As my life draws to its near end, I can't help but see the small moments. The moments that linger just under the skin. The moments that mean the most. I lived a good, long life. I was happy. I was always warm, fed, and exercised by my person. The metal table underneath my body grows warmer, as if softening with the memory of his touch. The needle gets pulled from my skin, leaving my legs tingling. The pain starts to drift away as my bones get a chance to relax, the arthritis slipping away. I think of my life. I think of John:

From the first moment I can remember, all I knew was John. It would be under exaggerated to say that he was my whole life. Every second of every moment I can remember is with him, my soul mate. I don't know what he knew before me or what he knew after me, but for my whole life, I was a part of his.

That first day my eyes opened, I was somewhere cold, dark. I couldn't yet walk, but I tried to wiggle around. The ground was soft and damp, but not grass. I hadn't yet learned what grass was. I remember being scared, terrified. Days must have passed. I was hungry, so hungry. I didn't know where I was and I didn't have anyone else around me. Where was my mom? My dad? My siblings? I couldn't speak, or cry, I could only squeak.

Then there was light. The ceilings opened up, blinding my new eyes. My eyelids shut and I tried to turn away. I didn't know what was happening. "Shhhh, shhh. It's okay," John. I looked up at the open ceiling to see John staring back at me. His deep brown eyes reached mine as his shaggy blonde hair brushed the tip of my wet nose. He reached his giant, calloused hands into the room and scooped me up, my body embedded in his warmth. I felt safe. I was safe. "It's okay, Buddy, I'm going to take you home." And he did.

From that point on all I knew was John. John and eat, play, sleep, repeat.

One day when I was still small, John picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, "Buddy, today we start training." I didn't know what training was or what we would be training for, but I saw the smile plastered on his face and I wanted to make him happy like that forever. My tail wagged. He slung me down lazily, my paws slipping on the floor and throwing me on my back. My tongue hung from my jaws as I tried to hastily stand, legs uncoordinated. He grabbed my leash and collar. A walk! I jumped up and down, then took off around the hallway nearly skidding into a wall. John laughed, a light and delightful sound, as he chased me around the house. We slid across carpets and narrowly avoided doors until he was finally able to wrangle me into the collar. I panted happily, my tongue hanging from my mouth, my favorite game.

The training was so much fun! There were so many other friends there that I wanted to meet, but John kept saying no. I got so many treats and good snacks when I did what John told me to, but sometimes his commands were confusing. He told me to sit. I didn't know what that was. I smiled up at him and pranced around his legs, tangling his thin legs with the leash. He laughed and pushed me back in front of him. I didn't like this game. He poked at my tail. "Sit," he said again. I lowered my butt to the floor, but one of my friends barked and I got excited. I tried to go over and say hi, but John pulled me back again. I huffed. "Sit," he was trying not to laugh. I wanted him to laugh. I rolled onto my back and kicked my legs in the air, my tongue hanging out my mouth. John laughed boisterously, his eyes watered with joy. I knew I was doing what he wanted. Maybe that's what 'sit' means. John reached down and flipped me on my front. He put my back legs down on the floor and stood up my front legs so I was in a half upright position. "Good sit!" He said, "Good boy," and I was showered in treats. Wonderful, delectable, chicken flavored treats. I do like this game. I like 'sit'.

Eat, Play, Sleep, Repeat.

I was big when John showed me a mirror for the first time. I saw my reflection and thought it was another friend. I got into my play position, and the friend before me did the same thing. I went to pounce for my new friend, but instead came into contact with something cold and solid. I looked up at John for some help who was howling with laughter. He got down to my level and pointed at my friend. When I looked back, my friend was with John too. I saw John clearly for the first time, he was at my level. He wasn't so tall that he towered over me, his lanky body giving me the impression that a harsh wind could knock him to the ground. His hair still shaggy, but cut shorter than when he had first rescued me, a little swoop formed in the front creating some wild looking bangs. There was that smile, that beautiful large smile that showed his rows of off-white teeth. His light voice brought me back, "That's you, Buddy. That's not another dog, that's your reflection." I smiled, that's what I look like? "Yes, Buddy, you are that good looking," John chuckled at himself.

I stepped closer to the cold and solid surface. A soft amber face with cheeks that were much too big for my face. A bright pink tongue that danced out of the corner of my mouth. My teeth were fairly sharp and a beautiful pure white shade. My tail was wagging back at me, the fur longer and darker than that on my face and painted with white undertones. My dark, black nose was wet, sparkling in the bright overhead light from the bathroom ceiling. My body itself was big, my head came up past John's while he was on his knees. John. I noticed him in the mirror, gently stroking my back. A smile parted my lips. I jumped on him, covering his face with slobbery kisses. He laughed and struggled to push me off. I wished I could thank him for showing me myself. Thank you John.

Eat, play, sleep, repeat

One day John left. He kept telling me he had to go to work. I didn't know where work was or why I couldn't go to work with him. He tried to distract me with those wonderful chicken treats, but something was wrong. John was wearing fancy clothes. His shoes didn't smell like me and they were shiny enough to see myself in. He was wearing a lot of layers, dark navy pants matched his jacket which was covering another long sleeve shirt and a short leash of his own hung from his neck. I missed his t-shirts covered in my hair. He was holding something big and shiny too. It opened, it made a loud and scary 'click' when it closed. I didn't like it. I thought it was going to hurt John. I growled at the dark, shiny, new thing he held at his side. "It's okay, Buddy, I'm going to be back real soon." I couldn't tell him to stay. I whined as the door shut behind him, it was the first memory I have without him.

That day I didn't eat, play, or sleep. I just sat. Sat and cried. I sat by the door that had been shut in my face and cried for a quick return. I had been abandoned. After some time had passed, I finally let myself lay down. I was hoping he could see how good I was being and then he'd have to come back to give me my treats. I can sit, John. I can lay down. Please come back. But he didn't not for a long long time. My tummy growled and my legs twitched, but I refused to move until he came home. He had to come home. He wouldn't just leave me, right?

Finally, I heard the keys jangle at the door. John! I jumped up and started barking, singing. He's home! The door opened and I lept. I lept right into his arms. He had to drop the new shiny thing to catch me, but he did. He always caught me. John laughed, "Was it really that bad, Buddy?" Yes, it was horrible, but he was back and it was better. When he put me back on the floor my feet couldn't stop dancing. John tried to pass me to get into the house, laughing all the way as he made his way behind the couch. I sat. He held up my leash, "Do you want to go for a walk?" I smiled and took off down the hall, my favorite game.

Eat, play, sleep, repeat.

John came home from work sad once. I could tell, his scent was off and his smile didn't take it's natural place on his lips. He tossed down his big, ugly, shiny bag and slumped on the couch, knees bouncing with vigor. I hopped up next to him and laid my head on his lap. "Hey, Buddy, hope your day went better than mine." I looked up at him. He looked back at me and rubbed behind my ears, his eyes distant, staring at my fur. "What happened? Well, there's this girl at work," A girl? "And today I decided to ask her out. As you can probably tell it didn't go so well." I sat up beside him and kissed the side of his face, I earned a chuckle. "Thanks, Buddy. But I really like this girl. She's kind and hardworking and super good looking. I asked her if she wanted to grab lunch with me sometime, and she kinda blew me off."

I tilted my head at him, lunch? What's lunch? I only get Breakfast and Dinner. Is lunch a game? He put his palm to his forehead with little force, "Oh I'm so stupid!" John rose to his feet, "Who asks a girl out for lunch? It's always dinner and a movie." He began to pace, his feet clacking across the hardwood, thumb tapping at the hairs starting to sprout on his chin "No wonder she blew me off!" So lunch was a food. Why didn't I get lunch? "Should I ask her out again next time, or do I avoid her for the rest of my life?" He looked at me. It was my turn to say something, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't know this girl, I didn't know this lunch, all I knew was that John was upset and he needed my help. I wanted to make him smile. I tilted my head to one side, letting my tongue loll out of my mouth and raised one arm towards him. John came back over to me and patted my head lovingly, "Thanks for the advice, Buddy, I don't know what I'd do without you. I'll try again with her later." I didn't know what advice John was talking about, all I knew was that I wanted to try lunch.

Eat, play, sleep, repeat.

The days went by without much to do. John went to work, came back, and we'd have our fun. Though one evening John came back later than usual and with a girl. I knew this before the door even opened. I could smell her sweet, fruity scent as she crossed the threshold into my house. John was acting differently around her. He was practically skipping as he unlocked the door, running right past me, her hand in his. He didn't stop to say hi as he usually did. The girl gave me a quick scratch behind the ear before being dragged away by John.

I followed behind. Upset that he had forgotten about me, maybe he had a surprise in his room. But as the girl was dragged away, the door slammed in my face. I collided with it, my muzzle hitting the wood. It was not intentional, I don't think, but I was hurt. I whined. I sat back, looking at the door, wondering who this girl was and why she was making John act so out of character.

I barked once. Nothing. Twice. Still nothing. I tried to chase my tail, a game he always enjoyed watching, in the hopes I could draw him from his room. I caught my tail and eyed the door that continued to stay dormant. I laid down on the floor outside the room. Separated. I didn't like this girl. No, that's not true. Her scent indicated her kind and open personality and she did stop to acknowledge me before being dragged away. I just didn't like her influence on John. I contemplated what it would mean for us if she became a new addition to our lives. I huffed. I wasn't a fan, but I had no control over it and John didn't seem to notice or care how his decisions affected my life as well. I couldn't comprehend if it were something I had done to create this separation of thought or if I simply meant less to John than he did to me. He had a job, a girl, friends, and all I had was him. I could hear him from beyond the barricade, his voice slipped under the door to reach my ears. I wanted to see him. I wanted to be with him. I laid my head in my paws and drifted to sleep outside of the shut door.

Eat, play, sleep, repeat.

As I got older I found myself spending a lot of time outside in the glorious sunshine, my coat graciously soaking up the heat. The soft blades of grass cushioning my paws which now often ached. I enjoyed watching the squirrels play and the birds sing, but that day there was something different. The birds weren't singing. They were shrieking. My ears tucked behind my head as I stood up and wandered anxiously. I tried to look up to the trees and see which bird was in peril. Suddenly, I saw him. One little bird was hanging upside down from a branch, clinging on by his toes. I stood under him and tried to console him. I barked. The bird shrieked. I barked again.

John came running out into the backyard. I didn't use my voice often so he must've been worried. I didn't peel my eyes off of the baby bird for a second. "What's wrong, Buddy?" I barked in response.

John's gaze followed mine up to the hanging bird. To my surprise he ran back inside. I let out a yip. I couldn't reach him. I tried to jump but my muzzle missed his feathers by a mile. The baby shrieked again. He was going to fall.

John rushed back through the door and sprinted to the baby bird. He was holding a small tissue box. He hovered the box just below the baby. He let out one more shriek before his toes slipped. I barked, but John's box was just where it needed to be. With a hollow thunk, the baby bird plopped softly into the open box. It let out a small chirp before John covered the top with a tissue. He smiled down at me and patted my head, "Thanks for the warning, Buddy. I'm going to have to take this guy to the emergency vet or something. You saved him, Buddy." I smiled below him. I guess I did help, didn't I? But I really hadn't. Without John there I would have just sat outside and watched the baby bird fall, likely to his death. Why couldn't I do more to help? John became an extension of me. The arms and legs I could go to for help as someone who could actually accomplish things. We had a bond, we were a continuation of one another. I looked up at John, he was smiling privately at the box which contained the baby. I trotted inside carefully behind John as he made sure the baby bird was secured and safe.

He eventually carried the bird out the door, he claimed that he would be taking him to a sanctuary to get around the clock care. He didn't tell me how the baby bird was doing or why we couldn't raise him ourselves. When John came home he wasn't smiling and he didn't tell me about the sanctuary. I never found out what came to be of that baby, but I like to believe that he grew big and strong and found a family of his own. Maybe he found a bird girl and had his bird babies. Likely not. Likely I'd see him at the end. I wonder if he'd remember me after all this is over. I wonder if he'd be happy.

Eat, sleep, repeat.

John's girl came by the house often. I had gotten to know her better, and I started to like her the more she came around. Her scent was sweet and so was she. She paid attention to me even when John became distracted by her. She knew about the special spot under my ears and right above my tail on my lower back.

I didn't know her name. John called her many things; Honey, Baby, Babe, Sweets. I liked the name Honey. It fit her character. She was short in stature, my head coming up nearly to her belly button. Her dark black hair hung close to her waist, but she always had it tied back in a braid. Her facial features were soft and quaint: fine brown eyes with small, tight lips rested upon her porcelain skin. Even her voice was soft and smooth as she spoke to me. Her energy matched that of mine when I was young. She never reached the high pitched persona others put on when meeting me or saying hi. She was genuine, all the time. I began to trust her.

Honey treated John well. They would dance in the kitchen together, watch movies, feed each other from their plates. Sometimes, on special nights, Honey would slip me some of the food from her plate without John seeing. It was our secret. John never liked me eating their food, he claimed it could make me sick, trying to be over protective, but I couldn't see how something with so many delectable flavors could ever make me feel poorly. Instead it made my old bones want to get up and dance. I'd smile up at Honey and she'd put a finger over her lips. Our secret.

I had begun to like her the more she came around. She'd pat my head lovingly and call me her good, old boy. She never pushed me away when I wanted to join them in cuddles on the couch, and she'd join me on the floor when my legs could no longer climb my way onto the cushions. I think she'll take good care of John for me when I'm no longer around.

I still wasn't a fan when she and John would leave me behind and excuse themselves to their room. I still wanted to be included. They would talk about things I couldn't understand like marriage and babies. Honey sometimes would lovingly pet her own belly, which had begun to smell different. She'd gently bring my head towards her midriff and asked me to say hi. I wasn't sure whom I was greeting, but I knew it had to be a child. I worried for her and John. As much as I adored babies, I had never seen John encounter one before. I wonder if he knew this information at all as Honey would whisper things to me as he left the room. I knew John would be thrilled, but I wasn't sure he was prepared. He's a great guy, but not a father. At least not yet.

Sleep, repeat

One day my legs were shaking extra bad as I made my way to John's bed. My legs slipped out from under me and instead of trying to fight it, I followed ungracefully to lie on the cold, card floor. I was getting old, I knew it, John knew it. He looked at me that day with tears in his dark eyes. He couldn't look me in the face, likely discolored anyway, and kept his gaze glued to the floor. He grabbed my leash, "Do you want to go for a walk, Buddy?" My tail tried and failed to wag, instead it dragged itself slowly across the floor until it rested against my leg. I made an attempt to smile, trying to pry my dry, heavy lips apart. A tear fell from John's face. He reached down to help me up, his hand supporting the weight under my belly, careful to avoid pushing on any of the tumors that had grown there. A soft sigh escaped from my breath as he heaved me up into his arms. "It's okay, Buddy, I gotcha." I leaned my head against his tricep as he carried me to the car. When I was younger I used to ride shotgun, the windows rolled down, my head sticking out, ears and tongue flapping in the wind, now all I could manage was a huff of thanks and I laid my head down to rest.

The car ride was short, one right turn and two lefts. The vet. I've never minded the vet very much, all the people who worked there were nice enough and gave me lots of treats. But sometimes they'd pull out a needle. I don't like needles. I'd struggle and John would hold me and I would relax. Then I'd get lots of pets and treats and I'd get to go home. John was always extra careful with me those days, sometimes laying with me on my blanket on the floor to make sure I was comfortable. He knew I didn't like shots.

The car stopped and John stepped out, the car door closing gently behind him. My door opened and John greeted me with a sad half smile, "Alright, Buddy, let's go." I made half an effort to stand before John kept me grounded with his large, calloused hands. He lightly flipped me on one side and scooped me up again. He carried me in through the door, one of the nurses was holding it open for him and ushered him to a back room. He carried me through the corridor and laid me down on a cold, metal table. I saw my reflection in the small mirror on the desk. My face looked hollow. The fur that once used to be a light amber shade was now a ghostly white, my wet nose dry, my tongue no longer flopped or danced. I didn't look like myself. The nurse and John exchanged some words, and John refused to leave my side as the vet pulled out a needle. I hated shots. This one, though, didn't pinch too bad. It left me feeling warm and tingly.

John knelt before me, rested his forehead against mine. "It's okay, Buddy, you're okay," His new beard tickled my skin. I wanted to tell him that I knew that. I wanted to let him know that I was comfortable, happy. My eyelids grew heavy. A tear fell from John's cheek. "I love you, Buddy," he whispered, half sobbed. I love you too, John. I was so tired. I let my eyes close as the weight from my body lessened and all the pain I felt drifted away. I felt young again. A puppy. Back in the box where John found me stranded. My skin felt prickly as I focused on the connection to the cold harshness of the metal table. Or was it the damp cardboard? I couldn't speak, or cry, I could only squeak. I felt his giant, calloused hands rest on my side, pulling me to safety. I love you, John.

Sleep.