I sit in my office in the late afternoon, fighting back some tears, the late sun streaming through the windows, there is an emptiness around me that seems vast and dark. For the first time in memory, I am writing without Red sitting at my feet quietly, lying beside me so faithfully.

Sometimes, silence is the loudest noise we ever hear. My heart feels heavy as if it will drop right through me and onto the carpet. I feel weak, disoriented. Stunned, as if I were knocked about the head.

Red died before around noon Friday, we just couldn’t bear to see him suffering any longer. When I looked through the viewfinder of the camera this morning, I saw an exhausted Red, stoic but struggling to even stand.

That Red was already gone.

It was time. He was ready.

You can see it in those once powerful and blazing eyes. He was just hanging on.

I can’t thank Dr. Suzanna Fariello and her staff – Nicole and Cassandra – for working so hard to make Red comfortable this past year or so, and for dealing with his death is so gentle and sensitive away.

Dr. Fariello’s tears were pouring down on the floor as she knelt down to give him the sedative and medicine that killed him quickly and peacefully. A good vet is the most precious thing. She always listened to Red, she always listened to me.

Maria was almost supernatural in the way she grabbed a shovel and pitchfork and dug a four-foot grave filled with large rocks in less than an hour. Her strength and passion surprise me, again and again.

In the last photo I took of Red below, I did not see the dog I have lived with these past seven years. He was already gone.

When I think of a dog like Red, I see an animal that entered my life for a purpose, he was a dog, but more than just a dog.

He came to help guide me and lead me to higher ground – to hospice work, the Mansion, the refugees. He helped me to do good and to learn how to love doing good because Red could go anywhere, be anywhere, see anyone. Because of him, so could I.

Red was all about trust and love. I trusted him completely, to do anything, to go anyway. It is difficult for me to even articulate how much that meant to me in this work.

But I will certainly try. Red belonged to many people, and I promised to share his sickness and death openly and honestly. I will keep that promise.

In the hundreds if not thousands of visits we made together, Red was never turned away, refused, or disappointed.

He never made a mistake, frightened or hurt a soul, ignored someone in need, or failed to grasp my meaning and intuition. He never barked, jumped, or startled.

He was an anchor, a rock, everywhere he went. My friend Sue Suliverstein says she believes with her heart and soul that Red was not just in words but in reality, an angel who was sent her to do his work. I was a part of his work. I believe dogs like Red do that, I think Sue might well be right.

Red helped to make my transformation from a struggling wreck to a grounded human being who finally understood what my purpose was, what his calling was. He was my witness, my companion, my good spirit. He radiated good, and it reflected off of him.

I could not have done this work I do without Red, he opened every door and brought light to every darkness.

Red gave me confidence and strength to change my life and get to higher ground. He knew where I was going before I did, and never left my side.

He was with me in the car, in my study, in the farmhouse, in the fields. I never once raised my voice to Red or was even angered by him. He just offered himself to me and others in the purest way.

He was the dog I wanted, the dog I needed.

He was just my dog, pure and simple.

I’ll write more about him later, but I am happy to see he went out with a Red-like flourish, drawing enough money to buy some Ipads for the teachers at Bishop Maginn High School. People were grateful for the chance to honor Red. I was proud of him, to the very end. It was a fitting end, the last gift, the last act, helping people.

Red died peacefully, we brought him back with us to the farm and Maria did the most amazing job of digging a beautiful grave near the Pole Barn close to the sheep. Red can torment Liam for years to come, and I can talk to him and see him every day.

I went to the Mansion in the afternoon. I wanted to tell the residents directly that Red had gone. They were all gathered in the Great Room when I came in, I asked the musician if I could make an announcement. I told them that Red had died, peacefully and calmly, and I said I wanted to thank them for loving him and welcoming him into their lives.

There was a lot of anguish in some of their faces, Peggie and Sylvie and Wayne took it especially hard.

My heart is broken, I feel as if my soul has emptied out, and there is a void all around me that I don’t quite know how to fill. I don’t control that, I know this space will fill up of its own accord. I accept life and I respect life and death.

I am not stunned by it, nor will I be devoured by it.

This is grieving, I’ve seen it many times in my life, for people, for dogs. Grieving is a process, and it has its own path and will. No one can make you feel better or save you from it. You just have to know there is another side.

I knew it was coming and was well prepared, but I’ve seen it enough to know there really is no preparation, it’s like a giant wave that just to break over me and my life. Tonight, the healing begins.

Like other crazy people, I get to recover every day.

Maria and I are heading out to a beautiful spot on the Battenkill River where we will sit and hold hands and just be. Maria told me on my birthday that I had loved her into being, and I was touched by that, and today, we will love one another into healing.

I am struck once more by Fate, who has spent almost all of her life with Red, and Bud, who adores Red and protects him. Neither seems to have noticed his absence, their spirits are high, their appetites strong, they are playful and alert,  there are no signs of depression or disorientation.

I have yet to ever see one of my dogs grieve for another.

Dogs become what we need them to become, we are so eager to put our thoughts and emotions into their heads. Left alone, they show us who they are.

I want to post some more photos I took of Red’s gravesite and a bit about my life with him. But that’s for later.  Time to be with me. Thanks for loving Red and sharing his story with me.