For those who loved Riley

It's too early to be up before a long drive, but this time I've got a passenger who can spell me, and this time especially, I feel like I'll need it. I haven't really packed. I feel all hollow and sad and I keep coming back to her last moments. Riley was so good, as she always was. We spent about an hour outside under a tree. She laid down in the grass between Dad and I, and just smelled the breeze. It was a really nice day- warm like bathwater, and it was really comfortable in the shade. Nap weather. She watched and listened to the activity around us, and gave me pointed looks whenever I stopped petting her. She was clearly tired, and was ready to sleep. I carried her back inside and she went straight to my room and curled up.

Kate told me days ago to listen to my instincts, and that day especially, it was so important. I went to get a towel from the car and caught the vet as she drove in. I had given the people my building number, but that information didn't make it to her, and it's difficult to find me based on apartment number alone. Those were the kind of moments I had all day, when I listened intently to my inclinations, and it went so smoothly it felt like water. This, of all days, was a good one to be tuned in.

The vet came up and explained the process again. She made some suggestions, including having some treats available to distract Riley during the initial sedation. I had been able to give her her meds that morning in the continued efforts to keep her comfortable, but she had refused her last pain pill, even though it was covered in cheez whiz and rolled in bacon. I had asked about interactions between the meds, but I was told there would be none. I wonder if that pill would have affected her coherence or comfort, and I feel as though she didn't eat it because she didn't need it.

For Riley's last meal, we gave her what she craved and constantly scavenged for, the one thing she was never allowed to have: cat food. She required more and more enticing in those last few days, and at first she was all about that cheez whiz. She ate probably four pieces of bacon that day. I think it was Dad who pointed out that if she was after cat food, so be it, so we'd already tried that with great success. I woke her from her nap one last time and carried her into the living room.

I sat on the couch, and we settled in. Dad gave her a handful of cat food and she gobbled it up while the vet gave her the first sedative. She was briefly distracted by that, and it took only the slightest encouragement from me before she returned to her meal. Dad gave her another handful and she happily ate it right up. The sedative worked fast, and she laid her head down in my arms and I smoothed her crazy hair. I put my favorite sleep shirt over her and rubbed her belly as the vet worked on her back leg. I kissed her warm head and whispered my goodbyes in her ear and felt her leave this world as quietly and peacefully as snow falling.

I wake up at night and scan the floor for her. I put trash in Riley-proof cans. I go to bed without one last trip outside. I leave the house feeling like I am missing something, because I am.

Dad said it will be coming home that's hard, and I agree. Even old as hell, mostly deaf and mostly blind, passed out cold in my closet, she would always know I was home. She'd catch a scent in her dream and roll right awake, reaching her nose in my direction.

This dog.

Dad said I should give her that last month and call her 16 years old. So I will. My 16 year old, lovely, silly, grumpy, loving, spoiled, happy, crafty, sweet little girl. I will miss finding her waking up with bed face, sprawled halfway off her bed, not ready to get up yet. She moved 12 times with me, rode across the country in my lap and went on countless road trips to fun places. She went missing once during a big storm, and survived many other incidents through her life, including a phenobarbital, red ants, a 15 foot fall off the porch at Topaz, a foxtail in her ear, raisins, dark chocolate, and two leaps from a moving RAV4- one intentional, one not. Her happiest day ever was at Yosemite, hiking all day and scaling boulders to chase squirrels. She caught two squirrels in her life- both here in this neighborhood- and once surreptitiously tasted a pet ferret at Topaz when she thought no one was looking. She lost a bottom tooth on the vacuum cleaner when she was 6 months old and they remained sworn enemies. She loved barking at splashes at the lake and fell into the water many times while trying to bite them. She loved boat rides and wandering freely along the shore where she would find sticks or something disgusting to chew on. She liked to sit up on the back of the couch like a cat, and you had to be careful because she might start humping your head. She'd eat Tracy's mac & cheese if it was left alone for a nanosecond, and she knew and loved her aunt long after we'd moved away. Her favorite spot to be petted was just under her hip, and she'd raise her leg, sending all the kids screaming because they thought she was going to pee on them. She did pee on many vets and groomers and once bit a FedEx delivery man.

Riley loved cheese puffs and broccoli, little male dogs, and napping in a towel on my lap after a bath. She liked to comb the dog food aisles at PetSmart for loose kibble, and would drag me to the cashier for a cookie, pushing through anyone in line. She preferred walking on my left side, off leash. She loved cats and was very good at making friends with them. She was such a food hound that she would jump up on the couch, put her front paws on your leg with as much pressure as she could manage, and stare into your eyes. When Ant was little, she'd eat his afternoon snack right out of his mouth, which entertained them both to no end. She liked to rub her face on her bed after a particularly good meal. She had a great mohawk and a curly butt. When she got really happy and excited, she would bite my nose. She was part mountain goat.

She was my ladybug, my little girl. I know now why I'm having a hard time leaving today. When I come back, it will never be the same.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan