I feel shored up by the great love Red seemed to inspire in people, I was a little surprised by the depth and feeling, the great outpouring in appreciation of Red and his life.

As a writer, I am grateful to have written about him in a way that connected so deeply with people. I’m not conscious of it when I’m doing it – writing is like breathing to me, the most natural thing – but I must have done something right, and I’m proud so many people wished to honor him.

Grieving always offers me a chance to learn and grow – the true dog lover is an expert on grieving – but we are all different, and all grieve in our own ways.

I always try to share my own lessons about grief for a dog – so very different than grieving for a person, in my experience  –  while they are fresh and I am living them and remembering them.

I don’t mean to tell anybody else how to grieve, just to share my own experience. And I am not trying to be a tough guy, I am not a tough guy, just a willful one.

Nobody can be told how to grieve by anyone else, certainly not me. And no one can be told that it’s time to move on or let go, even when that’s true. Nor can I be told by anyone how I can or should react, or what I must expect.

It’s been 48 hours since Red died peacefully on the floor of the Cambridge Valley Veterinary Clinic. Over the past two days, I felt considerable sadness and depression. I felt low, is the best way to put it. I am better today. I ate normally, slept well, but was both sad and depressed. I felt a great emptiness around me, I felt a part of me was gone.

Many people have told me – assured me – that this process would be long and severe for me, but as of now, I don’t think so. If I’m wrong, I will say so.

I will feel what I feel, and not run or hide from it.

I know grieving is a process, and I am not in control of it. But there are many different ways to deal with it.

Yesterday, Maria and I agreed that we wouldn’t even think about getting another dog now. This morning, we woke up talking about a Lab puppy, or a sweet, older, sheep-trained border collie. I could hardly believe the words were coming out of my mouth.

Maybe I’m too old to get a young dog, I wondered. Maria laughed. When you’re 90 and in a wheelchair, you’ll be getting another dog. Could that be so?

I have not been a stranger to death. In my therapy work with Red and other dogs, I have witnessed the deaths of many people. In my therapy work with Red and other dogs in eldercare, I’ve seen much illness and learned a lot about aging and mortality. In my life, I lost two babies and parents and friends.

As a police reporter, I was deeply involved with death for years, too much of it really, I was getting used to it, a cop told me. Better move on, he said, while you can still feel. I can still feel. And I do. I felt a river rushing past me this weekend.

But here’s what worked for me. I don’t hide from death. I think about it, talk about it, accept it and see a great deal of it. It is not a shock to me.  I understand death to be an integral part of life. We will all end. Me you, everyone we know.

I do not feel sorry or angry or betrayed when a dog dies, and don’t need people to feel sorry for me, although so many people do. When people tell me they can’t believe their dog is gone, I think but do not say: but what did you expect, that they would live forever?

For me, the goal is not eternal life for my dogs, but the best possible life in the short time that they are here.

I understand that as someone who lives with dogs, I will not be a stranger to death or grieving. There are no free rides in this world, one way or another, we are held accountable for our choices and the way we live our lives.

I planned for Red’s death. I made sure I had a skilled and empathetic and honest vet that I could talk to. We talked many times about how long Red should be kept alive, and in what way. I made sure that when the trouble came, I would not be panicked or scrambling or agonizing to find my way through it. We love our dogs so much, it is very easy to be pulled into the whirlwind.

I knew if I thought about it and did some simple research, I would know what to do.

And sadly,  there are vets and dogs lovers who will be happy to push us into the whirlwind.  Pet technology is catching up with human medical technology: because we can, we do.

I make sure not to have a vet like those or listen to strangers online who tell me how to live or what to do with my dogs.

I made certain Dr. Fariello understood that I do not believe in subjecting animals to serious medical surgeries that they can’t agree to or comprehend.

I do not believe the love of a dog can be measured in the debt we are willing to accrue to keep them alive to meet our own emotional needs. Sometimes, we love by letting go, and sometimes, letting go is the greatest final gift we can offer these loving and devoted creatures.

And she explained her feelings to me. She would do everything she could to make Red comfortable, but would not push me beyond that. And she did make Red comfortable, and for a long time.

Dogs and people thrive together when dogs live in service to us, that is their gift and purpose.  That is why they have thrived in a world where animals are vanishing every day. That is why we love them so much.

It is ethically wrong in my view to go into serious debt to prolong a dog’s life or for almost any other reason. Out of curiosity, I called one specialist about Red’s spine, he told me the consultation and examination fee was $5,000.

Surgery would be much more. There is nothing loving about that for me, it violates my own sense of the human-dog bond, which goes back before recorded time.

I do understand other people feel differently, and I wish them peace and good luck, I speak only for me.

My dogs are a joy and gift for me, they have nourished and elevated my life, and I will absolutely not make their deaths into an excuse to be miserable about them. Or to feel good about me.

There is nothing about Red for me to feel bad about, other than the sadness that comes from missing him. That is like a stab to the heart but is weaker already than it was on Friday.

His death is not a tragedy – just remember the news over the weekend, those families in mourning for their children, mothers, and fathers.

I lost two children earlier in my life, and the death of any dog, even one as wonderful as Red, will not ever compare to that in my mind or consciousness.

I resolved early on and in conversations with Dr. Fariello, who I trust completely, that we would not permit Red to suffer one day more than was necessary.  This is not the absence of love in my mind, selflessness is the very definition of love for me.

Over the past week – and Dr. Fariello and I had talked about this a half-dozen times – Red began to lost focus and mobility, I could see it in his eyes and bearing. Even a short walk – 10 feet – brought him to near collapse. He was panting, licking his tongue and showing all the signs of being in pain.

He was blind and disoriented. The sheep ignored him, even butted him. I worried about his dignity and pride, two elemental traits in a working dog.

I grilled Dr. Fariello and read a great deal about interpreting the signs of pain in a dog.

We don’t need to guess about the right thing, the dogs can’t tell us, but they can show us in their bearing, and demeanor, their breathing and their movements. Red’s spirit left a few days ago, his life was shrinking visibly by the day.

Because I had prepared, rather than blame the fates and spirits, or ask for help on Facebook, I was clear about what to do. I didn’t really hesitate for a minute, and I have no guilt or regrets. We all love our dogs. All we can do is the best we can for as long as we can. I slept well Friday night.

By Friday, Red just slept, eating a bit of food, going outside to eliminate. His great and vigorous life had shrunk to nothing.

Being a proud and dignified dog, he never abandoned going to eliminate outside. There was never an accident.

My preparation – my own research – and my conversations with Dr. Fariello, helped me know when it was time. Maria saw it as well, we had also talked about it quite often.

I am saddened by people who are wracked with torment and guilt about how and when to end their dog’s suffering – endless surgeries, medications, and pain and sorrow. Is that what our lives with dogs is really about?

How the dog ends his or her life is a matter of balance, empathy, and dignity, for the dog, for the human.

It should be beautiful and memorable.

It can be beautiful and memorable.

In this way, we can also consider and prepare for our own morality. I want to end my life, in the same way, I helped Red to end his. That will be a lot harder to do.

The death of a beloved dog will always be sad but it does not need to be a trauma, or a drama, or a great and traumatic debt. We can’t help our parents die with dignity, but we can make sure our dogs die in comfort and dignity. My last day with Red was wonderful, full of love and connection.

My Mansion experience and work with hospice have taught me that dying well is possible, it just takes care and thought and strength.

So I made sure Red’s last days were comfortable.

We went out every day to sit and watch the sheep together. He loved lying next to me while we both looked at the sheep.

I’m not sure he could see them any longer, but he seemed to know where they were.

I sat with him on the floor of my study every day, several times, a day and stroked him, thanked him, and expressed my gratitude to him. I took care not to cry or be too sad, that is something a dog will surely pick up.

He didn’t need my sadness.

And to be honest, there is really nothing for me to be sad about. Every day with Red was a joy, he greatly enriched my life, he had a wonderful life with me, and I had a wonderful life with him. Why would I turn that into a tragedy of mourning and lament?

I want to be clear, I’m not trying to be judgemental, and I am not a robot. This is just what I feel.

Red’s death heft a great hole in my heart and in my life. I am moving forward. I think Maria is right, we will almost surely get another dog, we always do. It is, after all, the anchor of my writing, photography, and books.

But not now.

I accept the great gift of Red and his transformation of my life with humility.

My life with him calls out for gratitude and appreciation, not self-pity and loss. I will honor him in that way. If Red could think in my terms, I believe the very last thing he would want would be grieving for him for too long.

I honor him also by building on what we started together,  by making life better, by doing more good, by being more open and human and empathetic. Those are things a great dog can teach us, those are things Red taught me.

We get the dogs we need. I needed Red, and he needed me. We both answered the call.

“He was sounding the depths of his nature, and of the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the womb of Time.”

– Jack London, The Call Of The Wild.