To love a dog.

I know. This isn’t camping-centered… but it IS something that has been on my mind for, well, almost 2 years. And it’s time I put it on paper. Speaking of paper, you might wanna grab the tissue version of it, because I have been sitting here getting ready to type, sobbing silently just thinking about how I want this post to be. And the reason is because we can all relate to how much our dogs (and cats, and turtles, and birds, and fish and every animal that has ever existed under the sun who we have fallen deeply and beautifully in love with) have meant to us, and how unconditionally we have loved them. And so, with that, I am going to share the story of my late, and deeply loved and missed Charlie. This might be long, but, I can promise, worth it.

Picture it, Appleton, Wisconsin. 2011 (please tell me you said that in your mind the way Sophia Petrillo does in Golden Girls… and if you didn’t, go back and read it that way again). I had been tasked to help a former employee name a pack of puppies that her mom, who ran a rescue, had just taken in. They were German Shepherd mix pups, and as such, needed German names. I was honored that the thousands of dollars I had spent on courses in college and the time since I was 3 learning the language was about to pay off. What I didn’t know, was just how huge that payoff would be. With a picture in hand, she showed me a pack of 5 incredibly precious puppies, and immediately, 2 stuck out to me. I had to have them. I had to. And folks, this is where fate most gloriously steps in.

I had at the time, as most of us do at some point in our lives, a landlord. Our landlord lived in the duplex next door, but was always traveling for his job. So he was never home. We didn’t have a huge house, but it was definitely big enough for my now husband Justin, myself, and our almost 4 year old German Shepherd pup, Trixie. And, we had a pretty nice, big yard, which again, we had full reign of (so long as we mowed) while “the boss” was gone. It was perfect, and it was even more perfect for another pup. I also happened to be a good (great) sales woman. And through my negotiation skills, was able to convince both Justin and our landlord that another puppy would be just what we needed in our life. Ok, Justin didn’t need convincing, and I gave our landlord a security deposit. The point is, it was a green light, alright? Anyhow, we were just a few weeks away from welcoming Gus into our home, and I was beyond excited. Wait, Gus? I thought you said his name was Charlie? I’ll get there. The weeks passed like decades, and soon enough, our sweet little boy was home. And what an incredible boy he was, and is. He was the best little brother to Trixie, and the best big brother to his siblings, and the best boy to every person or critter he has met.

8 months passed, and our lil Gussie Bussie was growing like a sprout. I had connected on Facebook with the gal who we got him from so we could share stories and pictures of him. And all of the sudden I saw a picture posted of Kazan, Gus’ brother (who happened to be the other pup I so desperately wanted when I saw the pic). He was being returned to rescue. What?? Why?? Apparently, his owners had big expectations for him, but not the patience. It seemed to be a classic case of having 1 dog who was really well trained, and adding another dog expecting him to be really well trained off the bat too. Instead of working with him, they scared him. Putting him in situations that made him afraid. And so he would pee. He was so scared, he would pee. And then because he peed, they would withhold water from him. My heart broke. I stared at the picture of this sweetheart, and it ached. And then I got this feeling. This feeling that he belonged to us. That was the beginning of the heart connection he and I had.

And so again, I convinced Justin and our landlord that we needed another dog. So, as it appears, I WAS a good saleswoman, because this time, there was actual convincing (and more money, but I digress…) involved. But, he was ours! Here is where the magic begins. While in rescue, he was named Kazan, but as he was adopted out, his name changed to Charlie. Ok Nikki, that’s neat. Charlie is a super common dog name. What’s the point? Well, I will tell you the point. When I was 20, I lost my sweet father unexpectedly. And his name? Charlie. Justin and I weren’t having kids, and so having a dog, who we considered as kids with his name was the most beautiful and poetic thing I had experienced, and I hadn’t even gotten to know him yet.

The day finally did come, and I got the call to come get him!! We drove to pick him up. The door opened and my Charlie Bear came bounding out of the car, right into my outstretched arms. I could feel his little body quivering, and yet felt like he knew he was safe in my arms. He met Trixie, and I can tell you this… she liked him, but it was going to take a little time- after all, less than a year ago, she was a one-pup-family, and now she had not 1 but TWO more brothers to share the love with. I get it. I felt the same when the little gremlin who was my brother showed up and wrecked everything (MIKEY I LOVE YOU!). Seeing Gus again for the first time in said timeframe was a completely different story. It was as if no time had passed at all. From the very beginning, these 2 shared a bond. In every single picture shared with me from their fairy rescue mom before we had gotten either, were pictures of them snuggling. Not a single one with any of the other 3 in the pack. And they were reunited and IT FELT SO GOOD! They tussled, rolled around on the ground (cue my thankfulness that the landlord truly was never home here) and played. Later that night, we turned in, and Charlie cuddled right up to me, not leaving my side. This became the story of our life over the next almost decade. And lemme tell you. He was soft. And fluffy. And he smelled like cookies. You know what that is supposed to mean? When you smell cookies, it apparently means an angel is near. But, with him, you didn’t have to tell me that.

Over the years, we worked with Charlie. And you know what? He was incredibly smart. And sweet. Though he wasn’t as outgoing (who could blame him) as his brother, he never once growled or displayed any sense of aggression. Why am I saying that? Because with what he went through the first few months of his life, I wouldn’t have blamed him. Instead, he was a lot like my dad, who also had been through hell and back in Vietnam, in that he was a little scared of things, but once you got to know him, he was the sweetest man in the world. The 5 of us had such incredible adventures. Trekking to Canada, camping everywhere in Wisconsin, hiking nearly every day. It was magic. Except that working in retail doesn’t allow time to be spent with those you love, and with that, we made the move to Minnesota- where I would be able to work a “normal” 9-5, which ultimately meant, more adventure. We moved in July of 2012, to a place we had never been. And it was nice. Small, but nice.

I had decided it was time for a vacation, and arranged with Justin’s boss to surprise him on his birthday with plane tickets to Costa Rica, my most favorite place in the world. Being the greatest girlfriend in the world aside (what? Just sayin…) we were slated to head out that May (2013) for a glorious week. This meant we needed to find a boarding facility for the babes. We found one about 5 miles away, and off we went, headed to paradise.

I remember exactly where I was. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and we were at the restaurant across from our hotel in Uvita. And a storm was rolling in. I love thunderstorms, especially in Costa Rica, so I should have been excited, but instead, there was a nagging feeling that I couldn’t pin point. At this time, phones and such weren’t as international as they are now. So, I had left a friend in charge of the dogs while we were gone, meaning, they would call her if anything were awry, and she would let me know through Facebook. I sent the message “Hey, just wanted to check in… pups doing ok?” and after a bit I received word back that she hadn’t heard anything, and so, they were fine. Our vacation quickly came to a close, and we were headed back to some kind of snow/slush mayhem back in MN- fun. But, we were so excited to see our babies again. As we waited for them to be brought to us, the owner casually asked “Hey, is Charlie a fence climber?” I mean, we hadn’t had him even a year- I had no idea, but had never seen him climb anything, except my lap. So I said I didn’t think so. As it turns out, Charlie somehow scaled a TEN FOOT fence, rendering him free in a place he had never been. He crossed the BUSIEST highway in the area, and headed back over 5 miles which he had never traipsed before, to be found…. on our doorstep. When did this happen, you ask? Ah, yes. Wednesday afternoon- you know, right about the time I sent my friend a message asking if the pups were ok? Yes, that exact time. Justin and I both burst into tears as we saw him, thinking how afraid he must have been. How brave. How smart he was to know the way home in a place he couldn’t possibly have known the way home. I never wanted him to leave my presence again. First lesson- always listen to your gut. Second- and not a lesson, but Justin and I very quickly learned that when Charlie perched up on the console in between us while we drove, he was actually taking in GPS waypoints. Smart pup 😉

The rest of the spring into the summer was spent house hunting, and we found “the one” in May, and moved in July. Not even a full year into our Minnesota experience. Needless to say, one of the first orders of business was to get a fence around the property. But, because of codes, we could only have a 3-foot fence. Also needless to say, it did little to nothing to keep Charlie in. A frequent evening in the back yard went something like this… Charlie would see another person or dog and take off, mach speed, leaving us hollering and running after him “he’s nice!!! CHARLIEEEEEEEE!!!! Don’t worry, he’s niiiiiiiiiiice!!!” And just as easily as he glided over, he hopped right back, trotting by us as if to say “what?” And carry on with the night.

Years passed, and life was pretty great. Justin and I got married in our backyard, with Gus and Charlie as our “ring bearers,” a truly beautiful and magical day. We also added another ham bone to the mix, our little Mika girl (no landlord to convince this time, and Justin is pretty easy when it comes to dogs it seems). The boys loved. And when I say loved, I cannot adequately put into words just how much, they loved playing with her, chasing her, harassing her (and being harassed in return). Seeing Charlie play with her was magic. I am no stranger to pack hierarchy in dogs, and I am also no stranger to the fact that Charlie was reveling that he was no longer at the “bottom” of the pack. We started seeing a new found confidence in him, all the while remaining the best big brother alongside Gus.

And then came Fall of 2017. I was still working a corporate gig, but since it was retail, we worked some pretty crazy retail hours as support. During the week of Thanksgiving, I had noticed that Charlie was breathing heavily. Something was amiss… and going back to my lessons learned, I listened to my gut. Justin took him into the vet to have him checked out. Sitting at my desk, he called.

“So, Dr. Mitchell took an x-ray, and it looks like he has fluid in his chest cavity. He can’t do an MRI, which is what he needs because they don’t have the machine here. So we will have to make an appointment at the U.”

I couldn’t help myself as I sat there feeling completely helpless, so I did everything you aren’t supposed to do when you have a yet-to-be-determined medical issue… I googled it. I am not necessarily saying it was a bad thing to do, but probably not the best thing to do at your desk. At work. Let’s just say there is not a single positive outcome diagnosis that comes from googling “chest cavity filled with fluid in dogs.” But, I DID spring into mommy action and called the U. Annnnnnd as luck would (not) have it, they didn’t have any openings because of the holiday. Fate stepped in though, there just so happened to be ONE opening at the University of Wisconsin Madison vet school, at noon that Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. My shift was from 9 p.m. to 5 a.m. (I know) the night before on Thanksgiving itself, and it was a 4 hour drive, so if I got home, napped for an hour, I could hit the road and be there right at noon. It’s the small things, right? And after what seemed to be the LONGEST shift ever, and a far too quick nap, we were on our way.

I walked in the door with minutes to spare. Dropped off my guy, and told the vet I would be napping in my car, as one might need to after such an evening into next day.

About halfway through, my phone rang. “Hey Nikki, would you mind coming inside? I wanted to share my findings.” he said. Not good. Not good. Not good. I knew it wasn’t good. And I was right.

Charlie had what was called Hemangiosarcoma, or cancer of the heart and blood. He was breathing funny because he had a tumor on his heart that was bleeding into his pericardium (the sac that goes around all of our hearts) causing him to breathe heavily, because the pressure from the blood was squeezing his heart, making it hard to breathe. The next sentence absolutely gutted me. “Charlie has a prognosis of about 11 days.” I ugly cried the entire way home. 4 hours of absolute sobbing. He was my angel boy, this couldn’t be happening. HE WAS ONLY 7!

Let’s note that over the course of the next few days, as we tried to figure out what to do, we had the help of some incredible veterinarians, holistic vets, friends, family and everything in between. In the meantime, Charlie had the blood drawn from around his heart sac for temporary relief (until it filled up again). And it was here that we were presented with some options. Put him down (nope, not now, it wasn’t his time). Let his heart explode naturally and he will pass quickly and painlessly (excuse me? No.). Continuously drain his heart sac (it was $500 each time, and needed to be done weekly… this just wasn’t an option for us, nor was it for him). Heart surgery to remove the tumor. It was expensiiiiivvvveeeee, but, as we decided, the best course of action. Charlie was incredibly happy and healthy otherwise, so while a lot of money, it could extend his life- and that was a risk we were willing to take.

His surgery was scheduled for a few days later. Of course we were a mess up to and through the surgery, and then obviously afterwards when we were told he couldn’t jump, get excited, go up or down stairs, or poop too hard for 2 weeks. Why? Oh, it’s simple. The stitches in his heart would rip and he would bleed out. Well, alright. This is really where I think we not only bonded as a family, practicing quiet time, snuggling and relaxing… but also where my bond with my boy deepened ever so much. He and I made a snuggle fort on the floor in my closet where we slept each night as he healed. I think he secretly was loving all of the attention he was getting. And I, loving watching his chest rise and fall, and him, in that moment, being ok.

I was NOT ready for the phone call from the surgeon. Mostly because surgeons don’t call you crying. The University of Minnesota is a top 10 vet school in the U.S., which is why we brought all of the pups there for anything major. There is a peace of mind knowing the capable hands they are in. So when the doc was in tears, I was immediately terrified.

“In my entire time as a surgeon, and in my entire research… I have never seen this,” she said. Ok, Nikki. Cut to the chase. Charlie was 1 of FOUR DOGS IN THE WHOLE WORLD who had a tumor present in this spot, unique to hemangiosarcoma, on his heart, that turned out to be… Benign. You read that right. His tumor wasn’t cancer. He became a miracle dog to us, to our family and friends, to his vet (ok to the whole clinic) and at the U. Charlie was a miracle. And I was, elated. Not surprised, but elated.

Charlie healed, we resumed hiking in the wintery cold that was MinneSNOWta and life went on. And I thanked my lucky stars and angels every night that we followed our gut and didn’t put him down. And then March 2018 happened.

Again, Charlie was breathing funny- but he was also supposed to get 6-month check ups for the rest of his life to make sure the tumor wasn’t coming back, so while only a few months in, he should go in regardless. So, we did. And again, I left the vet in ugly tears.

This time, Charlie saw the cardiologist. He listened to his heart. And something was amiss. So, they looked at an x-ray (at this point, can we just say hooray for science??). The doctor noted fluid in his lungs (cue Google search here… and cue no good results again here as well). After a biopsy, it was determined that Charlie had mesothelioma, or a type of lung cancer. Sort of.

What do you mean “sort of”? Well, it goes a little something like this… the doctor at his initial appointment believed it to be mesothelioma. But also knew that was incredibly rare in dogs. Hence, the biopsy. When the results came back, there were a LOT of mesothelial cells, but no cancerous ones. It was at this point the pathology team and oncology team engaged in what we will call, “friendly banter”. Friendly banter because half of them agreed “if it quacks like a duck, and looks like a duck…” while the other half said “yeah but, there is no indication of cancer…” but none of them could explain what it was. And, well, when there is no science to back what was going on, what was it then? I only wished I could be a fly on the wall.

Again, Justin and I decided that if he ever got to a point where he wasn’t enjoying life, eating, playing and so on, we would make “the decision,” but Charlie was as full of life as any other perfectly healthy dog… I should also note that we love to hike, and he could keep up on a 15 mile hike on a Saturday just as well as the other pups, heck, he ran circles around us. So now was not the time. And with that, Charlie started chemo (just in case) and had 2 ports installed (wrong word for an animal, but right idea to create a picture) to drain the fluid. Again, it is really- like $600 a time expensive, to have his lungs drained, and every 2 weeks at that, so the team at the U decided (again, note my saleswomanship here) that they trusted me, and would teach me how to do it at home with Justin.

I have always been able to be brave and capable in the heaviest of situations. Small stuff? Homegirl falls apart, but big stuff like this, I got it, no sweat. With that little tidbit in your pocket, please know that this was still absolutely terrifying. In order to drain his lungs we had to clean it (REALLY WELL- like, surgical-prep well), I had to insert the port needle, connect it to the tube that goes to the gigantic syringe (which empties into a bowl), but I also had to turn the port “on” when I was sucking the fluid, then turn it “off” to drain the syringe, then back “on” to suck more fluid and so on. Not doing this could push the fluid back into his lungs, or air or both and none of those things were good. But, I got it, and so did Justin. And every 2 weeks, we would pull right around 3 liters (yep. 3 of those liter soda bottles you buy) off my little 60-lb puppy’s body. Our arms ached afterwards because it usually took an hour to do, and you had to pull the syringe hard because it was so big. But let me tell you something, the SECOND we were done, Charlie bounced up, romping around, just happy (and light) as a clam. The fluid simply bogged him down, once it was gone, he felt like a million pups. I said it.

For months, this was our life. And we got into a routine. And something (finally) wonderful happened. The fluid started to dry up! We would get a liter, sometimes just a little more, sometimes a little less, but that was it!!! Was he on his way to a full recovery??

As far as his lungs were concerned, yes. But. Oh fuck. There’s a “but.” Now, his stomach was filling with fluid.

I should note, that throughout this whole thing- every single part of Charlie was monitored and measured.

Heart tumor coming back? Nope. Lungs looking good other than occasionally filling (then drained and back to lookin good)? Yep. Heart rate good? Yep. Respiration good? 10-4. Appetite? Absolutely. (Fun fact: When you said the word “foodies” Charlie literally activated the springs in his 4 paws and could jump nearly as high as I am tall). Overall energy? Perfect. Blood work? 100% beautiful. So beautiful, the vets said they would have guessed he was a completely normal PUPPY. So again, we had to figure out what to do. In this case, I couldn’t drain the fluid from his tummy, this is something a trained professional needed to do.

And, there just so happened to be a new low-cost vet clinic about 45 minutes away. Long story short, they drained his tummy the day after I drained his lungs every couple of weeks, for an incredibly low cost (that was completely doable even over the long term), and once again, he was a completely new pup. This clinic was a general clinic that did emergency care, so they were always booked and always busy, but we always had a standing appointment. My boy was so charming and sweet, that when I would walk in, EVERYONE would come say hi. To him. He was that friendly regular that everyone couldn’t help but love… and I just beamed.

And here’s where I get to say, that for a while, life was great. Pretty unremarkable, but as I have learned, that is a good thing.

It’s good until it’s not. And the summer of 2019, it wasn’t good one particular July day that is forever seared into my mind. We had been enjoying a week of vacation away from the grind in Minnesota. As like any summer morning, we got up early to hike the pups. On this particular day, we did 9 miles. Charlie bounded back and forth on this hike (he got to be off leash). “Hunting” for birds and other critters to pounce, running top speed past us, then turning around as if to say “you guys comin or what??” Only to tear off again once we caught up. It was a normal hike in every sense of the word. We got back, and got the pups all settled in so Justin and I could go grab lunch at this AMAZING place that has the world’s BEST club sandwiches (I am obsessed). We went and came back, and there was just something… off about Charlie. At a certain point, we noticed he was getting worse, and so, at 10 that evening, I decided I would take Charlie (with his brother Gus as his buddy to keep him company and make him feel safe) on a 3 hour drive back to St. Paul to get him to the E.R. at the U. Justin would stay with the other 3 dogs so it would be less stress for everyone involved.

I hate the rest of this part of the story.

I drove so damn fast. What should have taken 3 hours took around 2 and a half. I have never in my life been so vigilant about deer and other critters in my whole life. I have also never not given a shit about speeding or being pulled over in my life on this drive. I came tearing into the U parking lot. Flew out and opened the door to get my boy. And he was gone.

I know. I cry just reading that line.

At some point on the drive, his little body just said it was time. And with his momma in the front, soft music playing, his brother and best friend by his side in the car doing what he loved (going for a ride), he softly left this world. And I was ruined. I called Justin bawling and in disbelief. He cried. I cried. I held his head in my hands and nuzzled his face to mine. I felt completely gutted. And so, we headed home. I carried Charlie into the house, and up to our bedroom. Put him on a doggie bed, cuddled with Gus all night and tried to sleep until Justin came home. Once he did, we took Charlie to the clinic (where his tummy was drained) to be cremated and to get a paw print.

Life wasn’t the same. I felt empty. Over the last 2 years, my job was to make sure he was ok. Keep my miracle pup miracle-ing so long as it was best for him. And it never wasn’t what was best for him, he always bounced back. Impressed everyone… but most of all, he was a happy, healthy dog. And now, he was gone.

A few days later, Justin and I got a card in the mail from everyone who had cared for him at the clinic where he was cremated. Everyone signed it, remarking what a beam of light he was every time he came in. In particular, one gal mentioned that she was the one who would hold him and love on him when his tummy was getting drained. She also happened to be a tattoo artist. At this point in my life, I had zero ink (and was kind of proud of that), but thought there would be no better homage to my sweet than to have his paw print permanently tattooed on my wrist not only by the person who held him, but the same gal who took his final paw print, and did permanent ink on the side. And so it came to be. My first, and only tattoo is of my boy’s sweet little paw. Fate is such a beautiful thing.

One might think that this is where the story ends, right? I would agree, except that it doesn’t. It absolutely far from doesn’t.

Everyone who has ever had and lost a dog knows that you think of them endlessly. That the tears never actually dry up. And that is no different for us. Justin and I also decided later in the year of 2019 that it was time we did something wild and completely true to us- this is the part you all know about, where we sold everything and live in a camper. One of the most beautiful parts to this story is that as we travel and find these incredible places to hike, we bring a small bit of Charlie’s ashes with us. And when we find the “perfect” spot, we sprinkle some of his ashes. He’s so far been to the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee, to the beaches on the Atlantic Ocean and beautiful forests of South Carolina, the canyons in Arizona, his favorite park in northern Minnesota- alongside his most favorite river, the places he loved to romp in Wisconsin, and now in Utah. He is always with us. I didn’t know how “with us” he was until this past May.

Please, if you haven’t, grab some tissues. You are really going to need them now.

After Charlie crossed the Rainbow Bridge, we were left with our senior girl, Trixie (13), Charlie’s brother, Gus (10), our epilepsy girl, Mika (7), and our littlest ham, Arnie (5). Anyone who has had an aging dog knows just how hard that can be. It’s even harder in a camper. That said, Trixie grew up camping and hiking and was a true outdoorsy dog. She loved everything about being in nature. Also, if you haven’t already surmised, we take better care of our dogs than ourselves and anything else in our lives combined. So as Trixie aged, she did do mostly gracefully. I say mostly, because at a certain point, she lost the ability to control her poops… Which became a source of hilarity, frustration of course- because, poop, but hilarity. She got too excited? Poops. Waiting for breakfast? Poops. Gazing out the window? You guessed it, poops. That being said, it is not uncommon for German Shepherd dogs to lose control of their back legs/bowels as they aged. They have long torsos, and their spinal cord gradually degenerates. In the early stages, having the unbeknownst-to-them poops isn’t uncommon, and truth be told, I’d rather that than urine. As you have seen throughout this story, we don’t put the dogs down until or unless it is something that is truly necessary. And I am thankful for that- given the fact that we got almost 2 years longer than the original 11 days we were told with Charlie. An additional 2 years filled with joy and love and happiness- everything I could have wished for. This was going to be no different for Trix.

As the story goes, we traveled with our now 4-pack. And Trixie gradually aged. One evening, she was having a particularly rough night. She was experiencing what is known as “sundowner’s syndrome” in dogs- similar to dementia in people. She couldn’t get comfortable, and was generally confused about where she was and what was going on. This had never happened to this extent, so while I knew what was happening, I didn’t know it could get like this. Justin got up and snuggled with her, she loved him so, so much that in any other case where she was scared or uncomfortable (she had surgery on both elbows as a pup, and had gotten bloat, which needed surgery to fix so she could live earlier in her life), Justin would spoon her, and she would fall asleep in his arms… but tonight, this just wasn’t working. None of us got any sleep, and in the morning, it didn’t let up. She ate breakfast fine. Pottied fine (yes, that included the after-breakfast-poops on the floor- but everything else was normal). Throughout the day, she vomited. Which wasn’t abnormal, but certainly wasn’t normal. Then, ever so swiftly, I got the message loud and clear. This was likely going to be her last night with us. If not on her own, we had to make the dreaded decision because it was the right thing to do.

Justin and I got her a nice soft bed outside so she could take in the breeze and enjoy nature as she so had her whole life, and in this place in particular. We sat around her with the other 3 pups, recounting stories of her life. Laughing, crying, then laughing some more. At a certain point, we came inside the camper, leaving her snuggled into her bed in the living room. Justin fell asleep on the couch with the other pups. And now, it was my time to talk to her, just us gals alone. I told her about how I picked her out. The drive to get her (that is a whole other story in itself). Talked to her about her first years… told her what a good girl she had been, and how much I loved her. I prayed to St. Francis of Assisi… (I am not religious, but let’s just say on accident, after my grandma passed years earlier, I picked from her huge collection of Saint pins she had that each grandchild got to choose from, the St. Francis one. Unbeknownst to me, he is the patron saint of animals, of which, I spent MANY nights praying to with Charlie). Except this time, my prayers were different. I told her repeatedly through the night that she could go whenever she wanted. That it was ok. And she held on.

And then it happened. He was behind me. Never in my whole life had I felt such a strong presence until this moment. I even said it out loud. “Charlie is here.” I knew if I turned around, I would see him sitting there, by the door. His ears half-cocked like they were when he was taking something in. I looked at Trixie, again saying out loud “baby girl, Charlie is here. He is here to come get you and take you home with him. It’s ok to go” I never have felt such compellation that it was true. Within seconds, she was taking her last breaths- I woke Justin up to come hold her with me, and we both told her we loved her as she slipped into Charlie’s arms, and off they went, together.

It was single-handedly, the most beautiful moment in my life that I cannot explain. And I don’t want to or need to. My boy was there with us. I mean, I know he is always with us. But in that moment, I felt him as though he had never left. I felt the power of his being. And it was incredible.

As we hike, we now have both of their ashes, and continue to leave some behind to honor them and their love for adventure.

As I close this post, I will leave with the incident that inspired me to even write this post.

With the 3 pups we have with us, and as I mentioned, our Mika (Beanie Girl) has epilepsy. Again, another story in and of itself, but her seizures, while controlled, are not controlled like most dogs. Her neurologist even mentioned to me, when I asked if she were a “normal” patient of his, that “no, she isn’t a normal patient. But most people wouldn’t do or have done for their dogs what we do for her,” meaning, most other people would have put them down. But you already know what I am about to say regarding that. Anyhow, with epilepsy, it isn’t “if” she will have a seizure, it’s “when,” and the stress that carries is immense. The first rule of seizure club is that you don’t talk about seizure club, so all I will say is that recently, it has been stressful. Because of that, I have trouble sleeping at night. I am always on alert. The second she moves, I am up. Earlier in the week, Justin told me about a crazy dream he had. In that dream, his hands were moving, almost like in a “scritching” movement, when you scritch your dogs. When he woke up, there was Charlie. Standing between us, watching me. He said he wouldn’t look at Justin, that he was only looking at me. And lemme tell you. I know what he was doing. He was helping me rest. Letting me know that everything will be ok. And when it doesn’t feel ok, just like Justin and I had his back his whole life, and specifically the last few years of his earthly time with us, he will always have ours, and his brothers’ and sister.

And that, is what it means to love a dog.

Nikki