Luna and I started our lives together 12 years ago. Her breeder lived in a small town not too far east of Buffalo, N.Y. When she was six weeks old I drove over to get her.

I sat in the yard for a bit letting her and her litter mates use me like a puppy jungle gym. She was quiet and still had the smell and fur texture of a puppy.

The time to start back home arrived. I put Luna in the back of the station wagon. She was instantly transformed into a very loud tiny beast that didn't bark. Instead, she made noises like aliens in science fiction movies. It was hard to believe that these very strange, very loud sounds were coming from such a tiny cute puppy. They continued to come the entire nine-and-a-half-hour drive.

She never came to like being in the car, with one exception. She knew the route to Lake Megunticook. She loved to swim and play there.

She was a happy dog. I made sure she had plenty of opportunities to do what retrievers do: swim, bring things to me, bark at squirrels and meet people. She continued the vocalizations throughout her life, though at a reasonable sound level. If you spoke to her, she'd answer.

She enjoyed good health until about two months ago. She and I shared an arthritis affliction. It didn't seriously impact her mobility, or so we thought; then something changed just nine days ago. She couldn't climb stairs. Her rear legs became wobbly. She would simply stop, her back legs shaking and vocalize for me to carry her. These episodes of not being able to walk became more frequent. It also became apparent that she was in some serious pain.

The vet and I tried shots and combinations of shots and heavy-duty doggie drugs. They provided minimal help.

We were back at the vet just before closing on March 7. He did a couple of tests that revealed her left leg had no feeling and her right leg was headed that way. He left for a bit to do an ultrasound. He returned a little while later.

He said, "There is a structure that shouldn't be there. Would you like to see the images?" Structure is as good a term as any. It was a semi-solid mass with voids through it. It looked like an oddly shaped sponge in that it took up space, had mass and obviously had voids. The voids were filled with a perfectly clear fluid/gel with the viscosity of molasses. He had never seen anything like it.

It was obvious that there was nothing that could be done to cure her, let alone just improve her quality of life.

I brought her home hoping upon hope that the next day would show some improvement. But she was worse.

We returned to the vet, again just before they closed. I placed her on the examining table. Her breathing was labored. The doctor noted that her blood pressure was extremely low. She didn't attempt any movement. She lay there with her head in my hands.

The doctor asked if I really wanted to go through with it. There was no other compassionate choice.

He gave her the first shot that put her into a deep sleep. The second shot carried her away. Holding her head, I saw her take her last breath and felt her whole body become limp.

The doctor said, "Stay as long as you want." Then, he and his assistant left the room.

I leaned over her still warm body, cradled her in my arms and let the tears flow uncontrollably. I eventually became temporarily cried out. I thanked them for doing all they could. I went out to my car and cried some more.

March 8, Luna, my constant companion, my source of unconditional love, and my best friend died.

Stephen G. Jordan is a Maine native. He has practiced and taught law in different states and at different universities. He followed a similar path in the fields of geology, engineering geology and remote sensing. These days he can be found in Rockland. He hopes to someday figure out what he wants to do when he grows up, and he hopes to have a new flat coat retriever companion before the snow returns.

Transformations
We tell stories.
We tell stories to make sense of our lives.
We tell stories to communicate our experience of being alive.
We tell stories in our own distinct voice. Our own unique rhythm and tonality.

Transformations is a weekly story-telling column. The stories are written by community members who are my students. Our stories are about family, love, loss and good times. We hope to make you laugh and cry. Maybe we will convince you to tell your stories.
— Kathrin Seitz, editor, and Cheryl Durbas, co-editor

"Everyone, when they get quiet, when they become desperately honest with themselves, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there." — Henry Miller

Kathrin Seitz teaches Method Writing in Rockport, New York City and Florida. She can be reached at kathrin@kathrinseitz.com. Cheryl Durbas is a freelance personal assistant in the Midcoast area. She can be reached at cheryldurbas@tidewater.net.