The Day After

***Bernie created this painting on canvas in June 2008. It hangs on my living room wall, along with another she created in August 2008***

First, thank you all who have sent me emails and posted comments here to relay your sympathies. They have been very much appreciated.

I held up pretty well last night and today. I of course said "Goodnight, Bernie" aloud as I have every night for the past 14+ years, before closing my eyes last night. I have no plans of stopping, either. The past two or three years, as Bernie got older, I was keenly aware she could go anytime, any day--you never know. So I began the practice of giving her a thorough goodnight of pets and kisses and kind words, every single night. I missed that last night. I'm glad I talked to her constantly when we were just hangin' out, I even have a "Bernie voice" that she'd answer me with. I can still do that, and do and will. It helps.

I was fine today, a little subdued but otherwise okay. When I was walking to my car at the end of my work day, however, my mental reflex was, "I get to go see Bernie now." It felt like someone punched the wind right out of me when I realized she wouldn't be there when I got home. I had to stop by my parents' for a moment after work. That was hard, I never go there without Bernie. In fact, I went solo once a year or so ago, and it felt like I'd left an arm at home. Worse, though, was the night I had to go home from there without my dog.

On Friday, October 24, 2008, I went over to my parents' late evening to help my dad remove their dock for the winter. Bernie was out roaming here and there, as she had done there for the seven years I've lived here. It was dusk, the dock was out after one-half hour, and I went to retrieve Bernie so we could be on our way. She was nowhere to be found--absolutely, positively uncharacteristic of her at this stage of her life.

Darkness was falling, so I searched up and down the lake trail for my buddy, flashlight in hand. Nothing. Bernie hasn't heard real well for a few years, so I knew my voice was of limited benefit. I simply walked, looked, yelled. Nothing. We drove the neighborhood. Nothing. At midnight, the search was over for the day. I went to my parents' guest bedroom and cried, so, so sad that Bernie might go out this way. My worst fear always, always, always, being that she had some separation issues, was that she'd die alone or somehow feel she was alone when she died. Her vanished in the woods was my worst nightmare.

I didn't sleep much, frequently peering out my parents' front door, hoping to see Bernie's furry black head and big brown eyes catch mine. No such luck. Sunrise came, and I was out the door. I searched far and wide, talked to every person I saw. Nothing. I rode my bike the seven miles around the lake, staking signs every so often, talking to everyone. Nothing. My parents circled the neighborhood, as did I. Saturday afternoon, Bernie having been gone 16 hours, her pain medicine wearing off and her throat undoubetdly aching, I stopped at a house. They had seen Bernie, at 830 the night before, approached her, grabbed her collar. She growled, they let her go, and went back into the house.

It was unseasonably warm that day, which meant a lot of people were out in their yards raking leaves and what not. They were awesome, those folks of North Oaks. We kept searching, searching, searching. Nothing. Darkness fell. No Bernie. It was one of the darkest nights ever. She had been gone 24 hours. She was still robust, it was warm, but she was 14 and cancerous, and she needed her meds, if for no other reason to help her maintain her will to find her way back. Around 830 Saturday night, exhausted, I went home. Bernie had been gone 27 hours. Cold was coming in for tomorrow.

I was sad, my friend Alex brought me some chili, and then it happened. At midnight, my phone rang. I jumped and frantically searched for that damned cell phone that was ringing. I looked at the caller I.D.--I didn't recognize the number. Good! I answered. Bernie had been found! Bernie had been found! She was halfway around the lake, about 3 1/2 miles from my parents'. Bernie had approached a couple when they'd come home for the evening, and they were savvy enough to recognize a dog in need. They remembered a lost dog sign they'd seen that day at the lake. The woman ran down to grab the phone number. She is my hero.

Alex and I raced to North Oaks, her dog and I both panting with excitement. We reached the house, pulled into the driveway. I approached Bernie slowly, softly saying, "Hey Buddy!" Exhausted and undoubtedly in pain, but otherwise okay, she rode to my parents' in my arms.

My puppy was coming home.