The following words were written by a client just before he said goodbye to his sweet dog, Miggie. We are truly grateful for his willingness to share his heart with us. We hope anyone experiencing loss can find comfort in his story.

My first dog was Pal, a rat terrier, sort of a miniature dachshund but not. I was nine. I still remember him. But while I was away at Boy Scout Camp he got sick. The vet told us there was nothing they could do. I held out for several days, hoping he would get better. Finally, my dad came and said, “He is hurting. We won’t do anything unless you say. But he is not going to get better.” I said, “Okay.” Friend of my dad took Pal. I cried for a week, sobbing. I knew it was disturbing the rest of the family so I would go down in the basement, there was a bedroom there, and bawl. Finally my dad came down and said it was time to accept Pal being gone like a man.

Dogs shouldn’t be allowed to intrude in our lives like they do. We got another dog, named him Fred. But when we moved from Pine Ridge to Alaska we had to give him up. He couldn’t go with us. Uncle Jack knew someone at the Army Base would would take him. It was a place called Igloo. Reason: They were building ammunition storage structures, and they were shaped like igloos, made of dirt and concrete. Uncle Jack was the main contractor. They lived on base and all the houses were identical. So we took Fred to his new owners and returned to Uncle Jack’s. I would not have been able to make my way back to where we left Fred. But Fred made it back to Uncle Jack’s. See, what I told you.

Now I am faced with having to lose Miggie. I don’t think I can do it. I can’t go through another Pal. About six months ago the vet diagnosed her as having liver disease and said they really couldn’t do anything to help. But Miggie has struggled to stay with us, Sharon and I. She was Sharon’s dog. She misses Sharon. How do I know? Because as soon as I sit down in the recliner and lean back she is on my chest snuggling and rubbing her nose on my shoulder and neck.

Of late it is clear that she can’t hear, can’t see, and struggles to stay on her feet. She has no depth perception and misses the steps, going thump on the floor. I expect her to not get up but she jumps right up as though that was her normal way of getting down. I’m afraid she no longer knows her way out the doggie door to go outside. I find her pacing in circles, out to the kitchen, and back to the living room, up on a chair, down from a chair.

I could recount all the times of joy with Miggie. She is 17 years old. Went everywhere with us. As a puppy she did not like a leash. I remember her telling us this by rolling over and over and over. Sad, but left us laughing. And she brought five babies into the world and was such a good mother. But I can still remember the look on her face when all five of them, all a little too old, showed up for mom food at once.

I have that same look on my face as I contemplate calling the vet. They will come to the house. She will be buried up in the woods with Sharon. And I will cry. I will miss them both all over again.