as you leave
Barklie 5.4.2026
Last night I stood facing the back door, eyes closed, and taking a deep breath. I knew that in crossing that threshold, the feeling of home would be forever changed. I was pausing to feel the moment intentionally. I’d had to be very strong and keep my shit together for the past couple of hours while I said good-bye to her alone, in a place I never wanted her to have to see. Now I was facing this last bit … all I had to do was just … turn that doorknob and go in. To experience the first time coming home without a Barklie rambling around in there. I’d done this before—Cooper, George, Mrs. Woofington—I didn’t know to take note of this threshold moment when they died. The first time coming home is profound. This time, I was sharply aware of what would be waiting on the other side. A home with a hole in it. Someone missing. Less breath. Different noises, different silence. Everything wonky. More than just a little heart-crushing.
Eventually, I made it inside and then I ate a lot of ice cream. No more needing to be strong for the night, I let go.
I met Barklie when she was six; we said good-bye at 19. I won’t make you do math, that’s 13 years—many many many days and about the same number of nights. I know how it works, a 19-year-old dog is an old dog, so I have been semi-prepared for her departure—checking to see the rise and fall of her chest every morning and multiple times during the day—but the ending for her was dramatic and not at all what I wanted for my beautiful girl. She deserved a much more curated send off, so that’s a large chunk of the pain right now, beyond the normal grief of losing a dog. I had hoped she would fall asleep one day and go somewhere beautiful, not knowing more pain. But she started seizing, and then wailing. My sweet Barklie hardly ever made a peep. I knew we had to go, and that she wouldn’t be coming back. It was 10pm and I rushed her to VEG ER — they were so kind. I told them I didn’t need time with her, but to please help her out of her pain as fast as they could.
I was talking to a friend last week, we’ll call him “Brian,” because his name is Brian, about how she wasn’t doing well and how it was stressing me out and he asked… What part of it stresses you out the most? Her being sick? Her dying? I told him it was the thought of having to bring her somewhere, watching her last breath, knowing it was her last breath and knowing she wouldn’t be coming home with me. Let me take her for you, he said. One of the kindest things anyone has ever offered me for sure. However, that’s just not how it works. You have to go with them. You have to be there no matter how hard it is for you. You are their person.
I was there for her last breath. It really really sucked, of course. But I was so relieved that she was relieved. Her meat suit had been holding her back for at least the last year, and I knew she was wherever she was supposed to be now.
I’ve asked her to come to me in the sign of any kind of blue bird to let me know she’s okay. It has taken me two months to finish this post—you know how it is—finally, today, as I was walking my neighbor’s dog, a little blue bird swooped in front of us and then swooped up onto a branch.
oh Barklie, my sweet, thank you for everything.
