August 12: Mookie & Kenzo

My son, Kenzo William Miller, was born 9 days early, arriving on August 12, exactly two years to the day after Mookie, my beloved little pup, passed away.

I can’t decide if that’s just a crazy coincidence or something deeper.

But I feel like there is a connection, and that has my brain spinning.

In the weeks before my son was born, numerous friends reached out to give me advice about being a father and partner.

Be present with the child at all times – no cell phones or other distractions, friends said, and prioritize that child ahead of everything else. Do whatever the mother wants, I was told. Don’t ever say, “I’ll do it in a minute.” Rather, it was suggested I say, “OK. I’m on it.”

It was all meant to be supportive, I’m sure. People sent me book suggestions and spreadsheets with lists of baby goods, from strollers to blankets. Some people messaged and told me about their experiences, or they referred me to podcasts that helped them. Others texted with offers to assist if I ever got in a jam.

It was all very touching, to be honest. Folks seemed genuinely happy for me.

But at the same time, some seemed a little worried that I was about to be in charge of a tiny human life.

I understand that. I’m not the typical new father. I’m, well, older, for one. And I haven’t exactly led a traditional life. I have never held a 9 to 5 job. I left a career gig with nothing lined up when I was 34. I launched a music magazine when I was 40, moved to Japan when I was 47, and got married for the first time just before my 48th birthday. I’ve always put in weird hours and nap whenever possible, to the point that the first thing some folks say when they call me is, “Are you sleeping?”

I can see how you might think I might not be well-suited for child-rearing. I mean, I’m pretty much a big child myself, you know?

But hey, I cared for Mookie for nearly 17 years. That counts, eh?

I know, I know … puppies aren’t babies. But the lessons I learned from a life with that furry little creature prepared me for fatherhood more than any book, video or podcast ever could.

After the first few nights that Mookie lived with me in 2003, I thought I’d have to return him.

I created a space for him in my downstairs bathroom with a puppy bed, newspapers on the floor, toys all around, a night light and a radio playing softly. After a full day together, I placed him in the room, locked in the child gate in the doorframe and went to bed.

Mook cried all night, with a high pitched howl that was heartbreaking. I barely slept. After a few hours, I gave up and laid on the tiled floor next to him.

That went on for a few days until I gave up and just let him sleep with me in bed. That made potty-training difficult. He peed everywhere.

I was exhausted and a little grossed out, and I wasn’t sure I was able to handle it.

Fortunately, I had taken that winter off from work at the newspaper to finish up a graduate program. I was home every day, so me and the Mook napped on the couch together all day long. Within a week or so, we were inseparable.

We were a solid unit from the beginning but it became ridiculous after Mookie was diagnosed with a mitral valve issue when he was 9. He was given months to live. I was crushed, and I barely let him out of my sight from then on.

He went on a strict regimen of four or five pills at every meal. But he wasn’t a food-motivated dog, and getting him to stop spitting out pills hidden in meals was tough. We tried everything, from peanut butter and lunch meat to steak and chicken. Each worked for a few days, sometimes a few weeks. But after a while, it came down to pill shoving.

For the next 8 years, I shoved pills down his throat twice per day.

He couldn’t miss his pills. That meant that my life no longer was mine. My life revolved around keeping that pup alive.

In 2012, my grandmother passed away and the Mook and I started making trips down to Elkton, Maryland to visit my grandfather. We did that for the next six years.

Those were good days. My grandfather watched old cowboy movies with the sound blasting. I did house chores and then played with Mookie and his brother Tiger until I fell asleep on the couch. We’d grab early dinner at Ruby Tuesday’s and maybe go grocery shopping.

It was all strangely very comforting. I had recently come out of a long-term relationship and was leading a rather frenetic life in Philadelphia. Helping my grandfather grounded me. And Mookie was very happy there. He’d play all day and then sleep soundly on my lap the whole hour ride home afterward.

Mookie was supposed to move to Japan with me in 2019 but by then, his health had declined too much for him to travel. He stayed with Wendy, and I saw him every three months or so. It was brutal.

In August that year, she texted me to say that Mookie was on his last legs. I flew home two days later, with airline delays pushing my return to Philadelphia by half a day. I arrived at midnight on August 12.

Mook could barely move but he held on, as though he had waited for me. We spent almost 24 hours together before his time ended. He died in my arms that evening.

Truth be told, I didn’t read any books or websites prior to Kenzo’s arrival, nor did I listen to any podcasts or watch videos. I had absolutely no idea what I would be facing but I felt confident that I’d figure things out. After all, I had a lot of support if I needed it.

On August 12 this year, I changed Kenzo’s first dirty diaper, the one with the nasty black tar poop. I stayed up all night tending to him, and I tried to make sure Michelle had everything she needed. Since he came home with us, I have stayed up until 5 am with him almost every night, feeding him, changing diapers, washing dishes and doing whatever else needs to be done. I try to make him smile, and when he does, it makes my heart ache.

I think some of the things that made people question my child-rearing abilities are the things that will make me a good parent. I know what matters. I value every minute of every day, and I will cherish my time with this kid.

We will have a ton of fun, and do everything together.

Just like me and Mookie.

Two years later, just thinking about the Mook makes me cry. He was more than a pet. He was a part of me, and he changed my life.

I have this weird feeling that Mookie helped usher Kenzo into the world, one last gift for his poppa.