Piece by Piece

She used to be an energetic 10-month-old, racing around the house and playing chase in the backyard. She loved walks and chew toys and could catch almost anything thrown her way, from a ball to a kernel of food.

When she was a few years old, she had her top front teeth surgically removed due to infection. That ended the days of fetch in the yard because she could no longer effectively pick up and hold toys in her mouth. My fetch buddy was gone.

I used to take her with her brother on walks around the neighborhood at night. By the time she was eight or so, I was carrying two leashes and a flashlight, which I shined out ahead of her.

Some more years passed. She couldn't walk at night at all anymore, even with the aid of a flashlight. Her canine brother and I walked alone on our usual route. The third member of our walking trio was gone.

She used to run around the dog park, playing happily with the other dogs. As the years wore on, she lost interest in the dog park and eventually the dog park became downright scary because of her failing vision. My dog park pal was gone.

She used to sleep in my room every night, either on my bed or nearby on the floor. Just before her twelfth birthday, she was diagnosed with Cushing's, a condition that, among other symptoms, made her always hot and panting. She was more comfortable sleeping on the cool tile near the kitchen at night. My roommate was gone.

In the weeks and days before her death, Mali was not the dog I had originally fallen in love with. Pieces of her were taken from us each year. In her last weeks and days, she was alive, but she couldn't play fetch, go to the dog park, join us on long walks, or catch things in the air. She didn't sleep in my room anymore and couldn't jump onto the couch or bed. She preferred sleeping most of the day over playing or looking out the window for strangers and cats like she used to. What died that day in March 2013 was not all of Mali, because much of her was already long gone.

Scout, now about 8 years old, had a bad foot when we adopted him at just under a year old. After a surgical procedure a few months after his adoption, his foot became much less painful and he has lived a relatively normal life. Lately though, he can no longer go for walks on the pavement. He can only walk on the dirt in the open space, and I can't safely walk in the open space at night. After seven years of nighttime walks around the neighborhood, my nighttime walking buddy is gone.

Except in the case of sudden death such as a heart attack or car accident, we all go through this process. We're still alive, but we can do fewer and fewer of the things we once loved. We resemble our younger selves less and less. Pieces of our lives are taken from us and our friends and family one by one, until someday the very last piece is gone and we die. It's important that we appreciate every moment we are given, whether walking with our dogs or even just the ability to stand unsupported, because someday these seemingly mundane activities might be taken away forever.