On January 19th, my husband and I had to say goodbye to the puppy dog. After Josie struggled with labored breathing for hours, we got her to the vet. I held her as she panted, her small body tense against mine. She looked at me with pleading eyes—eyes I will never forget.

The vet examined her and said her heart was worn out. At age 15, we knew this was coming, but it was still so very, very hard.

After giving Josie a shot to relax her, the vet stepped out so we could say our goodbyes. Sounds of people chatting and dogs barking outside the door dulled. My whole world was here and now.
“You were the best puppy dog,” I told Josie, snuggling her close.

I loved having her curled beside me while I wrote, or tucked into my bike basket, or perched on the back of my kayak—always ready for whatever adventure came next. The time had gone by too quickly. I wanted to start it all over again.

Josie kept watch for us. She could spend long stretches quietly looking out the window, watching the world go by. Birds, squirrels, people, or dogs passing by—she took it all in. She wasn’t barking or restless. She was simply making sure everything was as it should be. It’s how she loved us.

The vet administered the final shot. After her heart stopped and my sobs eased, I picked up the pink blanket I’d wrapped her in—a blanket now empty. Hand in hand, my husband and I left the room.

I looked over at my usually stalwart husband, overcome with emotion too. He hadn’t wanted a dog at first, but was won over by Josie’s charms so completely that they soon became best buds. I hoped he could push aside his grief and remember the good times—the way Josie’s tail would wag when she smelled he was making jerky, or the afternoons when he threw sticks into the Wisconsin River and she eagerly jumped in to retrieve them. Such happy times.

Josie was also fun to watch when we raised pet ducklings. We have comical videos of her gently nudging them, trying to keep them together. Ever the caretaker, she sat outside the bathroom door during my evening baths and followed me from room to room—a devoted companion in every sense.

In her prime, Josie was also a great volleyball player, batting a balloon with her nose or paws to keep it in the air. We would “set it” back to her, and the game would continue until one of us laughed too hard to keep playing.

She loved the beach and would find a rock near the water, pawing at it and dragging it here and there as if it were the most important discovery of the day. In winter, she happily caught the softly packed snowballs our grandchildren tossed for her.

While hiking—one of our favorite things to do together—Josie stayed alert. If my husband or I lagged too far behind, she grew anxious, stopping to look back, clearly distressed. She wanted the pack to stay together.

The vet said Josie’s heart was worn out. I believe that’s true.

It’s because she gave so much of it away.