A Dog’s Journey (33 page)

My girl sighed sadly, and I nudged her with my hand. “Good dog, Toby,” she said, but she wasn’t really paying attention to me.

I was lying next to Dawn’s mother when she died, and they were all very sad and the children clutched me and I did Be Still for them. Fran and Patsy were there, but CJ was not. Often, even if CJ was in the building, I would be with Fran or Patsy because they would need me more.

It was a good way to pass the years. There was no dog door, but whenever I walked up to the door to the small yard it would swish open for me, and the smells out there told me when it was going to snow or rain and when it was summer and when it was fall. Chaucer still came to play on a regular basis, though once he learned Eddie could be counted on for treats we spent almost as much time in the kitchen as we did out in the yard.

“Now Chaucer, you’re like me, you work hard, but it’s not fancy work. Nobody looks at you and sees anything but a hardworking dog,” Eddie said one time. Chaucer whined a little and shuffled his feet, impatient for the treat. “But Toby here, he’s a doctor. Neither one of us will ever be smart as Toby.”

I wagged at my name. Chaucer licked his lips.

“You both get bacon today, though.”

I could hardly contain myself. Bacon!

Sometimes CJ would be gone for a week or two at a time, but she always came back. One day at lunch, shortly after one of her long absences, I could feel that CJ was a little afraid as she talked to Fran, so I sat up alertly.

“We have a new guest coming in. Probably as early as Monday,” CJ said.

“Oh?” Fran said.

“Me. I’m the guest.”

“What?”

“It’s almost a blessing, Fran. There are so many things going wrong with me now the doctors almost don’t know where to start. And to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of all the pain and the sleeplessness and the sickness. I’m tired of the forty pills a day. When Gloria died I realized that it meant my obligations were over. I don’t owe anybody anything.”

“CJ…”

CJ shifted in her seat, leaning forward. “This is a decision I reached a long, long time ago, Fran. You won’t be able to talk me out of it. At my family reunion I told everyone and said my good-byes. My affairs are in order.” CJ gave a little laugh. “This way, I will always and forever be younger than Gloria. That will drive her crazy.”

“I think we should talk about this. Maybe you could see someone.…”

“I’ve worked it through with my therapist. Believe me, we’ve spoken about almost nothing else for the past year and a half.”

“I still think—”

“I know what you think, but you’re wrong. This isn’t suicide; it’s acceptance. My doctors say it’s only a matter of time before something else happens inside me. They agree with my decision. I’m terrified another stroke might leave me debilitated—after watching Gloria I can’t face the idea of something like that happening to my brain. This way, I control what happens, and where and when. Isn’t that what hospice is all about? Ensuring that quality of life extends into the dying process?”

“You can’t know, though, that you’ll have another stroke.”

“Fran. I’ve stopped dialysis.”

“Oh God.”

“No, you have no idea. The
freedom.
I don’t have to go back there ever again. I have had my ups and downs, but it has been a good, long life and I don’t regret my decision. Please, try to understand. It feels to me like I’ve been kept artificially alive, and maybe for a good reason—I’ve helped a lot of people. But the prognosis is for it all to end badly. I want my leaving to be at a time of my choosing and not artificially extended, with no regard for my quality of life. I don’t want to end up a vegetable.”

The fear was gone from CJ now. I nuzzled her hand and she stroked me with tenderness.

A few days later, CJ came to the building to live. Right away, though, I could tell that she was feeling more ill than ever before. I jumped up on her bed and remained there with her, sometimes climbing up to be by her head, sometimes curling up in a ball by her feet.

“Good dog, Toby,” she always said. Her voice, though, was weaker and weaker. “You’re not just a therapeagle; you’re an angel dog, just like Max, just like Molly.”

I wagged, hearing those names spoken so tenderly. My girl knew who I was, that I had always been with her, taking care of her and guarding against dangers.

Many people came to visit CJ in her room, and CJ was always happy to see them. Some of them I knew, such as Gracie, who had been a little girl when I was Max but was now a grown woman with children of her own. CJ kissed all the children and laughed and the pain inside her receded until it was all but hidden. Another was a woman I recognized from not long ago. Her name was Dawn, the girl with the apple-scented hands, and she sat next to CJ and talked for hours. I left for a while to check to see if Fran or Patsy needed me, but when I came back Dawn was still there.

“People are always asking me what specialty I want, and I just keep telling them that I’m just focused on getting into med school. How do I know what area will appeal to me? I haven’t even been accepted yet.”

“You will,” CJ said. “I know you will.”

“You’ve always believed in me, CJ. You saved my life.”

“No, you saved your own life. You know what they say in the program—no one else can do it for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dawn said.

CJ coughed weakly and I jumped up to be next to her. Her hand came down and stroked my back.

“I guess I’d better get going,” Dawn finally said.

“I so appreciate you making the trip, Dawn.”

They hugged each other and I felt the love flow between them.

“Have a safe flight,” CJ said. “And remember, you can always call me.”

Dawn nodded, wiping her eyes. She smiled and waved as she left the room, and I snuggled next to my girl, feeling her drop into a deep nap.

One afternoon CJ was feeding me pieces of a ham and cheese sandwich that Eddie had brought her when she stopped and looked at me. I kept my eye on the sandwich.

“Toby,” she said, “listen to me. I know that you’re really bonded to me, but I’m going to be leaving you. I could stay, but I’ve had all the good things this life can offer me and I’m weary of all the bad—especially of what is to come if I try to prolong it. I just want to be with my husband. The only regret I have is leaving my friends, and you’re one of those friends, Toby. But I know you are loved and taken care of, and I know that to be loved and to have a job is more important than anything to a dog. You remind me in so many ways of my dog Molly, her gentleness, but also of Max, with his self-assurance. Will you tell my angel dogs I’m coming to be with them soon? And will you be with me in my final moments? I don’t want to be afraid—and if you’re there, I know I’ll be brave. You’re my forever friend, Toby.”

The love ran strong between us as my girl pulled me close to her.

CJ left one cool, clear spring afternoon. Fran had been sitting with her all day, and I had lain with my head on her chest, her hand loosely stroking my fur. When the hand stopped moving, I looked at Fran, who moved her chair closer and took the now slack hand in hers. Bit by bit CJ let go of life, until, with one final breath, my girl was gone.

“Good dog, Toby,” Fran told me. She hugged me and her tears fell on my fur.

I thought about baby Clarity falling off the dock at the Farm. How her eyes had been on me when Gloria picked her up. “Bubby,” she’d said. I remembered her coming into the yard with Trent to take me home. I thought about her hugs and kisses, how when I was Max she would hold me to her chest to keep me warm.

I would have to live without her hugs now.

My CJ. She taught me that it was a good thing to love more than just my boy, Ethan, opening my eyes to the fact that I’d actually loved many people in my lives, that loving humans was my ultimate purpose. Her presence in my lives formed the center point of my existence and enabled me to help the people who lay in beds in their rooms to fight off their fears and find ultimate peace and acceptance.

I served those people for many years after CJ left, but never did I let a day go by without remembering her—remembering baby Clarity as she slipped into the horse’s kennel, remembering CJ as she held me in the car by the ocean, remembering living with Trent when I was Max.

When a sharp pain made me cry one morning as I did my business, Patsy and Fran and Eddie took me to the Vet, and I knew why they were all going on the car ride. I was nearly blind at that point, but I could still smell the cinnamon and Chaucer on Patsy’s hands as she picked me up and carried me, panting, into the Vet’s office and laid me on the cool table. Eddie’s strong, chicken-scented hands soothed me, and they all whispered in my ear as the quick stab brought with it almost instant relief.

“We love you,” they said.

This time as the waves swept over me, they were not dark but had a frothy luminance dancing on millions of bubbles. I raised my head up and floated toward this brightness, bursting through the water’s surface and into the glorious light of sunrise. Gold, the light was gold as it played across the gentle waves, and my vision was suddenly as clear and sharp as a puppy’s. A bouquet of wonderful scents met my nose, and my heart leaped when I realized who I was smelling.

“Molly!” I heard someone call.

I whipped my head around and there they were, the people I’d been smelling. Everyone I’d ever loved in my life, standing at the edge of the water, smiling and clapping. I saw Ethan and Hannah and Trent and CJ standing in front, along with Andi and Maya and Jakob and all the others.

“Bailey!” Ethan yelled, waving.

My name was Toby, and Buddy, and Molly and Max and Bailey and Ellie. I was a good dog, and this was my reward. Now I would get to be with the people I loved.

I turned, whimpering with joy, and swam toward those golden shores.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This is the part of the book where I have to admit that a lot of people helped contribute to the whole process, and the easiest thing would be to begin at, well, the beginning. In July 2010, yet another book with a dog on the cover joined the burgeoning crowd of books with dogs on their covers—
A Dog’s Purpose,
it was called. The first week it was eligible, this novel (my first) leapt onto the bestseller lists, where it remained for nineteen weeks. Now, you can’t bribe your way onto those lists, though I’m sure someone has tried. People have to buy the book, and enough people gave
A Dog’s Purpose
a chance that it added up to a wonderful run at the bookstore.

And that, you see, led to this, the sequel. No one publishes the sequel to a book that didn’t sell, so the best place to start thanking people is with everyone who bought my novel in the first place. Because of you,
A Dog’s Journey
found a home with Tom Doherty Associates, an imprint of Macmillan, the same people who did such a great job supporting
A Dog’s Purpose
.

At Tom Doherty, I want to thank Kristin Sevick, my editor, who gave me such great advice and wonderful ideas while the novel was still in manuscript that I found my way to exactly the book I wanted to write. I want to thank Linda Quinton, who has been a tireless advocate for my novels and who has shown innovation, wisdom, and (I need to say it) tolerance in dealing with my books and my aspirations. Thanks to Karen Lovell, for her publicity magic and marketing support. Thanks to Kathleen Doherty, for making my books important to school kids, and to Tom Doherty, for being the man behind the curtain.

I wouldn’t even have a published novel if it weren’t for Scott Miller, my agent at Trident Media. Scott believed in me when we couldn’t sell anything to anybody, and I won’t forget that, Scott.

Kayla Ibarra has been here at the worldwide headquarters of Cameron Productions, Inc., and without her we wouldn’t have been able to respond to reader requests or run the amazing Dog of the Week program at
www.adogspurpose.com
. That website was designed and implemented by the amazingly talented Hillary Carlip at
www.flyhc.com
.

Researching this book was easy because my daughter Georgia works in animal rescue at Life is Better Rescue in Colorado, which she owns and runs. You do amazing work and I’m proud of you.

Much of what I know about hospice and end-of-life care I learned from my aunt Lucy, who volunteered for decades at Angela Hospice in Livonia, Michigan. She introduced me to Bob Alexander, and he, Barb Iovan, Mary Ann Joganic, LMSW, Peggy Devos, RN, and Karen Lemon, RN, CHPN, BS, were patient and kind in answering my questions and helping me to understand what it means to have a family member in hospice care. I want to thank them, both for their information and their gentle assistance to Aunt Lucy when she passed away this last summer. Aunt Lucy, you were a second mother to me.

Speaking of hospice, my friend Dannion Brinkley and his Twilight Brigade are on a mission to raise society’s consciousness about the needs of the dying and to make sure no one, especially our nation’s veterans, dies alone. Thank you, Dannion.

I would urge anyone facing end-of-life choices to read
Final Gifts: Understanding the Special Awareness, Needs, and Communications of the Dying
by Maggie Callanan and Patricia Kelley (Bantam, 1997). It’s a wonderful book.

I never write a book about animals without reading Temple Grandin’s invaluable
Animals Make Us Human: Creating the Best Life for Animals
(Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009) and
Animals in Translation: Using the Mysteries of Autism to Decode Animal Behavior
(Mariner Books, 2006). Catherine Johnson is the coauthor of both of these works and I regret that I failed to give proper credit in earlier citations of these two wonderful books.

While researching canines I came across a wonderful little gem of a book by Roger Abrantes called
Dog Language: An Encyclopedia of Canine Behaviour
(Wakan Tanka Publishers, 1997.) It really helped me decode what was going on in the dog park! I also recommend, and found really helpful,
How Dogs Think: What the World Looks Like to Them and Why They Act the Way They Do
by Stanley Coren (Free Press, 2005) and
Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know
by Alexandra Horowitz (Scribner, 2010).