CJ looked down at me and I wagged. She knelt, wincing a little as she did so, then gathered me to her.
“You’re such an amazing dog, Toby. What you do for everyone, comforting them and guiding them at the end—you’re just a miracle, an angel dog.”
I wagged—“angel dog” was something like “doodle dog,” another name that meant I was good and I was loved.
“Thank you so, so much, Toby. You be a good dog. I love you.”
CJ stood, smiled at Fran, and walked out into the night.
CJ didn’t come back the next day, nor the next. More days went by, until I no longer rushed over to the sliding doors when they gasped open—my girl, it seemed, didn’t need me right now.
That was just how things were. I would rather have gone with CJ wherever she was, but my job now was to take care of and love everyone in my building and to be with people as they left this life. And also to Sit for Eddie so that he would feed me chicken.
I knew that if CJ needed me, she could find me, just as she always had done before.
In the meantime, all I could do was wait.
THIRTY-ONE
And then one day, when the brown leaves outside scuttled before the wind so loudly I could hear them from everywhere in the building, my girl walked in the door. I was wary as she came up the sidewalk because I wasn’t sure it was her—there was an odd hitch to her walk, a limp, and the bulky coat across her shoulders hid her frail thinness. But when the door whooshed open and the blustery wind blew her wonderful scent into my face I scampered across the floor and right up to her. I was careful not to jump up, fearing I might knock her over, but my tail wagged with joy and I closed my eyes when her hand came down to stroke me.
“Hello, Toby, did you miss me?”
Fran walked up and embraced her and CJ put some things on a desk in one of the rooms, and from that day forward we lived life backward from the way we had always lived it before. Now CJ left at night and didn’t return until morning, instead of leaving in the morning and not coming back until night. She never took me to the room with the couches, but I could smell that she was still going there on a regular basis.
CJ moved through the building, visiting people in the rooms and talking to them and sometimes hugging them. I was always at her heels, but when she left at night there was often someone who needed me on their bed, so I would lie there with them, and sometimes their family members would hold me.
People were often in pain when they talked to CJ, whether they were lying in bed or standing next to it, but usually after a quiet conversation I could feel their pain lessen a little. Often someone in the family would reach for me, and it was my job to let them hug me for as long and as hard as they needed to, even if it made me uncomfortable.
“Good dog,” CJ would say. “Good dog, Toby.”
Often Fran or Patsy would be in the room with CJ, and they said the same thing. “Good dog, Toby.”
I was glad to be a good dog.
CJ was in pain, too—I could sense it, could see how it slowed her down. Hugging me made her feel a little better, too.
One family was very sad because a woman who was lying in bed was suffering and had a strong metallic tang to her breath. There was a man her age and three children who were the age CJ had been when I was Molly. When one of the children picked me up and put me in bed with the woman I did Be Still.
“Dawn,” CJ said to the oldest of these children, a girl taller than CJ and with long, light hair that smelled of flowery soap and whose hands carried with them the strong scent of apples. “Would you join me for a cup of coffee?”
I felt some alarm go through Dawn. She looked at her mother, who was sleeping, unaware of my presence next to her, then up at the man, her father, who nodded. “Go ahead, honey.”
I could feel something like guilt stirring in Dawn as she reluctantly left her mother’s side. I decided that whatever was happening, CJ needed me more to be with her and Dawn than with the woman in the bed. Moving as carefully as possible, I eased onto the floor and silently padded down the hall after my girl.
“Hey, you want something to eat? A banana, maybe?” CJ asked.
“Sure,” the girl said. I soon smelled the pungent, sweet smell of a new fruit mingling with the apples on the girl’s hands as they made chewing noises. I lay down at their feet under the table.
“It must be hard to be the oldest. Your sisters look up to you; I can tell,” CJ said.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“How’s your dad doing?”
“He’s … I don’t know. He keeps saying we have to fight. But Mom…”
“She’s not fighting anymore,” CJ said softly after a moment.
“Yeah.”
“Must be very stressful.”
“Uh-huh.”
They sat for a little while.
“What are your comfort foods?” CJ asked.
“Peanut butter,” Dawn replied with a wry laugh. “Oh, and you know those lasagnas you can heat up?”
“Eating helps with the stress,” CJ said.
Dawn was quiet.
“And then when you’ve eaten too much?” CJ asked quietly.
A jolt of alarm went through Dawn. She sat up in her chair. “What do you mean?”
“When I was in high school I had this problem. I could always make myself feel better by eating,” CJ said. “But with every bite I’d be hating myself because I already felt fat and I knew I was just putting on pounds—I could practically feel my butt getting bigger. So then I got rid of what I ate.”
When Dawn spoke I could hear the tremor her heartbeat put in her voice. “How?”
“You know how, Dawn,” CJ replied.
Dawn inhaled sharply.
“My eyes had little bits of blood in them all the time. Just like yours,” CJ said. “Sometimes my cheeks were as swollen as yours, too.”
“I have to go.”
“Sit with me for just a bit longer, would you?” CJ asked.
Dawn shuffled her feet. I could tell that she was afraid.
“These aren’t my own teeth, you know,” CJ continued. “I lost them when I was young, from all the acidity—people my age often have implants, but I had them in college.”
“Are you going to tell my dad?” Dawn asked.
“Does your mom know?” CJ replied.
“She … I think she does, but she never said anything to me. And now…”
“I know. Dawn, there’s a program.…”
“No!” Dawn said sharply. She pushed her chair back from the table.
“I know how you feel. How awful it is to have this secret, how it can make you hate yourself.”
“I want to get back to my mother’s room.”
They both stood. I eased to my feet, yawning anxiously. CJ was not as tense as Dawn, but strong feelings were running through both of them.
“I’m on your side, Dawn,” CJ said. “In the coming days and weeks, any time you feel that urge, that uncontrollable need, I want you to call me. Will you do that?”
“Will you promise not to tell my dad?”
“Only if I know for sure you’re not going to hurt yourself, honey.”
“Then you’re not on my side,” Dawn blurted. She turned and walked away much more rapidly than my girl could move.
My girl sighed sadly, and I nudged her with my hand. “Good dog, Toby,” she said, but she wasn’t really paying attention to me.
I was lying next to Dawn’s mother when she died, and they were all very sad and the children clutched me and I did Be Still for them. Fran and Patsy were there, but CJ was not. Often, even if CJ was in the building, I would be with Fran or Patsy because they would need me more.
It was a good way to pass the years. There was no dog door, but whenever I walked up to the door to the small yard it would swish open for me, and the smells out there told me when it was going to snow or rain and when it was summer and when it w
as fall. Chaucer still came to play on a regular basis, though once he learned Eddie could be counted on for treats we spent almost as much time in the kitchen as we did out in the yard.
“Now Chaucer, you’re like me, you work hard, but it’s not fancy work. Nobody looks at you and sees anything but a hardworking dog,” Eddie said one time. Chaucer whined a little and shuffled his feet, impatient for the treat. “But Toby here, he’s a doctor. Neither one of us will ever be smart as Toby.”
I wagged at my name. Chaucer licked his lips.
“You both get bacon today, though.”
I could hardly contain myself. Bacon!
Sometimes CJ would be gone for a week or two at a time, but she always came back. One day at lunch, shortly after one of her long absences, I could feel that CJ was a little afraid as she talked to Fran, so I sat up alertly.
“We have a new guest coming in. Probably as early as Monday,” CJ said.
“Oh?” Fran said.
“Me. I’m the guest.”
“What?”
“It’s almost a blessing, Fran. There are so many things going wrong with me now the doctors almost don’t know where to start. And to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of all the pain and the sleeplessness and the sickness. I’m tired of the forty pills a day. When Gloria died I realized that it meant my obligations were over. I don’t owe anybody anything.”
“CJ…”
CJ shifted in her seat, leaning forward. “This is a decision I reached a long, long time ago, Fran. You won’t be able to talk me out of it. At my family reunion I told everyone and said my good-byes. My affairs are in order.” CJ gave a little laugh. “This way, I will always and forever be younger than Gloria. That will drive her crazy.”
“I think we should talk about this. Maybe you could see someone.…”
“I’ve worked it through with my therapist. Believe me, we’ve spoken about almost nothing else for the past year and a half.”
“I still think—”
“I know what you think, but you’re wrong. This isn’t suicide; it’s acceptance. My doctors say it’s only a matter of time before something else happens inside me. They agree with my decision. I’m terrified another stroke might leave me debilitated—after watching Gloria I can’t face the idea of something like that happening to my brain. This way, I control what happens, and where and when. Isn’t that what hospice is all about? Ensuring that quality of life extends into the dying process?”
“You can’t know, though, that you’ll have another stroke.”
“Fran. I’ve stopped dialysis.”
“Oh God.”
“No, you have no idea. The freedom. I don’t have to go back there ever again. I have had my ups and downs, but it has been a good, long life and I don’t regret my decision. Please, try to understand. It feels to me like I’ve been kept artificially alive, and maybe for a good reason—I’ve helped a lot of people. But the prognosis is for it all to end badly. I want my leaving to be at a time of my choosing and not artificially extended, with no regard for my quality of life. I don’t want to end up a vegetable.”
The fear was gone from CJ now. I nuzzled her hand and she stroked me with tenderness.
A few days later, CJ came to the building to live. Right away, though, I could tell that she was feeling more ill than ever before. I jumped up on her bed and remained there with her, sometimes climbing up to be by her head, sometimes curling up in a ball by her feet.
“Good dog, Toby,” she always said. Her voice, though, was weaker and weaker. “You’re not just a therapeagle; you’re an angel dog, just like Max, just like Molly.”
I wagged, hearing those names spoken so tenderly. My girl knew who I was, that I had always been with her, taking care of her and guarding against dangers.
Many people came to visit CJ in her room, and CJ was always happy to see them. Some of them I knew, such as Gracie, who had been a little girl when I was Max but was now a grown woman with children of her own. CJ kissed all the children and laughed and the pain inside her receded until it was all but hidden. Another was a woman I recognized from not long ago. Her name was Dawn, the girl with the apple-scented hands, and she sat next to CJ and talked for hours. I left for a while to check to see if Fran or Patsy needed me, but when I came back Dawn was still there.
“People are always asking me what specialty I want, and I just keep telling them that I’m just focused on getting into med school. How do I know what area will appeal to me? I haven’t even been accepted yet.”
“You will,” CJ said. “I know you will.”
“You’ve always believed in me, CJ. You saved my life.”
“No, you saved your own life. You know what they say in the program—no one else can do it for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dawn said.
CJ coughed weakly and I jumped up to be next to her. Her hand came down and stroked my back.
“I guess I’d better get going,” Dawn finally said.
“I so appreciate you making the trip, Dawn.”
They hugged each other and I felt the love flow between them.
“Have a safe flight,” CJ said. “And remember, you can always call me.”
Dawn nodded, wiping her eyes. She smiled and waved as she left the room, and I snuggled next to my girl, feeling her drop into a deep nap.
One afternoon CJ was feeding me pieces of a ham and cheese sandwich that Eddie had brought her when she stopped and looked at me. I kept my eye on the sandwich.
“Toby,” she said, “listen to me. I know that you’re really bonded to me, but I’m going to be leaving you. I could stay, but I’ve had all the good things this life can offer me and I’m weary of all the bad—especially of what is to come if I try to prolong it. I just want to be with my husband. The only regret I have is leaving my friends, and you’re one of those friends, Toby. But I know you are loved and taken care of, and I know that to be loved and to have a job is more important than anything to a dog. You remind me in so many ways of my dog Molly, her gentleness, but also of Max, with his self-assurance. Will you tell my angel dogs I’m coming to be with them soon? And will you be with me in my final moments? I don’t want to be afraid—and if you’re there, I know I’ll be brave. You’re my forever friend, Toby.”
The love ran strong between us as my girl pulled me close to her.
CJ left one cool, clear spring afternoon. Fran had been sitting with her all day, and I had lain with my head on her chest, her hand loosely stroking my fur. When the hand stopped moving, I looked at Fran, who moved her chair closer and took the now slack hand in hers. Bit by bit CJ let go of life, until, with one final breath, my girl was gone.
“Good dog, Toby,” Fran told me. She hugged me and her tears fell on my fur.
I thought about baby Clarity falling off the dock at the Farm. How her eyes had been on me when Gloria picked her up. “Bubby,” she’d said. I remembered her coming into the yard with Trent to take me home. I thought about her hugs and kisses, how when I was Max she would hold me to her chest to keep me warm.
I would have to live without her hugs now.
My CJ. She taught me that it was a good thing to love more than just my boy, Ethan, opening my eyes to the fact that I’d actually loved many people in my lives, that loving humans was my ultimate purpose. Her presence in my lives formed the center point of my existence and enabled me to help the people who lay in beds in their rooms to fight off their fears and find ultimate peace and acceptance.
I served those people for many years after CJ left, but never did I let a day go by without remembering her—remembering baby Clarity as she slipped into the horse’s kennel, remembering CJ as she held me in the car by the ocean, remembering living with Trent when I was Max.
When a sharp pain made me cry one morning as I did my business, Patsy and Fran and Eddie took me to the Vet, and I knew why they were all going on the car ride. I was nearly blind at that point, but I could still smell the cinnamon and Chaucer on Patsy?
??s hands as she picked me up and carried me, panting, into the Vet’s office and laid me on the cool table. Eddie’s strong, chicken-scented hands soothed me, and they all whispered in my ear as the quick stab brought with it almost instant relief.
“We love you,” they said.
This time as the waves swept over me, they were not dark but had a frothy luminance dancing on millions of bubbles. I raised my head up and floated toward this brightness, bursting through the water’s surface and into the glorious light of sunrise. Gold, the light was gold as it played across the gentle waves, and my vision was suddenly as clear and sharp as a puppy’s. A bouquet of wonderful scents met my nose, and my heart leaped when I realized who I was smelling.
“Molly!” I heard someone call.
I whipped my head around and there they were, the people I’d been smelling. Everyone I’d ever loved in my life, standing at the edge of the water, smiling and clapping. I saw Ethan and Hannah and Trent and CJ standing in front, along with Andi and Maya and Jakob and all the others.
“Bailey!” Ethan yelled, waving.
My name was Toby, and Buddy, and Molly and Max and Bailey and Ellie. I was a good dog, and this was my reward. Now I would get to be with the people I loved.
I turned, whimpering with joy, and swam toward those golden shores.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is the part of the book where I have to admit that a lot of people helped contribute to the whole process, and the easiest thing would be to begin at, well, the beginning. In July 2010, yet another book with a dog on the cover joined the burgeoning crowd of books with dogs on their covers—A Dog’s Purpose, it was called. The first week it was eligible, this novel (my first) leapt onto the bestseller lists, where it remained for nineteen weeks. Now, you can’t bribe your way onto those lists, though I’m sure someone has tried. People have to buy the book, and enough people gave A Dog’s Purpose a chance that it added up to a wonderful run at the bookstore.
And that, you see, led to this, the sequel. No one publishes the sequel to a book that didn’t sell, so the best place to start thanking people is with everyone who bought my novel in the first place. Because of you, A Dog’s Journey found a home with Tom Doherty Associates, an imprint of Macmillan, the same people who did such a great job supporting A Dog’s Purpose.