Goodbye letter to my 9 year old boy
I had to say goodbye to my dog three weeks ago and it has been so difficult. I got him just a few months after graduating college, and less than a month after getting married. In many ways, it feels like he was the embodiment of me becoming an adult. He was only nine years old. I've anonymized the people and place names below, but the rest is my letter to Petey that I wanted to share with anyone who would hear it.
Dear Petey,
It's been a few weeks since we had to say goodbye to you. I still miss you so so so much. I still have to catch myself, thinking you'll be there. Today I was eating lunch and dropped a piece of food. I quickly turned around to grab it because I was expecting you to lunge for it.
We say it's hard because it happened so fast. Or because you were still so young. Or because we didn't give you the attention you deserved in your last year. In truth, it's hard for a million reasons. We just don't want it to be true.
You were "just a dog" but you also felt like my child. We joked all the time, calling you our first baby. You really were. We got you less than a month after we got married. Graduating college, getting married, moving across the country, and then getting you... before we even had a bed frame, we had you.
On the very first night, I told Claire, "He sleeps in the kennel, not in the bed with us." It took me less than fifteen minutes before I changed my mind. You slept against me all night long. I woke up soaked in your pee. Thinking back, it's kind of funny how we went full circle there. I wasn't mad, though. I never was. I knew you didn't mean to.
The first year in Portland went by quickly, but we still have so many fun memories of you in the puppy stage. Hiding on the couch because you wouldn't stop biting us... you pulling the milk carton out of the recycling bin to play with like a chew toy... throwing the bouncy ball down the hall and watching you bound after it... getting stuck in the bathtub because you jumped in and couldn't get out... you sleeping under our tiny little side table because you were so little and fit under it just perfectly.
And then we moved to California. You loved it there. We got to go on walks every day around the apartment complex and see all the ducks and other dogs. You made lots of friends and got to chase squirrels (your "tree brothers" as we called them). I also remember how scared I was the day you dug a hole under the fence and ran across the parking lot. Even though it was just thirty feet, I was terrified that we'd lose you forever.
Then we moved back to Portland. Before long, we had a house. When we got the house, you were just over three years old. You got to spend the majority of your life calling this place home, even though it has felt like such a short time. I'm glad you got that consistency.
We set you up with a perch on the second floor so you could watch cars and people go by out the window. Looking over now, I still see a hundred of your nose prints where you'd stick your face against the glass and watch. I never want to clean those off.
At some point, we learned that you also loved to sleep on the top of the couch near the front door. We got some security cameras, but they all faced indoors just to watch you for the rare occasions when we went somewhere without you. Our little Petey cams.
The years of COVID came and it was probably incredible for you. Suddenly we were home all the time. There was nothing else to do other than go on walks with you. After COVID, I got a remote job, which meant I spent almost every single day of the last six years of your life with you. That's another reason why it hurts so much now... I probably spent more hours in a day with you than any human in the world, even Claire.
Even though I wasn't always playing with you, I loved having you near me all the time. I think you also liked being near me. I'd often turn to you to give you a couple pets or scratches, or if I finished a block of meetings, we'd go in the yard or on a short walk. On nice sunny days, I'd take off work an hour early and go on a long walk with you. It's been hard to do that recently. Not because I don't have a reason to go on those walks, but because going on them just makes me think of you and miss you. The weather is nice, so I know you'd love them.
We have so many memories of you over the years, but the part I love most is the mundanity of it all. Yes, we took you on the occasional hike or to an "event" but what I loved is just always having you at our side. If we were in the office, you'd be on your perch or in our laps. If we were watching TV, you'd be in front of the fire or right beside us. If we were making dinner, you'd be lying in your kitchen bed or standing on the couch trying to beg. Every time I'd take my plate down after lunch, you'd run to the door so I'd let you out in the yard for a few minutes. If I went to work out in the basement, you'd bring me a toy to throw until you got tired.
In February 2025, Eliza was born. You were so excited to have a baby in the house (to begin with, at least). We knew we'd spend less time with you, but we still felt guilty about it. We still went on walks every day, but it definitely felt different. Nevertheless, you were always by her side. In the thousands of pictures we have from 2025, you're always nosing your way in or hiding off in a corner, curious about the new human growing up in our house.
In September 2025, we took you in for your annual check-up. The one note we had was, "It's hard to describe, but he seems kind of depressed?" At the time, we thought it was because you weren't getting as much attention with the new baby around. Looking back, there were signs of what was really happening. You played less (he's getting old!). You ate less (he's getting Eliza's scraps!). You went for more frequent bathroom breaks (he's just doing mini-pees so he gets more treats!). The vet told us you had early symptoms of kidney disease (normal BUN: 7-31. Yours: 76). There was no cure.
While devastating to hear, we thought we still had plenty of time left with you. We'd continue to monitor you and if symptoms progressed, there were steps we could take (like putting you on a special diet). For the time, there was nothing else we needed to do, though -- just continue to love and support you.
In December, something new started happening that was weird... you began to wet the bed almost every night. We were traveling to Indiana at the time, so we weren't able to see our regular vet. There was some suspicion that you may have a UTI. They did blood work and while your kidney values were still very high (BUN: 107), they weren't that much worse than September (and your creatinine was still fine; normal range: 0.5-1.8. Yours: 1.6), so we had no reason to think things were getting bad.
We started taking away water from our bedside table and they gave you some medicine. We also made sure to take you out late at night right before bed and then first thing in the morning when we woke up. It seemed to have fixed the issue, so we didn't think any more of it.
On March 7, we had a party and many friends came over. We made sure to take you on a nice long walk beforehand so you could get some energy out. You got lots of pets and plenty of attention all night long. You had a great day.
On March 9, you started vomiting. You stopped eating. You started spending a lot of time curled up in your pineapple bed, clearly not feeling well.
We took you to the vet later that week. You had vomited a few more times, but you were still drinking water and seemed alert. They did blood work, but it was the weekend, so we wouldn't hear back until Monday.
On Monday morning, the vet called. The news was very bad.
We took you to the animal emergency hospital on March 16 where they put you on a 24/7 IV. Your kidney values were off the charts (BUN >200, creatinine >9). Our best hope was that you had an infection and flushing your system would help you recover. The prognosis seemed grim, though.
Claire came to visit you that evening. She spent lots of time petting you and loving you.
I stayed home with Eliza. I wish I had come to see you when Claire got home. I wish so much that I could spend one more minute with you.
We both came to see you the next morning. We got thirty minutes in a room together. We held you and told you how much we loved you. It was clear that you were feeling very sick.
The vet told us to call after noon because they'd have the new results from your daily blood tests. We left and waited a few hours until we'd get those results.
When we called, the vet told us that things looked really bad. After 24 hours of IV treatment, your kidney values were still too high for their machine to even measure. To make matters worse, you had anemia which was progressing since your kidneys weren't working properly, which meant the IV was just diluting your blood.
The only thing the vet could do would be to give you a blood transfusion. While it may have helped you feel better in the short term, at best it would have given you a few weeks before you'd start feeling horrible again since your kidneys could no longer function properly. There was nothing more we could do.
I called to schedule an appointment for at-home euthanasia. They said they'd arrive by 5pm.
We checked you out of the animal hospital at 2pm. I know you never liked the vet. I told you we'd never bring you back, so you could be happy about that.
We tried to make your last few hours perfect for you.
It had been raining all week, but shortly before we arrived home, the clouds parted and we got some sun for the first time in days. You didn't like the rain, so that was nice.
We went on a long walk with you on your favorite route. You were too weak to walk at this point, though, so I carried you the whole way. We sniffed the bushes. We went to the lookout. We crossed the bridge. We walked down Main Street. We stopped in the pet store to get a toy. We crossed back towards home two blocks before the vet so you wouldn't get stressed about being anywhere near it.
We tried to give you any sort of food you loved... peanut butter, cheese, treats. You wouldn't eat any of it. It broke my heart to know you still felt so bad you wouldn't eat any of your favorite things.
It was nice and sunny. We went upstairs, opened the blinds, and lounged on the bed, just like you loved to do. We sat there for an hour, just petting you and telling you how much we loved you. You were trembling, which also made my heart break. I wanted the pain to be over for you.
At one point you seemed to find some peace and you laid down on my chest with your eyes closed. It was like you fell asleep on me like you used to. I took a picture and I have it taped up on my desk. I look at it all the time and think of you.
I went to pick up Eliza from daycare. When we got back, there was a package from the Millers. They knew you weren't feeling well so they sent a toy chicken to you. One of your favorites. For a few short seconds, some life sprung into you and you tried to play with the chicken. You got tired again, though, and it seemed like you couldn't decide if you wanted to play or just sit down again.
I told you, "It's okay buddy. We'll play later."
It was 5pm now. The vet arrived. I took Eliza next door so we could be alone with you. We spent a few more minutes telling you about how much better you made our lives. We sat in front of the fireplace with you in our laps. Your favorite place in the world.
You got a shot to make you relaxed and happy. Your little legs twitched a couple times, and I imagined you dreaming about chasing rabbits around the yard like when you were younger.
Then you got the second shot. And with that, it felt like a massive chapter in my life ended.
I love you, Petey.
In the following week, I felt like it wasn't real. You were still around us. I said, "It's like he's always in the next room. I can never be in the same room again, but I just know in my heart, it's like he's sleeping one room away, waiting for us to come get him."
I miss you so much, Petey.
We got your urn back a week later. I'm so grateful to still have that piece of you. I tell you good morning every day when I get up. I tell you I miss you and I love you every time I pass it. I come by just to say hi when I'm feeling sad.
It's not fair. I know that's just how life goes, but it doesn't make it hurt less. I wanted you to be Eliza's first dog. You will always have that honor, but it hurts me that when she grows up, she won't remember you since she's so young. Even then, I can always tell her that one of her first words was, "Dog!" She'd shout it every time you walked into the room.
Claire had said, "It was always us and Petey," but I corrected her, "No, it was always us. But 'us' included Petey."
You were so much more than a pet. You were our family. I will never forget you. From the children we saw on walks to the many travelers greeting you in airports, you left a lasting impression on everyone you met.
Petey, you made life brighter for me. I thought I had more time. You showed us so much unconditional love. I hope you felt a fraction of it back.
I love you, Petey, and I miss you so much. We'll play later.