A long goodbye

anticipatory grief, wrestling with devastating choices, and landing in limbo

I believe Arlo is living his last chapter.

So let me start with our first.

I’ve made up an elaborate backstory for the hard life he led before we came together. It involves him escaping a puppy mill, scrounging for dumpster food on the streets of southern California, getting hit by a car, and then being kidnapped into a van of Oregon-bound street rescues to land in my arms on Christmas Eve in 2017.

When I got him, he was a pitiful, sweet creature.

He clocked in at about 70% of his current body weight and was physically very weak. His ribs, spine, and pelvic bone protruded from his skin in stark relief.

His eyes were vacant, which I now believe was a combination of physical and psychological trauma. Probably due to a combination of abandonment, having to survive as a stray, and eventually getting hit by a car, which is how he ended up needing to have his back leg amputated and is when - I suspect - he got his traumatic brain injury (TBI).

I didn’t know dogs could have nightmares. But for years, he’d wake me up in the middle of the night crying out. I’d jump out of bed, wake him up, and give him reassuring touch. He would look around, snorting and breathing heavy with surprise, until his eyes found me, and then he would seem to calm down. I imagined that he would remember at that moment that he was safe, that this dark, warm room with me was safe. That wherever that other place was, it was far away, because he would often breathe a heavy sigh of relief and soon lay his head back down to go back to sleep.

For the first three months, I focused on getting him up to a healthy body weight as well as building his strength by taking him on progressively longer walks.

By six months, I was taking him on short hikes and sometimes jogs in Forest Park. For only having three legs, the little dude could tear up a trail!

He was incredibly chill and down to adventure. He happily trotted up to the car, trusting me that wherever we were going is somewhere he wanted to be. I took him everywhere.

I also called him a “casual escape artist”. He never bolted but sometimes I would suddenly wonder, “Wait! Where’s Arlo?” after realizing I hadn’t seen him in the last five minutes. And sure enough, he would be three blocks down the street taking himself on a small jaunt through the neighborhood to collect some unsanctioned sniffs.

In the same way the government recruits hackers to test their cybersecurity, I fantasized that Arlo was a backyard security specialist because when I brought him over to other people’s houses the first thing he would do was a perimeter check. “The yard’s totally fenced in!” my friends would reassure me, and I would let them know that if it wasn’t, we’d soon find out!! And more times than not, we’d all discover together that their fence had previously unidentified escape roots that needed to be bricked up!

In other ways, he always seemed to have a couple of screws loose.

He would walk up to random houses and look back at me expectantly, wondering why I wasn’t opening the neighbor’s front door to go inside. It was like he knew that stairs led to home but couldn’t seem to remember which ones.

I used to joke around that walking him was like walking a drunk robot that would get random new coordinates from central command because you’d be walking together on the sidewalk and suddenly he would decide that he suddenly needed to veer away at a 90-degree angle, often right through your legs!

I attempted several times to train him with treats but nothing seemed to stick, and when I finally put it together that he had a TBI, I realized that he literally just didn’t remember what we’d worked on the day before.

But there was also an incredible innocence and gentleness to his spirit despite the hardships he had faced in those mysterious years before I knew him.

Unlike most other Shiba Inus, he loved meeting new people and other Shiba owners were always shocked at how friendly and sweet he was to strangers.

He liked meeting other adequately laid-back dogs. Puppies were a hard ‘no’ because they always wanted to rough house and without his leg and full mental faculties, he didn’t like being pushed around.

He has a stubborn streak that has sometimes clashed with mine but has also been one of the most powerful ways he has taught me to slow down, leave my phone at home, literally smell the damn flowers, and sink into appreciating all the small secrets of a place.

Since last July, he has aged so dramatically and is almost unrecognizable from the dog I adopted 5 years ago.

He has lots of health challenges, including dementia and a short memory recall that can cause him immense anxiety, especially at night.

He becomes fearful small, enclosed spaces like the car, so I can no longer take him places with me.

He is deaf and has lost most of his ability to see out of his remaining eye. Lately, I’ve noticed that his sense of smell has begun to decline as well.

He has bad arthritis and without medication is in a considerable amount of pain.

He just doesn’t seem to have the stability and coordination he once had that is needed when you only have three legs.

Where we used to walk around a huge two-square-block park 4 times every day, we now only go up a quarter block and back because that’s all he can manage.

Despite all these maladies, he continues to carry such a sweetness and persevering spark of life within him.

Yes, he sleeps 20 hours a day, but when I come home he lights up with recognition. 
He wants to be in whatever room I am in.
And he hasn’t had a nightmare in quite a while.

Sometimes, when the mornings are cool, we steal a walk around the entire block together, and afterward he slumps into his bed exhausted and content, drunk on all the smells he got to smell.

But is that enough?
Is that still a good life?

One of the questions they tell you to ask yourself when you begin to explore end-of-life care is whether your pet has more good days than bad.

I have troubling answering it because this little guy was dealt a bad hand to begin with.

He’s always had some sort of health challenge we were dealing with.
He’s always had his TBI.
He’s always had special physical and psychological needs.

My gut tells me that the time to make a hard choice is coming.

It may not be in the next few weeks, but I think it will be in the next few months.

Selfishly, I am hoping we get one more fall and winter together because he seems the most robust and alive when it is crisp outside.

I am deep in the anticipatory grief of wondering how to make end-of-life decisions for a being who has been such a dear companion and teacher for the last half-decade.

I have no idea how to weigh everything to try to make the right choice for him… as well as for me.

This little dude is such a survivor, and he doesn’t act like he is ready to be done. When I am home he seems peaceful - all things considered - and quite fine with the small, little life he now leads.

Even in the despair of my asking, I know that there is no right answer, only the answer I will make when I know how to make it.

If I wait until it’s obvious what I should do, I’ll worry that I waited too long.
If I make the call before he degrades, I’ll always wonder if I made it too soon.

The burden of self-doubt is unavoidable in a circumstance like this. One without clear answers and so many murky considerations to take into account.

Despite the tears that pour down my face while I write these words, as I listen to the first fractures begin to spiderweb delicately across my heart, I trust that I will let him go when I must.

Dive Deeper:

For now, I am taking it one day at a time. Striving to carve out more moments to give him gentle scratches and doing my best to be patient with his body and mind. I do my best to leave my phone at home when we go on walks so that I can be disconnected from productivity and to-do lists and really let him smell as much and as slowly as he wants.

This chapter isn’t fun but it is tender and humanizing. It sheds light on so many ways we rush through what really matters and are tossed around by systems of motion and power that pull us away from our relationships and living our life in the right-now moment.

How often do we forget to take a minute to give love to the people and creatures we adore?
How often do we forget to appreciate the secrets and beauty around us right now because we are so intoxicated by the unending conveyor belt of our to-do lists?
How often do we give our finite, earthly minutes to things on screens rather than putting our hands in the dirt, or making art, or calling someone we love?

How often do we forget to be alive?

Extra Magic:

I joke that adopting a dog was the best irresponsible decision I ever made. I stand by it.

At the time, my life didn’t look like it could fit a dog in it. I didn’t know how fitting my life around a dog more would make me happier and healthier. Not just needing to go on 4 walks a day, but the spiritual lessons I would learn now always going at a human’s pace. There is growth and depth awakened for us what we make our life about more than just ourselves. Intentionally caring for someone else is good for our souls.

This is the shelter I adopted Arlo from. It’s located in Portland, Oregon. I hope that if you’ve been on the fence about adopting an animal into your life, that his article inspires you to do so!

And I reeeeally hope it inspires you to adopt (from a shelter) rather than buy (from a breeder)! There are so many animals who would be given a whole new lease on life if they got to be loved in a home like yours.

Invitations:

The two ways to work with me are private coaching for business or love (grab this free 30-min call to discuss working together) or to join The Relationship Dojo!

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List of Noticing:

1. My toxic trait is that I really think I can do everything I want… run a business, see clients, build a house, do an equity-centered business certification, ride my motorcycle, have an incredible relationship, nurture my friendships, make new friends, travel, be there for my family, be a writer, go swimming in the lakes and ocean, foster an unhinged plant addiction, go thrifting, go snowboarding, exercise, journal, meditate, cook my own food, go foraging, tailor my own clothes, sleep full nights, play pickleball, knit a sweater, read books…

2. Still really vibing on music from decades past. This playlist has really been hitting the spot:

3. Been reflecting a lot on compulsory heterosexuality. Have you heard of it? What are your thoughts? As I’ve stepped out of my straight identity and more into my queer one, I am noticing the absence of orienting myself towards earning the attention and approval of men. I feel so much freer in myself and in my expression. I feel more ease and relaxation in my body and mind. It’s tripping me out how much the directive or '“radio station” was running in the background and spurring my priorities and behavior. It also feels like it is opening up a way to connect more meaningfully with men that wasn’t available to me before. Very interesting!

4. Still listening to Divergent Mind by Jenara Nerenberg and having my mind blown about how much more inclusive and socially powerful adopting a neurodiversity paradigm will be for truly everything - business, conservation, social initiatives, individual healing through healthier relationships, everything!

5. I had a conversation last night that drove home how grateful I am that my parents didn’t raise me to be polite, but rather that they raised me to be kind. From what I can tell, “being polite” looks like teaching children to adhere to socially approved behavior (that is most reflective of the dominant, most privileged group of people within a culture). Don’t make other uncomfortable. Don’t be loud. Don’t wear that. Don’t have the audacity to take up space with your authentic expression… It seems like it is more about conforming to perceived external expectations than it is about living from one’s values. While “being kind” is about teaching children to use empathy, generosity, and care to inform the way they treat themselves, others, and the planet. A subtle but powerful distinction.

Until (probably) next week, theora