As the annual cold, and briefly extreme, weather rolled in late December, something else accompanied the change in the air.
I noticed he was struggling more to stand and stabilize himself. His stubbornness and unwillingness to come inside during the inclement shifts in the atmosphere was relentless.
My stomach knotted up at night as I literally lifted his 58-pound body off the cold grass and helped him walk back inside.
Aiden was preparing to leave this world, and he gave me multiple signs that his time was near. He started to frequent the place in the yard where his sister and older brother often rested in the days and weeks before they passed; the dying spot is now a worn, grassless patch along the fence where sun-filled mornings meet afternoon shade, making it the perfect napping place.
Eating took longer and I had to encourage him to take in enough water. By the last week of January, I knew it was time. My furry friend let me know that he was ready to say goodbye.
I called the veterinary hospice team who validated the signs and symptoms, and we scheduled an appointment. I wept, consumed Girl Scout cookies, and slept beside him on the floor, contemplating how I would manage without him in my life.
Selfishly, I could not think of Aiden being gone. The past three years of my life were dedicated to his continuous medical care and overall well-being. Time, for me, stood still and life was lived through his lens. What exactly would I do after he left me?
But in his final hours, the answers would come. His brother Lyncoln, now the remaining pack member, stepped up and took charge of overseeing my activities and comforted me throughout the day. As I went about my chores and work, Aiden lifted his head from his bed and wagged his tail as he smiled at me. I struggled to fight back the tears.
Around lunchtime, I stood in the kitchen as he tried to sleep, and my phone rang. On the other end of the call was the admissions office at university notifying me that I was accepted to the PhD program to which I had applied. Glancing over to Aiden as I listened, I saw him lift his head and turn his body toward me, smiling, one last time, before he laid his head back down to return to his slumber. He sighed heavily, as if he was relieved.
In that moment, I understood that Aiden’s assignment was complete. He supported me through so many transitional, transformative events in my life, and this would be the final first on his watch.
I hung up the phone and walked over to his bed where I sat with him until the very end. As evening descended on the day, my best friend, Aiden the Huskamute, ascended to his permanent residence, in Heaven, as the guardian angel he was born to be.