I write this one day after Josie’s train left the station. Yesterday Josie died, having lived just past her 15th birthday. The day before she died, she enjoyed a barbecued beef rib (not just the bone, but the meat and the sauce too!). Yesterday afternoon about this time I carried Josie outside and she stood in the sun, sniffing the cold breeze with interest.

She was always a noble dog. She had the bravado to give her tail a swish of a wag in friendly appreciation even as she struggled to get around on three weakened legs.

One reason I want to write this part of her story is for those folks who think they can’t adopt an older dog because saying goodbye at the end is too hard. Yep - it’s hard. No doubt about it. But if you told me that one of the closest friends I will have in my life would be in my life for just three and a half years, would I have refused her friendship? No way. Josie lived with us for a few years, but as one friend said, her paw prints will be in my heart forever. The paw prints she made in the snow yesterday are there now.

Here is the nitty gritty of how her earthly life’s end transpired: I decided to euthanize Josie when, after having been diagnosed with osteosarcoma, life became too painful for her. Lifting her from place to place was hard on my back and her dignity, as well as her increasingly sensitive old body. She just plain hurt. I had wanted to have her receive the shot at home, but it was not possible for me to find a vet who would do that.

So I set up the back seat of the car for her and we drove down to the veterinary hospital. I let the receptionist know we had arrived and placed Josie’s bed on the floor in the examining room along with her fancy silver water bowl from Mr. Norman with her name “JOSIE” etched on it. Then I went back out and waited in the car with Josie until the doctor was ready for us. I didn’t want to have to wait inside and increase our anxiety. Josie was comfortable in the car, not trembling in the examining room. Same for me.

When it was time, I carried her in and the doctor gave her a sedative shot right away. “You’ll have a few minutes, then she’ll be sedated and not know what’s happening around her at all.” The vet left us alone while it took effect. I sat next to her on the floor, looking in Josie’s eyes and her head was on my knee. I told her to look for Brown Dog Como, who would meet her on the other side - and that I’d be along, we’d see each other. Her eyes showed intelligence, love, some things I can’t put into words. Then her head got heavier, and the look in her eyes more far away. I lowered my knee, still looking in her eyes, then it was if the connection between us snapped like a thread and her head was resting on my knee no longer. I slid her head onto my folded up coat, and she appeared to be suspended in some kind of in between place, staring off. On the platform, the train has pulled in, and the Conductor is checking the tickets while you wait in line.

So we waited. Seemed like a long time. The doctor returned then and I said “We are ready to go.” She shaved Josie’s back leg to prepare for the shot and I pretty much cracked up then. The only way for me to keep my cool was to remember to breathe. I had my hand on Josie’s chest as she was breathing, and I was focused upon her beautiful old self, letting them work behind me without looking, as the vet suggested. The doctor told me when she was giving the shot and then it was just Josie and me breathing, until I felt her chest move for the last time. It was quick.

Man o man, that was definitely one of the hardest things I will ever do or have done. And today, I am sad, no doubt about it. Our family is sad. We really loved that dog and will continue to do so. Definitely is the case, however, that to have loved and lost Josie is better than not to have loved Josie at all. What a good friend she was. May she be blessed by Our Lady of Senior Canines, and welcomed in heaven with barks of joy for a life well-lived.