In memory of Oliver. Courtesy photo

In the grand scheme of things, we’re all different, and as such, we all see the world through the lens of our own eyes. We all have our unique feelings about life, love and loss. This is what defines us who we are. When all is said and done, I have always believed that love is the cornerstone of who we are at our collective core, and it is the reason why we are here. I believe that love is not always measured by how much we give. It is more a case of how much love we are willing to give unconditionally. I’ve always been fond of saying that I love dogs more than people. For dogs give us their unconditional love. They are totally devoted to us, and love us with their heart and soul just for who we are. Without speaking, all they ever ask from us in return is that we give the full measure of our love and devotion back to them.

Quite recently, we lost our beloved Oliver, a beautiful Border Collie mix. He defied all the odds and lived for 16 years. To the wonderment of the veterinarians who, through the years, gave him his check-ups and lovingly tended to him when it was required, he was an amazement. Oliver was in remarkable physical and mental shape up to a short time before he started having problems. At 3:30 a.m. on March 12, we had to rush him to a local 24-hour animal emergency care facility. That horrible nightmarish scenario of driving through the night at high speed, and not really caring if there was a police speed trap somewhere along the route that we one pushes out of their thoughts had, in an instant, become a terrifying reality. My best friend was in terrible pain, and a silent plea was careening through my mind. As a grown man, I was, in an instant, like a small child silently saying to myself, “Please God, don’t take him! Please give him just a little while longer! PLEASE…I’m just not ready to lose him.” I kept thinking of how much I loved him; how I’d always loved him. This beautiful, intelligent, and loving pet was my best friend. He was the one who I would take on walks, watch the Bruins games with, make a fool of myself fawning over him. I shared all of my fondest hopes, dreams, and secrets with; his soft brown eyes looking back at me with pure and unconditional love. Oliver was as much a surrogate child to me as he was a pet. He was a member of the family. Simply by being himself, he brought out an amazing level of love and comfort in me that was taken away too soon.

For as gut wrenching as it was, in that frozen moment in time, we realized that we had to make the choice that was the kindest and most compassionate for our Oliver, and not what we were feeling. He had suffered a major stroke, and his back legs were paralyzed. The severity of the stroke, and his age, were against him. He could not recover. Time stands still in such a moment. For as dire and hopeless as the prognosis is, there is still that little voice in your head that is saying, “I just can’t do this. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that he can recover. Maybe he can come back?” However, that kind of thinking doesn’t help your pet leave this world. It does nothing to help him. Rather, and be it unintentional, it’s just a scenario that sees heartbroken pet owners thinking of their own feelings and their own needs.

In the wee hours just before dawn, we let him go. For those who have gone through this with a beloved pet, the process is painless and very quick. Your best friend, the one who you make a fool of yourself playing on the living room floor, the one who sleeps on the bed, and who basically owns you and rules over your house, simply goes to sleep peacefully. I say goes to sleep because I have always hated the expression for this final act that will end suffering as “putting a pet down.”

We did the best and only thing that we could to help Oliver end his suffering. I know that now he is in a place where he is eternally young. A place where he’s running through impossibly beautiful woods, meadows and fields. He’s happy, and will be there waiting for us when our days in this life come to an end. He will find us, and we will be together forever.

Looking through the reality lens of this place and this time, I know that there was a kind of synchronicity relationship to my days with that beautiful and loving pet that I don’t think that I fully understood until he was actually gone. The house seems so empty and silent without him, and yet his essence and spirit is all around me. I still feel him in every room. The click-clacking of his nails on the hardwood floor of the kitchen as he’d want his breakfast, and mine as well, in the morning. How he’d perk up his ears, and bark loudly as he would stare out the window at anything that dared to step across his property line. I actually forget that he’s gone, as I expect him to be there, just as he always was. I still can’t stop crying. Just when I think that I have a handle on things, and that it’s getting better, I feel my lip quiver, and warm salty tears rolling down my cheeks. It’s awful.

However, I was so lucky to have had him in my life. I’m so thankful for the happiness and the unconditional love that he gave to me. For those pet owners who may be reading this, give your dog or a cat a hug, and tell them how much you love them, and savor every moment of the time that you have with them.

Paul Collins is a freelance writer from Southborough, Mass.