Note: While I may consider this piece done by the previous page, the story continues still. 

This time last year, I boarded a plane to say my final goodbyes to my dying grandma Shirley. My heart still clearly aches from that day. I didn't really realize I still harbored so much pain in my soul until I was scrolling through my old laptop looking for pictures to use in my travel presentation, and ran into the pictures and videos I took in December of last year. The last pictures of my grandma and the farm as it was. The farm I remember it being my entire life. 

Things have since radically changed, though I haven't yet gone back to Minnesota to check for myself. However, I have been kept in-the-loop through my family, which has been helpful and nice to hear, though still damn-near impossible for me to fully imagine. I hope that makes sense.

A few months after grandma passed away, most of my family and some of the neighbors came together to clean out the farmhouse of all the junk that's accumulated in that place for God-knows-how-long. After sifting through everything to find antiques that could be auctioned off, as well as items that ought to be saved and kept within the family, everything else was literally thrown out the windows into giant piles of junk around the house. Once the entire upstairs was completely empty, one of my cousins used a front-end loader tractor to scoop up all the piles of junk into a large bin, which was then hauled away to the landfill. 

After this massive cleanup, I got a large plastic bin full of stuff that my family figured I'd want, including a pair of whitetail deer antlers my grandpa Bob had hunted, to a portfolio of antique horse paintings my grandma Shirley willed to me. There were other things too: photo albums, keepsakes, a deer painting that hung in the dining room, a drawing of a couple hereford steers, an old quilt.

It took me a couple of months to garner the strength to go through that bin of stuff once I received it. When I lifted the lid and began to pull things out one-by-one, I sobbed. That sting of death is just... there are no words to describe how powerful it is. But in a way, going through those special items, smelling the scent of the old farm wafting out of that plastic bin, feeling the softness of the quilt and the solid beams of the antlers from my grandpa's buck. It was very much healing and comforting. 

Now, a few months after going through that bin full of items specifically willed to me by my paternal grandparents, I'm feeling that horrible sting of death again. Not just because of the pictures I came across on my laptop, but because of my dog, Hunter. My sixteen-year-old Cocker Spaniel Poodle who has been by my side for the last eleven years of my life, is really showing severe signs of slowing down. He's skinny and weak. Even with pain medication, he struggles to climb the stairs and go outside. He won't eat unless I hand-feed him spoonfulls of wet kibble slathered in peanut-butter, or cook him special chicken and beef dishes. His nose is too tender for him to push open the doggy-door, so I have to let him in and out. 

Overall, it's clear to me that it's time to schedule an appointment with a vet who can come to my home and help my beloved old dude go on to the next life. I also have access to a 24 hour emergency vet who can be at my house in less than two minutes, just in case things go south really fast. However, picking up the phone to schedule an appointment with the at-home vet is almost harder than picking up a hundred-pound dumbbell with my pinky finger. Even though I don't want Hunter to suffer more than he already has (and is). 

Hunter was a Craigslist rescue, hours away from ending up at the local kill shelter, when Mom and I found him and picked him up. 

His previous owners didn't treat him very well. He was extremely skittish of people and would flinch at the slightest sudden movement or noise. He also didn't know how to go outside to go to the bathroom, as his previous owners never trained him (they just let him go in his crate). He was also matted when we first got him, and needed an emergency trip to the nearest groomer to make him clean and comfortable again. Once home, Hunter ran and hid under the bed for the rest of the night, refusing to leave. 

A few weeks later, however, Hunter was a completely different dog. Well... to the extent that he could "dog". He wasn't interested in toys or walks or other dogs. We bought him all sorts of toys and balls, but he couldn't care less about them. All he wanted was food and to be as close to his humans as possible, 24/7. He didn't have his own bed, because the couch and our beds were his. While we waited for his fur coat to grow back after we rescued and shaved him, we bought him a winter coat and little boots. He didn't mind the winter coat, but he hated the boots so much that he just flopped over like a fainting goat with them on. 

Hunter quite literally went everywhere with me. While I was still going to my dad's for the weekends, I'd bring Hunter along. Whenever I hung out with my grandparents, Hunter was right there with me. Hunter even came to dinners and birthday parties with me, where he learned how to trust more and more people, and beg for human food. He was never too fond of other dogs, but he wasn't ever aggressive towards them either. He was just... indifferent... to other dogs. 

Even now, as he sleeps at my feet and next to Penny, he couldn't care less about Penny. He simply ignores her, even if she tries to get him to play or cuddle.

All Hunter has ever wanted was to be close to me. That's been even more true for the last several months or so. I can't even take a shower without Hunter demanding to be let into the bathroom with me. And, when I leave for class, Hunter sleeps under my bed, or will even knock over my dirty laundry hamper to sleep in my dirty clothes till I come home. In the evenings, while Mom has been home and I've been at writer's, Hunter will pace around the house like a shark from the moment I leave till the moment I come back. Once I'm home, he'll follow me wherever I go, and lay down wherever I sit. 

Also, since Hunter's stopped eating his kibble, I've been sharing meals with him, literally. Earlier this evening, I cooked a couple steaks, steamed some rice and carrots, and reheated some turkey for the two of us to enjoy. While I ate from the big plate, Hunter sat beside me and slowly ate his portion from the little plate. Once we were both done, I washed our dishes and helped Hunter go outside in the windstorm (Hunter, for as long as I've had him, has hated wind and cold. The only way he'll go outside in such weather is if I go out there with him and stand right next to him). Then, I picked him up and carried him to my bed, where he is now fast asleep. 

So long as he's standing, eating, drinking, and going outside, I feel okay(ish) about keeping him around. But I don't want to wait till he's no longer eating, drinking, going outside, and/or standing on his own. I want to show him some compassion and mercy, instead of keeping him around till the very, very end, when he can't even move on his own. I know people who have waited till the very last second to let go of their dogs. I don't judge those people for keeping their dogs around like that, but it's not something that I can do and not feel immense guilt about. 

From the day I first got him, I promised Hunter that I'd do my best to make sure he left this earth as painlessly as possible when it was his time. Over the years, I've kept that promise close to my heart. And now... as hard as it is, as heartbreaking as it is... I will have to make that call to the vet very soon. And let Hunter go in the peace and comfort of our own home. 

I never wanted Hunter to die at the vet's. Going to the vet with Hunter has always been a horrible experience for the both of us. He knows exactly where the vet's office is and will freak the fuck out whenever he merely thinks we're going there. So, no. Hunter will not die on a cold, stainless-steel table at the vet's office. He will die at home, surrounded by loved ones and familiar sights and smells. And I will likely have him cremated and brought back home, too. 

Death is tough with any loved one, regardless of if it's a close family member, a close friend, or a close pet. I grieve all of their losses the same way. The pain feels just as profound losing Hunter, as it felt when I lost my grandma Shirley, my grandpa Bob, several of my great-grandparents, the list goes on. I wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy, yet everyone feels it in some way or another. 

However, as excruciating as it always is to let loved ones move on from this life to the next, I say it's worth every tear. 

I'd rather lose a loved one, than never have a loved one to lose. The unconditional love, joy, comfort, and comical chaos Hunter brought to me and my family, was/is worth the grief I now feel. Even though Hunter is still alive as I type this, snoring away at my feet, I'm still grieving his loss just as much as I will when he's gone. But, it's worth it. The bond Hunter and I have shared for over eleven years is worth every tear I now shed. 

When Hunter passes, I will immediately start looking for a new rescue to bring home with me. This new rescue will not replace Hunter at all. Rather, it will be my way of continuing my own personal mission to give as many mutts a loving home and family as I can, one little misfit at a time. Indeed, Hunter was/is a misfit. I don't know for sure where he came from, or even if he's a cockapoo at all (he was advertised as a Wheaten Terrier on Craigslist, even though he neither looks nor sounds like a Wheaten Terrier. The first vet we took him to told us he was a cockapoo). But, I do know that he came into our home a little matted ball of depression and anxiety. And he will be leaving it having been the one of the most spoiled and loved dogs the world has ever seen. 

I can only hope and believe that Christ will be right there to help Hunter along after the vet puts him to sleep. 

Prayers for myself, my family, and Hunter are very much appreciated, now and forever.