Before the worried texts and the news of a hunger strike, there was the goodbye itself. I wrote the words that follow last week, in the quiet, heavy moments just before leaving for the airport...
For the past five and a half years, Chase has been my constant companion, my furry little partner in crime. We’ve taken on every road trip and most adventures together. Our Casita travel trailer has become a second home for the three of us, and Chase is always with us, wherever we go.
But this week, I have to say goodbye to him for three weeks—a separation that feels like an eternity. As I kneel on the cold tile by the front door, my heart a tight knot in my chest, Chase stands on his hind legs, his front paws on my shoulders. I pull him close, burying my face in his fur and giving him a kiss. “I love you,” I whisper, my voice thick with the emotion I’m trying to hold back. “I won’t be gone for long.”
A lump forms in my throat as the tears well up in my eyes, blurring the familiar scene in front of me: the large, low-pile rug where Chase likes to wait, the overflowing coat rack in the corner, and the big metal shoe bowl that looks like a repurposed planter. Each detail is a testament to the home we’ve built together.
I set him down gently, and he walks over to the rug, a clear act of defiance against the cold floor. He sits, his head tilted slightly, his big ears perked, a question in his eyes. Much like me, when people say I wear my emotions on my sleeve, Chase wears his emotions in his eyes. His fear is written all across his face, a mixture of trust and anxiety.
Chase is a rescue, and every ounce of that history is present in this moment. He was abandoned not once, but twice—first by a family who didn’t understand his breed, and then by a second one who fell on hard times. He spent his days living in a car, an experience that scarred him and left him with a deep, abiding fear of separation and loud noises. It is impossible not to feel what he feels.
I take a deep breath and stand up, my back to him, knowing that if I look at him one more time I will fall apart. My hand reaches for the doorknob, and as I turn it, I hear it: a high-pitched, broken cry. The saddest sound I have ever heard.
The sound stays with me, a haunting echo down the empty hall. I finally give in to the grief I was holding back, the tears flowing freely now. My vision blurs until I can no longer see the floor, only the dim, familiar shape of the suitcase I’m pulling behind me. My breathing turns shallow, catching high in my chest. The sound tears me apart, pulling me back to his past and to all the adventures we’ve shared. I think about all the times I’ve looked over at Chase, and he’s right there beside me, ready for whatever adventure is next.
I don’t know how to explain to him that this is just a temporary separation. Even though I’ve promised him so many more trips, this goodbye feels like it carries a weight that is hard to put into words—a promise I’ve made but cannot yet keep.
I step into the elevator, the doors sliding shut. The sound is gone, but the echo remains. I know that the next few days will be difficult, but I hold on to the promise that our shared road is waiting, and our journey will continue when I return.
-R. Michael