A Week of Goodbye: Journal Entry #1

How does one decide to end the life of their best friend, their most faithful and constant companion?

June 30, 11:30am

How does one decide to end the life of their best friend, their most faithful and constant companion? The only gift I couldn’t give my dog of fourteen years and eleven months was immortality. I could not lead her to the famed fountain of youth. It turns out swimming in the water structures of Steel Indian School Park in central Phoenix won’t do the trick. The ponds of Bozeman’s Dinosaur Park held no such power. Even the long hike to Hyalite Lake didn’t protect her against aging. Traipsing through the waters of Oak Creek wasn’t enough to baptize her in the flowing-born-again waters as a forever fishing friend. 

Instead, Kate and I crawled onto the floor, breathed slow and heavy breaths along with Maia’s labored breathing. Was she in pain? Did she want to drive with us out of the city she’d known as home for the last nine years? Were her dreams filled with eating coyote poop along the edges of her new, and already experienced, New Mexican driveway? 

I will never know. 

Historically, I am an indecisive person. Slow to decide, at least. And so it came as a surprise to my interior spirit when I claimed I knew the timeline had reached its conclusion. For almost fifteen years I had made a million choices that elevated the well-being of my beloved Maia dog. For the last six years, amidst wild vocational challenges, grieving the loss of friendships, and coming home to myself, Maia was with me. Always. 

We even wrote a dissertation together. Dr. Maia dog. 

Through the seasons of friendship abandonment, Maia was my truest friend. The first night I laid in bed and did not hear her softly snoring was a fitful nightmare. I may never recover. 

Maia’s last minutes on Earth were filled with cuddles and gratitude. She knew she was loved and that she loved well. She donned her trout collar that was, years before, announced to be her “going out” collar. Her presence and friendship pressed on. On this day the rest of our home was packed in a giant U-Haul but our bedroom remained intact. The place of peace where Miles Davis played on in a Silent Way, even if Maia couldn’t hear it. I am convinced she knew our “writing music” was moving in the atmosphere. Her round bed rested at the foot of our bed, her preferred place, and the entire morning she slept away in a state of slumber she hadn’t known for many months. 

Maybe it was the result of the late night pup cup from our local ice cream place after Kate I sauntered over near midnight for one final sweet treat with our sweetest bug. She promptly threw up the frozen treat and ate the “warmer” version, pant-grinning all the while. 

Or maybe it was the result of our walk home. Arthritic limbs have long hobbled her gait, and her once upward looped tail lingered beneath her hind legs. Her labored walking was joyous, but likely caused more discomfort than she let on. Maia was always one to persevere, just a little longer, a distance farther, a trip continued. Is there water nearby?

To lay on the ground with her as she breathed her final breaths will never make sense to me. Perhaps my heart will always be spilled open, broken into fifteen years worth of pieces, devoured like the many books she gnawed in her early years. She was the best dog and words will not fill the void left by the death of Maia, my best friend, my most faithful and constant companion. 

The one gift I longed to give her, I could not. Instead I had to say out loud to my wife who has declared too many dead, the end is here. The end is here and we must love her as best we know how as she passes from this world. I hope we loved her back with the force of love she bestowed on us. 

Maia dog. To the mountains and the water, from Bozeman trails to downtown Phoenix sidewalks to the high desert creeks of northern New Mexico. Home was everywhere your paws touched the ground, love bug. You will be forever loved.