Pete

I am stepping a little sideways with this photograph: I took it Sunday, picking the boys up to go camping. They were at their dad's house and they knew that Pete had been sick. That he'd lost so much weight he was a skinny ghost of his former muscular, vital, XL dog self. That he had to be coaxed to eat and even to drink water, that medicine needed to be regularly forced down his throat.

So much has changed in our lives in the past couple years, so much has been lost. We got Pete before both boys were born, and they have never known a life without his furry, patient presence. He allowed them as babies to clamber on him like a living mountain, to pull his ears; he gamely tolerated their inept petting and occasional attempts to ride him like a pony. And always the slow, basso thump of his wagging tail, thumping the floor. A gentle giant.

That Sunday we made the difficult decision to have Pete put down. He had advanced intestinal cancer, there was little to be done, and he was clearly suffering. We didn't want to let go but we needed to. He needed us to let him go. He was nine years old, and a good dog to the very end. The boys and I said good-bye. Pete roused himself to give me one last thorough sniffing - the place where we moved to doesn't allow pets, and so Pete and I have not had much time together recently. Before the split we spent nearly all of our days in each other's company.

Alan and I talked to the boys about how Pete sick and how he wouldn't get better. That he was in a lot of pain, about how the vet was going to give him medicine so that he would not feel any more pain, but that he would to sleep and wouldn't wake up again. They protested, asked questions, but I'm not sure how much they really understood the permanence of that Sunday afternoon goodbye. I'm not sure I understand it myself. We petted him, looked into his trusting eyes, told him over and over that he's a good boy. Good boy. Said our goodbyes. The next evening Alan took him back to the vet for the euthanasia and I deeply appreciate the simultaneous sorrow and resolve this must have involved. I don't know that I could have done it. Alan and I have clashed a great deal, as divorcing couples will do, but we were briefly united in the need to help Pete over the rainbow bridge. A moment of grace.

Petey pup. Good dog.