like a jet plane, only with that special joy that only happy dogs experience.

NOW IN MY THOUGHTS, I set him free again. "Go, JoJo. Go to the angels!" I thought. And I imagined him running free into a beautiful place that only he could see.
     My mother always said that JoJo was my guardian angel. Perhaps I no longer needed his warm presence against my side. Or perhaps he was called to answer some other angel 911.

I ONLY KNOW that I will never hear his hoarse bark again, or feel that cloud-soft brush of fur against my cheek. But though I can no longer can see him, I know JoJo will always be my angel. Always and forever he holds a place in my heart.