By Tara Fisher Dukart 
Just as we prepare to welcome the new year, our family is in the midst of saying goodbye. Goodbyes are not easy to navigate. They don’t fit in a box. Some allow for closure while others are so abrupt or unexpected that finding peace and understanding might seem miles or mountains away.
I didn’t grow up with four-legged pets, so I never truly understood that special type of bond people are always talking about. That is, until Joshua and I added Finley to our family in June of 2010. Finley is a 20 pound mini-Australian Shepherd. He is smart, calm, quiet, playful, and oh, so loyal. He came to us as a puppy, shortly after we experienced our first of seven miscarriages. We were deep in grief.
The house we bought shortly after marriage was the place we thought would soon be filled with children. Month after month, year after year, the house felt more and more lonely. I refer to this chapter in our lives as the one filled with an ocean of tears. Finley wasn’t a child. We knew that. But he filled a void we didn’t know existed.
Finley has been a part of our family now for almost 13 years. In that time, he has accompanied us on every walk, appointed himself backyard-farm manager of our chickens and sheep, and eventually became Ringmaster of our growing family circus.
He welcomed our daughter when we brought her home in 2011. He was at home with us while our son was born in 2013. He stood alert at every meal, diligently cleaning up the floor on behalf of his toddlers. At nap time, you’d find him equidistant between the kids’ bedroom doors, keeping firm watch and guard.
When our family moved to Seek First Ranch in 2016, Finley insisted on trailing along for every horse ride, wading through rocky creeks, and leaping through prairie grass twice his height. He refuses to be left behind when his family jumps into the UTV to check cows or fix fence. He is besties with the other ranch dogs, friendly with the sheep, the cows, and the horses. He could, however, do without the cats.
He has accommodated most of our shenanigans. His only protest comes from a subtle shift of his caramel colored eyebrows. I anticipate it’s the dog version of an eye roll, which to be honest, is quite fair. When our youngest son joined our crew in 2018, Finley acquired a new facial expression. One that says, “I will tolerate being this boy’s personal play gym, but only because I love you so much.”
He has watched our family grow from two humans to five. He has seen our feelings of sadness and our feelings of joy. He’s been privy to our gains. He’s been witness to our losses.
Finley is slipping away from us now, and we know we are facing a difficult decision. Vets and friends keep telling us, “you’ll know when it’s time.” But how do I make myself pick up the phone to schedule that appointment?
We know this is a decision our youngest child will not understand and will struggle to forgive. At least at first. He tells us daily that he “doesn’t want Finley to ever die.” Good dogs should get to live forever, shouldn’t they?
So we take this opportunity to talk about life. We talk about death. We talk about our own mortality. We talk about our eternal life only through Jesus. We know we are preparing for a difficult goodbye even though it’s a pet, even though it’s a life well-lived.
I need to grieve this loss, and the other losses I have experienced over the past 13 years with Finley at my side. We are thankful to be able to grieve alongside our kids, to feel all the things, and to know that feelings are temporary, but precious memories can last.
As we walk into this next year, we are grateful for our memories. Not just with our pets, but with our family, our friends, and our community. We are thankful for the challenges that led to growth. For the conversations that granted us insight. For the experiences that shifted our perspectives.
We are thankful for the people God has placed in our lives, for such a time as this. For the times to say hello. And the times to navigate difficult goodbyes.
Originally published on the author’s blog
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