On Goodbyes.
I did not want to write this.
I did not want to write this. I am heartbroken.
I did not want to write this, but the only thing worse than my sadness is the thought of letting it pass unacknowledged. Everything is hard right now, but this I couldn’t bear.
I have been the beta in a two dog wolfpack for the last ten years. Today, I am just me. I’ve lost my alpha. I have no pack.
I say he was the alpha because it is true. He was stronger than me, faster than me, kinder than me and probably smarter than me. Definitely prettier than me. Sam was my superior in every conceivable fashion — let there be no doubt about that in your mind if you are reading this. He knew best and I’d have followed him forever, provided the opportunity.
My whole life I’ve had a dog, but ten years ago my folks and I went to the pound and brought home My Dog. He was enormous and energetic and impossible to control. We fought every step of the way on every walk we took for his first six months. He struggled and I yelled and we must have looked ridiculous to our neighbours every single day. I used to run home from school to wrestle him over to the park before I had to go to work. It was exhausting. I didn’t know what he was like with other dogs or other people. I was scared to let him off his leash because he was so much bigger than every other animal (and some humans) we came across. His energy was boundless and he only listened to me if what I wanted was the same as what he wanted.
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He was perfect.
Of course, we eventually figured our shit out. It took time, but our rhythm was impeccable. I could change his direction with a whistle. If I ever ducked out of sight while he was ahead of me (basically always), he noticed immediately and circled back to find me. He loved nothing more than other dogs, but he sat in my lap no matter how many were around if we went to the park to relax. He trusted me and I trusted him. He had better intuition than most humans. I felt touched if he was tired after leaving the park, because he’d go from walking yards and yards ahead of me to stepping directly on my heels. It was the only time he let me lead.
He was perfect.
He was always faster than me and stronger than me. Until, one day, he wasn’t.
The good news is, even when I was stronger and faster, he continued to be better and kinder than me. No one met my dog and didn’t love him. People I assumed were strangers would call out to him in the park because they’d seen him with my grandpa. Papa told some random woman in the street that we were in our last days together and she left crying. No one met my dog and didn’t love him.
Ten years ago, I met my dog for the first time and I loved him instantly. He was too big and too energetic and he took up too much space. He was perfect. He knocked things off tables and he scratched me by accident and he couldn’t be within 50 feet of anything delicate, lest it explode in a cloud of glass and elderly Scottish people yelling. I said he’d be my best friend. I was right.
Ten years ago, on that same day, if you’d asked me if I’d ever be prepared to say goodbye to this pup I’d just met — I’d have said no. I was right about that, too. It was fucking impossible. I can’t imagine a moment where I’m not reeling at the thought. The past few weeks have been the last of everything. Last time I saw him run. Last lazy morning walk. Last Victoria Day in the park. Last nap. Last stare out at the lake. Last car ride. I knew it was coming. I knew it was close. I also knew I wasn’t ready, though I suppose one never is.
Ten years ago I found a wolfpack, or maybe a wolfpack found me. For a decade I had an alpha. He trusted me and on our last day together, I really needed him to do so. For ten years he comforted me and on our last day together, I finally got to return the favour for a little while. I told him it’d be okay and I hoped it was true and I whispered a bunch of things to him that he probably didn’t understand. I told him I loved him and that he was the best dog I ever had. I thanked him and I said I hoped he had a nice sleep and I prayed the sentiment would translate, even if the words didn’t. I sat on the floor and I loved him and I fell back on words I knew he’d know.
Good boy. You’re such a good boy.
