Putting Our Precious Companions Down - How I knew it was time…

“The walks become somewhat slower and shorter with time, but every moment adds a little more value. In some mysterious way, the time becomes increasingly special: Slower, deeper, more meaningful.”

A line I once journaled at the end of a long day after hiking with my ten year old pup at the time. I’ll start off by saying: Man, do I miss her.

How do we ever know when the time is right? It is beyond a difficult task of life. I believe the more suitable question we must be aware of: When is it not the time? This is a personal journey for each person or family combined with the needs of our lovely pets. But here is the story of Poppy and me, and how I knew it was time.

Poppy, a large female Black Labrador, and I were companions destined to be. I- a solitary man in this life, and she- a solitary pup, who loved to lay in the grass and sniff the gentle breeze more than run around with the rest of the family pack, was a relationship created before it became a reality: Two-solo natured creatures meant for one another.

We were explorers together. There was a level of trust with one another wherein I never had to leash her, even without training her to do so. We’ve swam in oceans, rivers, and lakes together. We trail ran, hiked, and canoed with each other. We fished, camped, and shared grilled meat with one another. It was a companionship I never knew could exist until it did.

Photograph by Heidi R.

As the years progressed she entered her retirement days around the beautiful age of twelve, when they begin to truly slow down. How precious these moments then become. We still never stopped exploring though. We would take longer back road drives instead of hikes, but the walks through the woods still existed. We would simply slow down and sit in the grass from time to time and witness the world go by. I can never forget the way her nose would turn to the wind and take it all in.

Three more years elapsed of subtle, gentle living, and then I began to notice her hind legs weakening as the months went by. I would pick her lean but large, one-hundred pound hind end up to help her off the floor. This soon turned into a daily task.

But her mind was sharp and keen. It was as if she never aged a day past five years old within. I would pick her up, and then she would find a rhythm of step and be off on her own. These moments became so very tender. As she would find her rhythm we would walk around my jungle of a backyard wherein she would get lost in the plants sniffing like the puppy she was inside. She would be captivated in place by a scent, and then I would watch as her hind legs would sink, the joints giving out, until she fell on her butt. Nonetheless, there was no pain. She would look back at me with a big ol’ grin, dogs seemingly know how to do, and it was as if I could hear it in her eyes,

Dad, Come pick me up! I need to go sniff more!

I would smile as a tear began to make itself known, run over to her and scoop her up until she found that lovely rhythm of walking pace again. It was only a moment later before she would find another scent and the process would play over once again.

The days progressed and the lifts went to nearly twenty times a day. I feel safe to say now, any time would have been acceptable, but I still did not feel it. I was a healthy thirty-four year old man who was capable of all these one-hundred pound lifts throughout the day. I knew it was still not the time. I spoke to Poppy one day and asked,

“Am I holding on too long?”

She would look back at me with a curious eyebrow raise. I smiled and said,

“Your mind is still sharp as a razor. Not yet.”

Another week flowed by and as she drank her water or ate her bowl of food she could no longer stand on her own anymore. We began to share breakfast on the floor next to one another, and then I looked into her eyes and saw something different. I was not sure what it was, but I asked within,

Is it almost time?

I laid in bed that evening, with her at my side. As I drifted to sleep, a dream came forth wherein my eyes opened wide. I rolled over to my nightstand, and in a notebook I always keep there, I recorded the dream:

I saw Poppy standing outside of the yard with two other family dogs who have now passed. They looked happy, as if they were ready to run down the road together.

The tears began to flow as my fingers ran through her soft fur. I knew in that moment it was almost her time.

I awoke for the day with the morning rays of light. I made a cup of hot coffee, went to my computer, and transcribed the dream, just as I always do. I analyzed and reflected, but knew, it was not yet the time. Nevertheless, I knew it was near. I took the day off and planned a day for just her and I. I scooped her up and we went for a long, slow back road drive. As the evening rolled around I took her to one of her favorite hiking and swimming spots. She walked for about three minutes before she could no longer walk on her own. I scooped her up and carried her, where we then sat on the edge of the lake with our feet in the still warm Florida water. I looked to her face and saw that happy dog grin.

I helped her up to see if she could walk on her own. She took a step and then collapsed down. Those gentle eyes looking at mine saying she needed the help. I knelt beside her, stared deep within her eyes, and then I saw what I had seen once before. I finally saw and felt it as if she herself sent words form her soul to mine,

I’m tired, Dad.

I knew in that moment, deep within my being, that she had lived the fullness of her life. Her eyes had said it all.

“I love you, Pop.”

The words I whispered to her as the tears began to fall, while I scooped her large frame up in my arms and carried her back to my truck. We stopped on the way home to get her favorite meal: a double-cheeseburger. She gobbled it down. I looked to her in the truck and I asked,

“It’s time isn’t it, my girl?”

She looked back to me, tired and panting, no longer with a curious eyebrow raise.

I woke the next morning, and I made the call I never wanted to make. The precious girl liked to sleep in these days so I went to the grocery store and purchased the finest ribeye I could find so she could have the clean energy for her upcoming journey beyond.

As the day progressed and time grew near to the home visit of the veterinarian, I could not help but to write her a poem while I found her taking a nap this late afternoon. I went to my computer, and I wept as the words and reminiscing poured from within me. Nonetheless, it felt right.

As the 6:30 pm scheduled event drew near, I cooked the fine steak to a nice medium rare for her and I to share as our last meal. As we finished the dinner we stared into each other’s eyes, her on the floor, me laying in front of her. I asked if she wanted to hear what I wrote for her, to which her eyebrows did that curious puppy raise among her fifteen year old frame one last time.

I went to my computer and printed it out. I laid in front of her, kissed her cheek, and told her, “This is for you, Poppy, the sweetest girl.”

15 years old,
one hell of a life.
A wanderer from the beginning,
always on your own in solitude like me.
But we came together;
a bond I never fathomed.

Do you remember us swimming?
In the salt, the rivers, and the lakes?
Not a care in the world,
or for anyone’s sakes.
Oh, I remember your first snow.
You ran outside; you stopped, and you stared,
and then you dove, and you rolled.

Seven years old, you stopped in the pines.
I knew then your trail running days were behind.
But we never ceased exploring.
We moved into slower and longer hikes.
I will never forget watching your peaceful face
as you put your nose to the wind,
sniffing and inhaling
like the wild animal you are.

Do you remember that evening?
You sat on the roots of a beautiful oak.
I encouraged you on, but you wouldn’t have it.
I looked around and saw, what a lovely spot this was-
To sit down among the forest and take it all in.

You taught me to slow down,
to move through the world with eyes more aware,
a soul more alive.
In a fast paced world of doing,
you helped teach me how to be.
I am forever grateful for you.

As the years ran on, the walks became a little slower,
nonetheless, evermore meaningful.
You are the representation of love,
of pure joy in this life.
The bond between man and animal is unique;
words do not need to be,
only presence is needed as we move through this life.
I will be sad, and I will cry when you go.
This is okay, this sorrow will be mine to bear.
It is only through it that I know our greatest joy.

Death is but a change of form.
And I have just dreamt of you,
running free with the dogs of our family,
who have since passed.
I now know it is your time,
I will no longer hold back.
I will honor you and the life we share.
I love you, my pup,
You’re the sweetest girl.

The veterinarian arrived and I laid with her on the floor. The dreaded moment occurred, and I watched as the life withdrew from her eyes. I kissed her cheek and spoke within,

Please be with her on the journey. She’s a very special one.

I carried her out to the pre-dug hole within the family pasture. I laid her within and as I knelt beside her one last time, I laid the rolled up poem, tied with a ribbon, gently among her side. As the last shovel of dirt was laid upon, I knelt with the tears and whispered beyond,

“I love you, Pop. You’re the sweetest girl.”

I hope this helps you find your own way to grieve, to mourn, and to heal. Listen to the dreams, they can be foreshadowing guides from beyond. Whatever you do, please don’t run from the sorrow. Allow it space. Go into it. Cry, sing, write, draw, curse, or even fucking scream. Feel it to its depth. Be one with it. Invite it in. Feeling the depth of each moment, even the dark, is how we heal. It is only through our healing that we may come to treasure and honor the time once shared; to cherish with grace. Healing grants this liberation, so we may then come to remember in peace.

May we let them go when they are ready, never to hold on with our ego desires forefront. Listen within. The wisdom of such moments lives within you, and them too. Feel your way into it. Listen intently, trust your intuition, and most of all: Love them deeply.

With love,

Mark