Walking Dax Home
CW: death of a pet. You are welcome to skip this opening section.
Have you ever been in that strange place where dread and anticipation live side by side? Maybe that is what fall is about: the turning of seasons. Monday marks the first day of fall. We do not get the full blaze of color here in San Diego like I did growing up in Michigan, but we still shed leaves, just fewer of them.
Fall is often a season of change, transition, and reflection. I am typing this on a Saturday morning. Next Sunday, we plan to send my dog, Dax, over the rainbow bridge. It is both an impossibly hard decision and, somehow, a clear one.
Dax is 12 and it has been a rough year. Last summer we had to remove his eyes due to infection, and recovery brought surprises. He clung to me in a way that lit up old body memories, like when my son Westin was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at age two and I became his lifeline. Back then, at 24, I felt overwhelmed, scared, and trapped. I was not keeping Dax alive, but he acted as if I were. He needed to know where I was at all times, and that same trapped feeling returned. It was sobering to notice how familiar it felt.
A recent picture with Dax in one of the rare moments he wanted on my lap. Look at that little tongue sticking out! 💜
One night earlier this year, Dax did not come to bed. He has slept with me every night since my divorce in 2014. Letting him on the bed was the first change I made when my first husband moved out. I jolted awake and asked my husband, “Where’s Dax?!”
“He was sleeping in your office when I came back to bed,” he said.
I tried to go back to sleep, but could not stop worrying. I got up, carried Dax to our bed, and finally settled.
Later, I remembered how some animals slip away to be alone when they are nearing the end. (I notice I am still avoiding the words “dying” and “death.”) I started to wonder: What would life be like without him? I began, very gently, to let him go.
The next time he did not come to bed, I felt… relief. Maybe he would not be alive when I woke up. It feels awful to admit, but it told me the truth: part of me was ready for our time together to end.
When we chose the eye surgery in summer 2024, the expense felt absolutely worth it. I wanted more time and was grateful my husband did not hesitate. I imagined we would get three more good years. I did not anticipate how much would change. He could not be left alone long without having accidents. He seemed unable to ask to go out, so I took him outside every couple of hours instead of two or three times a day. And he needed me constantly. Every time he woke, he would low-bark until I came to him. A friend commented on how much of my day was spent regulating his nervous system. It was a lot.
By May, our dog sitter noticed he was not himself. Instead of his usual routine of backyard patrols and naps, he wandered, got stuck, and never settled. At night he stopped sleeping with me and seemed to roam, bumping into furniture. In July, he stopped caring when I came home, even after travel. Before, he would stick to me for 24 hours. Now he tolerated a quick pet and moved away. The vet confirmed cognitive decline. He did not remember me. I was not special anymore.
Twelve years of being human #1 had ended.
These days, every few mornings he asks to sit on my lap while I drink coffee, and I treasure it. Medication has lowered his stress, and the accidents have eased. We learned the panting and restlessness were symptoms of anxiety. We are keeping him comfortable until my oldest son and his wife arrive for a planned visit next Saturday. On Sunday, a mobile vet will come to help Dax pass at home.
I am dreading the countdown and also wanting it to be over. I want to move forward. I am excited to travel with my husband; for months we have arranged life to keep someone home so Dax could be as at ease as possible. Let’s be real: if he is stressed, I am stressed.
I write this with tears. He means everything to me, and I am ready to let him go. I have never bonded with a pet like this, and I have had many. I am deeply grateful for this love. He will always have my heart.
Thank you for holding space for me. Comments are welcome and not expected. Some of you know Dax from sessions or simply from being in my world. If this resonates and you want to share your own story, I am here for whatever you feel moved to offer.
