Hayley showed me it was time. She walked to the far end of the yard and laid herself down beneath the apple tree, a something she had never done before. In that quiet, peaceful space, she gave me one final, clear gift. My companion, who always stayed close no matter the trail, was ready to say goodbye.

She left peacefully, with my gaze on hers and all my love in that moment.

I’ve always chosen Wheat Ridge Animal Hospital because it sits just a few hundred yards from the river. Now, I imagine her whole again, running out of there with Beau and Mollie, her lifelong companions. I see the three of them bounding toward the water where they once swam, tails sweeping low and legs strong—forever free.

The sadness and the tears are here, but so is a bit of joy that she had a good life full of adventures and love, just like Beau and Mollie. I also have some gratitude for Jess and Ridge. My young dogs give me somewhere to carry forward the love that has shaped so much of my life.

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Hayley is getting ready.

This morning, I found her as far east as the yard allows, tucked beneath the apple tree, lying still in the grass. She’s never gone out that far before, not on her own. She usually spends the warmth of the day curled up in the laundry room—the dog room—where the sunlight drapes across the floor just right. But today, she chose the soft earth and quiet shade.

I carried her back to the house, but she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—walk. She lay down again, eyes calm, body heavy. So I took her back to where she wanted to be, and laid her gently in the grass under the tree.

I’ve seen dogs do this at the end. It’s as if they’re looking for a place to return to the earth, somewhere quiet to let go.

I don’t know if she’ll make it back to Montana. But what a final chapter she’s had—three alpine backpacking trips in the Colorado high country in the past five weeks, ten river evenings with Jess and Ridge, her nose full of wild air, her paws wet with twilight. She’s been a comfort and a teacher to Ridge in his beginning, even as she approaches her own end.

I’ve been preparing myself. I feed her more, but her bones are surfacing. She’s nearly fifteen. She may be ready to join Beau and Mollie soon.

She’s had a good life. And she’s still having a good goodbye.