Today is my best friend's last day on Earth.

  (Context: I wrote this letter, back on Tuesday, January 16th, 2018, to the closest friend I've ever had. The following day I had to let him sleep shortly after reading it aloud to him. My 14 year old Dachshund named Meatball, whom I adopted when he was 10, was the closest friend I've ever had. Since then I have yet to be able to read it, think about it or even look at his picture. The despair of losing that which I loved most is still too crippling. 

I'm not exactly certain why I'm posting this now. My best guess is for selfishly unselfish reasons. My hope is that maybe, by putting some of the love, care and energy I had for him out into the universe, a bit may be returned. I want to remember my best friend without being immobilized by pain and care for more animals the way I did for him.)

Today is my best friends last day on Earth.

      I write this today…investing a few of the quickly expiring minutes I have with you…so I can read it to you before you go.  

     Tomorrow, Mr. Meatball (a.k.a. buddy, a.k.a. the pot-bellied doxie, a.k.a. fur slug, a.k.a. Meatball mania, a.k.a. Sweeter Meaters, a.k.a. love slug, a.k.a. baby boy, a.k.a. BFF (Best Furry Friend), a.k.a. viking), you get to do your favorite thing in the world, sleep, for good.  

     (Remember our song, to the tune of that old Folger’s coffee commercial… “The best, part, of waking up…is gooooing back to sleep!”)  

     After 9 years with a family that didn’t appreciate you, a year in the state pen (a.k.a. a shelter), a dangerous spinal surgery at the age of 14 that many dogs never recover from and, likely the most difficult, dealing with your mom and I for the last 4 years…you’ve been Wolverine long enough. It’s time to let your adamantium exo-skeleton finally find it’s peace.  

     It’s strange where you learn poignant life lessons from sometimes.  

     Just a couple of days ago I was watching a cryptocurrency analyst’s YouTube channel. He read a story he’d found online about a person in the hospital. While they’re illness or injury was serious it wasn’t life-threatening and, being surrounded by people who had it much worse, put appreciation and gratitude in perspective for him. He ended the story by quoting “A person can only be as happy as they are grateful”. Damn…ain’t that the truth. 

     Meatball…I’m eternally grateful for you and all you’ve given me.  

     I’m grateful you taught me how much love my heart, generally cold, calloused and nihilistic, was capable of feeling.  

     I’m grateful to have been able to care for you, to love you and to heal you for the last 4 years of your life.  

     I’m grateful that you, just napping in my lap while sitting in the recliner, made terrible times a little bit better and made great times absolutely amazing. 

     I’m grateful your fur is so soft it’s like cuddling up to a fleece blanket (but better). I’m grateful for the wolf-like mini-howl you let out when you weren’t being petted…it’s adorable. 

     I’m grateful I got to hold your little teddy bear paw, as you fell asleep, back legs paralyzed, the night before your surgery a year ago.  

     I’m grateful you made me feel worthwhile. Made me feel important. Made me feel like I had someone who relied on me and that I was doing a great job taking care of them. 

     And I’m even grateful for the ending to your story. To know what had to happen early enough to enjoy and truly appreciate this last day with you. To know you felt very minimal, if any, pain. To have the peace of mind, after the vet did the x-ray for your back and discovered all the other unfortunate ailments, that this is the right thing to do…the finality of the conclusion…the removal of doubt. I’ll never have worry or wonder “Should we have? Could he have made it? Did we do the unthinkable without necessity?” I should’ve known…takes a lot more than just a couple of faulty spinal discs to take you out. Badass. 

     I could go on for hours, days, weeks, the rest of my life Meatball.  

     But I’d rather wrap it up and spend the time with you.    

     Anytime you were ever hurt, ill or in discomfort, your mom and I wished for the same thing. All we ever wanted was to take the pain away, absorb it ourselves, and see you happy. To keep you here with us, unable to remove your pain but only to reduce it with bags full of pills and shots, would be selfish. It would be for us and our wants…not yours. The exact opposite of what we’ve always said…what we’ve always felt for you. We may carry quite a few less than desirable traits…but dishonesty, when it comes to those we love, is not one of them.  

     I’m grateful that, in the end, you’ve given us the opportunity to do exactly as we always promised…to take the pain away, to absorb it ourselves and prioritize your comfort above all else.  

     I’ll love and miss you, baby boy, every second that passes until I join you. 

     Rest easy best friend. 

     ~ Dad