“Then, boom. That’s all I remember.” I sit back against the tree’s roots, pulling grass out of the ground. I whistle idly, my lips against the blade of grass between my fingers. It thrums between my fingers, like a birdcall into the soft daylight.

She rests slightly off to my right, close, but not touching; she looks calmly off into the distance, lifting her nose and inhaling shallow and fast to sample the air. Something she smells makes her sigh happily, before turning those huge, liquid eyes back to me. Last thing I remember is you, she answers, slowly, in the rambling dog language of sounds and smells. You took me to the vet. The word “vet” was flavored with the scents of a hundred other animals and the kind hands of the veterinarian. I went to sleep there, and woke up here.

I put my head down, closing my eyes and reliving that horrible day behind my eyelids. “I’m sorry... for that. You were sick... They told me you were in pain...”

If she could have shrugged, she might have, but she huffs at me instead, her jowls flapping rather gracelessly. There are no regrets or hatred in her Voice as she answers: It was hurting. Better to be here then hurting. It is a little strange, talking to my dog like this. Words seem unnecessary for communication here; thoughts and emotions seem to come right from the source. It'll take a while to get used to it.

“Where is here anyway?” I glance around, but saw nothing to distinguish this place from anywhere on Earth.

She snorts, crinkling her nose. It’s here. We’re here together; why does it matter? Of course place doesn't matter to a dog; she still doesn’t seem to have much of an ability to perceive distance or time, so “where” would be an insignificant detail. When I came here, He gave me a treat, told me to wait for you.

“He?”

He.

I wonder vaguely who “He” was, but then decide not to think too hard on it. It is all too much for a lifetime atheist to digest at one time.

So I waited for you.

"Thanks..." I glance over at her, watching as the sunlight made patterns on her white fur. “Now what?”

Now we walk. There was much excitement and wonder in the thoughts of “walk,” like we're headed to Disneyland. I love walking. We used to go for walks, you and I. Around on the sandy places and sometimes into the water. She huffs again, breathing deeply, as if trying to smell the salty air again. We go now? Her ears perk forward, her eyes widening into thick pools of navy blue. She whines a little, dancing on her paws as she did.

“Sure, let’s go. Which way?”

I don’t know. She stands as I do, stretches, and then turns around to face me. With a little impatience, and an amount of affection I never dreamed existed for me, she butts me with her nose. Start walking, human. Start walking and I will always follow.

Vienna was diagnosed last month with Gastrointestinal Lymphoma, a very deadly and quick moving form of stomach cancer. We did everything we could to keep her happy and alive, but a week ago, it got to the point where she was only alive, and beginning to get very unhappy.

At 2:18 AM, on March the First, 2007, she got sick, throwing up all of her food undigested. She looked tired and miserable. I guess I knew it was time.

There’s an emergency vet on Hull Street Road about twenty minutes from my house. I held her as she died. It was the single worst experience of my life.

This is dedicated to everyone out there that has had to the same thing, and felt like a murderer afterward.

Maybe this isn’t the end.

::mina::