I’m saying good-bye to my best friend tonight.

I cry when I look at my little 12-year-old dog, Ziggy, curled up in a little ball in my temporary bed in his little purple, hooded dog jacket. My temporary roommate of two weeks told me it looked like a horse blanket. He is a tiny, tiny little horse dog and I need to send him to my old home tomorrow. My two dogs are the only familiar thing with me right now and one is going away.

My eyes are red and swollen from crying all day. I’m exhausted. I don’t want to say good-bye. I’m just letting myself feel the grief that he’ll soon be staying somewhere else. It is a meditation of maitri- self love and self compassion. I’m grieving because of how deeply I love this little dog.

I turn on the search engine and type in “degenerative spine in dogs.” That was the term the vet told me today on the phone. The results come up.

Degenerative Myelopathy.

“This is a condition where the spinal cord is slowly dying. It results in progressive paralysis that begins with the dog dragging its rear feet as it walks. This is called “knuckling over” and results in the toenails of the rear feet being worn because they drag the ground with each step.”

My heart hurts when I read that. He isn’t dragging his feet. He wakes up screaming. He has lost bowel control.  How much time does he have? My body feels a wrung washcloth. I’m cried out. Everything aches. I wonder if he’s in pain. I reach over and touch his cute, white, little head. He opens his eyes, bares his teeth and growls at me. 10 years together and this has always been his go to response. I don’t know what his first owners’ did, but created some lasting behaviors. I put my hand next to his yellow, exposed teeth and run my fingers along his face. Little tangles around his snout that still need to be clipped. I wish I’d done that in the last two weeks since running away from a home that now needs to be packed.  He stands up. His legs are very long and thin, a part of his poodle heritage. He is an elegant beast. He walks to me and starts rubbing his head against my chest making cooing sounds. I kiss his head and pet him behind the ears. His fur is so soft and silky though it looks wiry. Thousands of hours of petting him and I still love the way his fur feels. He’s freshly shaved. His fur is a slight dusting over his angular body. He still looks great for an old man. He head nods and makes sweet growling sounds. His previous owners had him debarked, his vocal chords altered so he mostly growls to communicate.

I start crying again. There were still tears hiding in there. This is my longest intimate friendship and he’s going away tomorrow. He looks at me, his brown eyes with small blue clouds in the pupils. He starts licking my hand obsessively, like I’m his personal worry stone. I scoop him up, hold him to my chest and together we rock back and forth.

My younger dog is curled in a ball on the crumpled bed all three of us are huddled on. She looks up, only her small brown eyes moving. The space over her eyes fold, like she’s trying to understand why I’m so upset. Ziggy, baths my face with his tiny tongue. I don’t know how long we’ll be apart.

I get up and move to my new bathroom to wash my face. The younger dog follows me. The bathroom is her favorite place to be with me, because she gets cuddles and kisses in here a lot. Ziggy stands outside. The bathroom is his least favorite place because he gets baths but loves licking freshly showered legs. I look in the mirror. Blood shot eyes, red face hair pulled back in a “I could care less how I look” bun. This is our last night together and I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow. I walk out and there is little piece of poop on the floor. I grab a piece of toilet paper and cup it between my fingers. Its still warm. He is losing bowel control because the tip of his spinal cord is degrading. I could live with this. I currently don’t live in a place where that is possible.

Tonight is our last night together. I’m losing my best friend for a little bit. I don’t know what to do.

Photo: Author