Bay and I were best friends. She was the peanut to my butter and I was the chicken to her rice. As promised, we grew old together. Well, I grew old. Bay seemed to never age. While white fur had taken over my once-brown muzzle, her dark hair remained the same.

"Hugo, walkies!" Bay called from the front door of our apartment and jingled my collar. My ears perked up much quicker than my legs did. I slowly rose to my paws and padded over to where she waited with eager anticipation. Bay loved walkies. I did, too, even though it hurt my legs when we accidentally went too far.

"Good boy, Hugo."

Usually, my tail would be wagging up a storm. I never quite gained control over that infernal thing on my behind, but in recent years, it had settled down on its own. Maybe it was just as tired as I was.

The collar clipped around my neck and I followed her into the warm outdoors. The smell of Spring filled the air and I sniffed for hints of rain and worms. There were still so many new smells to explore, even after living in our new home for over a year. After Bay saw that I had trouble getting up all the stairs in our last home, she found us this new one that let us walk right out the front door.

We went straight to the grass—my favorite place to walk. The grass was much more gentle beneath my paws than the sidewalk. Even though my legs tired quickly, I kept my eyes, nose, and ears at attention for danger. There were no squirrels in sight or scent, but rhythmic footsteps approached from a distance. Lifting my head, I spotted a tall figure quickly approaching. Even though my vision was not what it used to be, I knew it was a human man.

The fur on my back stood on end as the male human jogged towards Bay. A growl emanated from my throat, prompting Bay to shorten my leash. Bay sometimes tensed and smelled of fear when unfamiliar human men crossed her path. She did not like them, and therefore, neither did I.

My growl lingered until the human man passed by, but I tracked him until he was far enough behind us. Then our walk continued.

By the time we got home, the walk had, in fact, been too long. Not only did my legs and paws ache, but so did everything else, which was unusual after a walk. Even the couch looked too high, so I settled on the floor next to my trusty Squeaky Duck.

Squeaky Duck had seen better days, as had I, but he had been with me since the day Bay brought me home with her. His matted fur and limp body resembled that of a mangy squirrel I caught once. He squeaked his last squeak many years ago, but I loved him regardless.

Bay paced around our apartment, gathering critical food supplies to sit with me in front of the television. When she saw that I could not get on the couch, she joined me on the floor, keeping one hand over my neck and scratching the way that made my leg kick.

Unfortunately, the scratches did not work their usual magic, and neither did the cold wood floor against my belly. I hurt more than I usually did.

When Bay called me for dinner, my body simply did not move. Even if it could, I was not hungry, despite refusing breakfast earlier in the day. So I laid like a furry lump on the floor with Squeaky Duck joining me in solidarity.

"Hugo?" Bay called from my food and water bowls again. When I failed to answer, she stepped into view. I let out a long huff to tell her I was not interested.

But Bay being Bay, she carried my food and water bowls next to my bed, picked me up, and rested my old bones against the luxury pillow.

"We'll make a vet appointment soon," Bay said as she rubbed my ears.

I sighed out of my snout. For the first time, my achy body prevented me from objecting.

Bay continued her pets while we watched a movie together. She always chose the ones that made her cry. Not just cry, but sob. Loudly. I licked the water off her face, even though it did not taste like water. But at least it always made her smile.

The days came and went entirely too quickly, and so did the dreaded vet appointment. Bay did not even say anything when she had to clean up my bed after I failed to tell her I needed to go outside in the middle of the night. She simply carried me in her arms to her car and grunted as she rested me in the seat next to her.

I hated the vet, but I was too tired to tell Bay I did not want to be there. Laying on the table at home was forbidden, so I never figured out why it was okay elsewhere. The vet poked and prodded at me under the guise of back scratches. Usually, I would move away. This time, I could not. I kept my chin flat against the table, sandwiching Squeaky Duck between my fur and the cool surface.

"How long has he been like this?" The vet asked Bay.

"About a week, barely eating and not making it outside. But he's been eating less and walking slower over the last few months."

Bay and the vet kept talking while my eyes drooped. It wasn't until Bay's voice rose in distress that I looked up at her again. I did not know what the vet told her, but she was distraught.

Water came out of her eyes. But not like when we watched movies together. The water came silently, rather than loudly.

She stood too far away for me to comfort her. I could not quite lift my head off the table, so I used the tip of my tongue to give the air a few slow licks instead. Perhaps that would suffice.

Bay sniffed and wiped her own tears away as she stepped towards me. Pressing our heads together, she nuzzled into my fur. Her soft voice wavered.

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Hugo."

She clung to me. Which was strange, because I usually snuggled in her lap. But I did not mind. I loved being close to Bay.

"You're doing the right thing," the vet said as Bay intertwined her fingers into my fur. "He's in pain. With cancer this aggressive, he's already had his last good day."

I did not comprehend what the vet said or why Bay held onto me so tight, but I loved being close to her, just like I always had. Even though we were at the vet, it might as well have been just me, her, and Squeaky Duck.

With Bay's face so close to mine, I could finally lick the salty water off her face.

There was a small pinch on my back, but I barely felt it under Bay's head scratches. I simply dozed off in Bay's arms, just like we were watching a movie. It was happy. Comforting. Peaceful.

Bay loved me. We had lived a long, happy life together, just like she promised.

— — —

0 days postmortem

When I opened my eyes, everything was stark white. Bay and Squeaky Duck were gone.

I sniffed the air, hoping to catch a whiff of something—anything—but there was nothing. Not even a dreaded squirrel.

My head tilted and I raised to my paws with surprising ease. I padded along the neverending cloud-covered floor that felt like grass beneath my pads. My tail remained stagnant behind me.

I whined into the vastness before me, but nobody responded. I cautiously padded forward, and as my legs moved, I realized they no longer hurt.

Curious, I pawed at the grass-like flooring, testing my limbs. They worked the same way they used to before we had to move to a home with no stairs.

Excitement bounded through me and into my tail, which wagged back and forth like it hadn't in a long time.

With my tongue hanging out and my paws skittering across the foggy white floor, I ran, jumped, and circled all over, savoring the fact that I was no longer tired. In the middle of my gazillionth turn, I caught a whiff of something—no. Someone. Dogs. Other dogs.

I followed my nose toward the new scent and ended up at a gate. Not a cage gate, but one like at Grandpaw's house, with a fence around the backyard. The gate's wires formed the shape of a bone. Then an unfamiliar voice sounded behind me.

"Welcome to Dog Heaven."

I jumped and turned, my back fur standing on end. It settled when I realized that the voice, smooth as peanut butter, was no threat. Rather, a sleek golden retriever stood behind me.

"Dog Heaven?" I asked, tilting my head again.

The retriever licked her nose. "Yup. Dog Heaven. You're dead and I'm Geronimo, your guide dog."

My wagging tail fell limp.

"But I can't be dead. Bay needs me—"

"Follow me and I'll show you the ropes."

The fence gate opened on its own and Geronimo walked past me without so much of a glance back. My ears flattened, but I followed my guide dog, anyway.

Beyond the gate, a whole new world materialized, and it was every dog's dream. Trees towered overhead beneath a blue sky. Sidewalks lined with benches, lamp posts, and fire hydrants followed sprawling grassy hills. Dogs milled around, sniffing objects and each other. Some carried sticks and tennis balls with pride, while others frolicked and chased the breeze.

Aside from the absence of humans, it was a dog's paradise. Even so, at least there were no squirrels.

"Every dog that ever existed is here?" I asked, my neck and nose on a swivel.

"Every dog comes through here, but they don't stay," Geronimo said. She passed a particularly smelly lamp post with surprising control. I, on the other hand, could not help myself. "We wait here for our humans to arrive, then we enter Human Heaven with them."

I snorted air out my nose to push the pole's scent into my snout.

"So I'll get to see Bay again?" I asked, my tail moving back and forth.

"You can see her sooner if you'd like."

Geronimo pointed her nose at a building that looked human-made. Not needing any further instruction, I dashed towards the entrance. The door slid open for me with ease.

Inside were rows of televisions like the one back home. Most of them were off, but a few played movies of humans, each with a dog planted in front of it.

I looked around but found no sight of Bay.

"Where is she?" I asked, panting as Geronimo calmly sat beside me.

"You can watch her life through a television. All you have to do is sit in front of one and—"

I took off, leaving my guide dog behind. Finding the closest television, I sat in front of it like a good boy. Lo and behold, it turned on to show Bay curled up on our couch, my collar clutched in her hand. Sobs came out of her. But again, not like when we watched movies together. The sounds were low and soft like she was trying to hold them back.

I barked. Even though I could see her, she could not hear me.

She rolled to her other side, still holding onto my collar. The tags jingled when she moved. Her other hand grasped Squeaky Duck by his limp and tattered neck.

"I miss him so much," Bay cried, squeezing her puffy eyes shut.

"I know," someone said off-screen. My fur prickled. I recognized that voice. "He was a good dog, but it was for the best."

Zach.

Bay's brother came into view with a glass of water—the same glass he used whenever he came over, and that I stole drinks from when he wasn't looking. This time, instead of drinking after me, he handed the glass to Bay.

"Hugo understood me like no one else does," she choked out as she accepted Zach's offering. She took a sip of her water and then handed it back, curling in on herself even more. Her desperate voice was like one I had never heard before. Like her heart cried and ached enough for a human lifetime. "I wish I could see him again. Be with him forever. And I wish I didn't feel like this."

Seeing Bay so distraught, I flattened myself against the floor. It pained me to see her so upset without the ability to lick the water from her cheeks.

We'll be together again, Bay.

At that moment, I vowed to grant her wish. To do whatever it took to ease her pain. To help her not feel the way she did in my absence. By whatever means necessary, I would make Bay happy again until we were reunited. If what Geronimo said was true, then her first wish would be granted one day. So I had to make her second wish come true before the first one did.