The Dog Walk

With pits in our stomachs and tears in our eyes, we embarked.

Five days after Kodie's last little breath, Bailey and I steeled ourselves and headed out for our "typical" daily walk. We've walked, for sure. But we purposely hadn't been on this trail, just the two of us, since the day before Kodie was diagnosed.

April 17 -- we hadn't a care in the world that day. I wonder if we even cherished the walk enough. As I look back at my calendar, I see that was the day I went to Microsoft Re-Mix in Mountain View. So now I remember, our walk was an abbreviated one, at 2:30 in the afternoon. My calendar also reveals that the day before, we had ironically all gone to the vet for Bailey's annual check-up, where Kodie snuggled up to the vet, but of course no one knew anything was wrong.

Back to the walk.
Bailey did his very best Kodie impersonation.
He fetched tirelessly, and more enthusiastically than usual.
He even came when I called him.
He was trying to show me we'd be okay.

But I still cried the whole time.
Because nobody laminated themselves to my leg.
There was nobody for Bailey to chase.
And nobody looked back to see if I was coming.
Our once happy, proud and unstoppable family was now quieted, meek, and fragile.
Bailey and I, clinging to each other's sides, afraid to step too far ahead of each other for fear we would find ourselves alone.

And at the end of the mountain hike, I put Bailey's leash on him, headed up the street to our house, and proceeded to say, as I always do, "it's the good boy Bodie, and the good boy Kodie."

I said it anyway. I figured Bailey wouldn't understand the meaning if I didn't finish the sentence.