No matter how long you prepare, no matter how much you attempt to convince yourself you will be able to keep it together when the moment comes, all good intentions dissipate in a pathway towards hell when your cherished pet takes their last breath. The energy in the room, with one less spirit in its midst, shifts. That is when I start sobbing.

We said goodbye to our furry girl today. For over a month now, she’d slowly been deteriorating. She was having difficulty standing and began experiencing bouts of diarrhea and vomiting. When she couldn’t keep even water down this morning, we knew it was time to escort her to the Rainbow Bridge. And it would have been difficult no matter what. She was my constant companion for 15.5 years. But it’s even more difficult because her death marks the end of a chapter in our lives. Ruby was the boys’ dog. She was a kindred spirit to me, but she belonged to the boys from day one. They were her charges, and she kept them safe and well.

We won her in a school auction when Joe was 8 and Luke was 6. We’d been fostering her before the event, and when the time came to auction her off to the highest bidder, we became the highest bidders. She was quirky, spunky, anxious, independent-minded, and a little wild. She loved chasing bubbles and lunging at bees, which she would snap at, swallow, and then shake her head vigorously for the pain of the sting and then do it again. She was excellent off leash and loved hiking and exploring, never wandering too far away because how do you herd what is out of sight? When we tired of kicking a large ball to her, she would hike it to herself between her legs. She was fearful of other dogs, but a lover of most people. In our FJ Cruiser, she would travel in between Joe and Luke in a tight little curl. She spent most of our drives covered in whatever the boys no longer felt like holding, books, Nintendo consoles, or boxes of goldfish crackers and travel cups. She was not a fan of water or baths, but she loved the snow. She could catch a frisbee midair and would spin an airborne 360 before catching a snowball Joe tossed to her. Although usually quiet and unassuming, she was kind of a showoff that way. She was a good girl, an easy, if somewhat neurotic, companion who followed each wall shadow carefully because she took ownership of all she surveyed and carried the responsibility with the relentless ferocity only a border collie can muster.

As the injection was administered, we said goodbye to her and we closed the chapter on the boys’ youth. Their childhood pet, a remnant of what once was our everyday experience, was gone forever. I kissed her on the head one last time, told her I loved her, thanked her for her tireless love and service, and left the room. It wasn’t easy but it was necessary and cathartic. I will never forget her.

Moving on happens in stages. Our sons won’t be coming home from college this summer, and that has hit like a ton of bricks. But Ruby’s passing is an opportunity to take another step forward in this new life beyond daily parenthood. It’s uncharted territory, but it’s time. I’m ready for a change in my life, looking forward to carving out a new daily normal. Fortunately, this new phase also includes dogs, the two corgi boys we purchased to fill our house with more boy energy when Joe and Luke left. No matter what may change in our lives going forward, dogs will be part of it. Saying goodbye to them is heart wrenching, but I’ll gladly suffer the pain comes with loss for the joy and love that comes with the companionship and adventure.