For me, today began more than thirteen years ago and just last night.

Last night, in the midst of a patient's therapy session, Brandeis cried out as he tried to change his position from lying down to sitting up. Never one to complain, his expression of pain drew my immediate attention. He had celebrated his thirteenth birthday three months ago, and I had seen him losing flexibility and muscle control in his handsome lithe body; had known that he was losing weight; had seen the signs that his body was slowing down; had recognized that he was, undeniably, aging; had tried to think about the unthinkable. More cries during the night whenever he would try to change his position, and then this morning, cries of pain when he tried to get himself up on the couch; and yet more cries of pain when he tried to raise his head to receive his daily pills.Uncertainty slowly becoming certainty: it truly was time to give our beloved friend the last gift we had in our power to give: his release from growing disabilities and increasing pain. Had we not done so, I know with every fiber of my being, he would have gallantly tried to continue being right by our sides, no matter the cost to him.

Brandeis, our beloved red Dobie, with his "own" ears, as I would often note in describing him to friends, was a regal, handsome, friendly, loyal, and loving dog who always “played well with others”.

Now, not even twelve hours since his death, with the tasks of this day winding down, a realization hits me. Just how completely his presence filled my daily routines, and how gaping the hole left by his absence, is made clear to me when I consider my thoughts and actions since returning home from the vet's. Driving up the driveway, the wind whipping through the palm trees immediately reminded me of our gentle giant, whose anxieties always increased as the wind’s velocity rose. Walking into our home, the silence of the now utterly empty house was almost unbearable. No paws sounded, racing around the house to find just the perfect "choice" piece of paper, or the ripest of smelly socks, or the bounciest of tennis balls with which to greet my return home, all the while gazing at me with his impish eyes and wagging body to let me know how glorious it was to be together once again and how eager he was to play. Heading out to the garage from the kitchen, as I turned the corner, I realized that I was automatically reminding myself: "Now, watch out - don't step too closely here, or you'll trip" (on his supper bowl lying on the kitchen floor). And, suddenly, the magnitude of my loss is undeniable. Brandeis, and all his unique and endearing ways of participating in my life, is no more…no more…no more.

Brandeis, you shared our lives for more than thirteen years, becoming inextricably part of our daily joys and difficulties, a necessary part of the warp and woof of the fabric of every day that we shared together. You enriched our lives in ways small and large. I am thankful for all your many gifts to us and I miss you more than words can tell.