Field Notes 20260313 - Friday
Good bye sweet girl
Afternoon
- Sun: Pisces 23°
- Moon: Capricorn 21° | Waning Crescent
- Mercury Retrograde: 20260226-20260320
Zoe
Today’s Field Notes are about remembering an individual who truly understood unconditional love, embodied presence, and possessed an automatic smile whenever there was a camera around. That last part is especially unique for a dog. Zoe was our first dog, our first joint responsibility, and a furry fixture of our family for 13 years.
We lovingly referred to her as our “bargain bin Boston Terrier” as she was born with a tail, not unusual but not common for this breed. In her youth, “tenacity” is a good word to describe her character. She was extremely friendly and, at the same time, a feisty little girl.
In her more mature years she became what I’d call a metalhead. I often imagined her wearing a Pantera or Slayer shirt as she paced our property fence and challenged anything on the other side. She grew a reputation in the neighborhood as “that angry little black-and-white dog.”
What brought her most joy in this life is a good long poo in a body of water.
She was an excellent ratter. She didn’t do it all the time but on a couple of occasions when I saw her react to a small vermin it left me terrified, and a little proud. Nothing could get past her and snapping necks was her sport.
She was there through every move that Kim and I made from apartment, to condo, to our first house, and to our current house. She was there when we suffered through infertility. She was there when we suffered loss. She was there to greet both of our boys after they were born. She was there when we brought Dexter, our late Boxer, home as a puppy and she was there when we returned home after his way-too-soon passing. She was there when we brought Moose, our GSD/Boxer mutt, home as a puppy.
Through it all she smiled constantly in our presence, the only dog I’ve ever known to pause and smile when anyone stood still and took a photo.
She was a sovereign soul.
The Final Week
This was one of the saddest and continuously bleak weeks in a long time, day after day she got closer and closer to her final departure. Unlike last time, with Dexter, both Kim and I knew what was happening relatively early on. We took her to the vet a couple of times in the last month for a couple of different reasons and ultimately the final blood work report spelled out what was happening. Liver failure.
Before we got the results we understood, because she knew before anyone did. Her behavior began to change rapidly. Her bark was suddenly gone. Now that I think about it, it’s been waning for months. She would on occasion look lost, disoriented, and unsure of her situation. This turned from an occasional to a perpetual state for the last three days of her life.
She couldn’t pass solid waste nor urinate any longer. She tried and tried, but it was not happening. Her midsection became visibly distended, her gait changed and her movement became stiff. Finally she began to really withdraw her awareness — she was in the same room but her gaze was elsewhere.
Curiously, a couple of nights before her passing, this disconnected presence was highlighted by a sudden and acute awareness of something. I was washing my face before bed when I noticed her lying in her bed. Her head was lifted up, front paws calmly dangling off her bed, her ears slightly perked up, and she was staring into the distance as if she was being called. Someone came to get her, someone arrived with her escort.
24 hours before her passing she began to refuse food. If you know anything about dogs, this is the final signal. Over the years I’ve observed her frantically consume garbage, a dead rat, part of a bird, poop, and rub her body all over dead roaches (I think they were dead but she might have been killing them this way) to impress us with her awesome new fragrance. Refusing delicious wet food or peanut butter is definitely not normal.
In that same 24 hours she had lost awareness of where she was. On the last night with us I found her slowly and awkwardly roaming the dimly lit house. I would also find her outside, coax and guide her back in, only for her to leave again and repeat this process.
The Day
It’s been a very rough day. Last night we didn’t sleep because Zoe was restless, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. She would periodically cry and moan. The feeling of such helplessness seeing your loved one in distress is not something I’d wish for anyone, pet or person. We did everything we could to help her relax; nothing helped, she was up all night.
This morning, taking her to the vet in order to end her suffering was especially difficult. It always is, no matter how much you prepare and “get it all out” before.
The waiting room stay felt like an eternity taking its sweet time getting ready to do something. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m sitting here holding Zoe in her bed, inside of an air-conditioned room with artificial light while a perfect day and open sky is right outside that door. I walked out holding her in her bed and sat down on the curb. I rocked her as I gazed at the sky and kissed the top of her head. I’m crying again.
Kim called us back in as the room was ready. While waiting for the vet to get her and prep a port for the final act, she did something that surprised me. I stepped away from her for a minute to dry my eyes, Kim stepped in and was petting her. All of a sudden there was presence in Zoe’s eyes, she was staring at me, following me with her eyes and head.
When I’d approach she’d look up at me with that same familiar and recognizing gaze I know very well but haven’t seen in several days. Then they came to get her and her eyes faded away again into confusion.
In her last moments she mustered enough strength and awareness to bid us farewell one last time.
Meditation
- 40 Minutes.
- Expand App, timer section, F21.
After her final act, her final breath, final pet, saying goodbye — and then getting home and continuing to grieve on and off — it was time to rest.
I laid down with a single mission: to get to F21, with Zoe on my mind. I felt the urge to get to her one more time and communicate how much she’s loved, how sorry I was for all the times I was wrong to her, for ignoring her when I got too busy with kids or work or whatever was going on.
I made my way to F21; on the way there it was a bit bumpy with feet jerking, but I was clearly depleted and sinking deep (feet jerking, quick body checks, etc.). I haven’t accessed F21 in a while and I remind myself that it doesn’t feel like what anyone else described to me. I don’t go into trance-like states and communicate with nonphysical entities. Maybe not yet. Either way, I was on a mission.
When I got there I began a stream of thoughts calling to Zoe, telling her how much I love her, how much we all do, apologizing, comforting, etc. A few moments into this I felt the hair on my lower left leg stand straight up. First of all, that has never happened before — it’s typically all over, not just one part. Second of all, how the hell was I feeling my physical leg in this altered state? Was I not that deep after all? This puzzled me until after the meditation I realized that I always walk dogs on my left side. It was her letting me know that she was there.
I must have been so frantic to get to F21 and call for her because I didn’t want her to get lost. I wanted her home one last time. Then I communicated that it was okay now and to go in peace, to return to the source, to go on that next adventure, and that I will always vouch for her if anyone comes asking.
Rest now Zoe, you will always be family and we will meet again.