Saying Goodbye to Juneau

“For those of you who don’t believe in soulmates, it’s only because you haven’t met the right dog yet.” - Elizabeth Gilbert 

One month ago we sat on the beach and watched the waves crash into the rocky shore with Juneau for the last time. She was content to lay in the sun, her paws just at the water’s edge. We just sat with her for hours, watching her take in the views of her home. 

We reminisced about our favorite moments together. Teaching her to swim at Redfish Lake. Backpacking in Montana. How she kept stealing my seat in the front when we did our “Tour de Idaho” so that she could stick her head out the window. 

We also talked about the little things. The way she crossed her paws when she laid down. How she used to argue with Kyle when he told her no. But most of all, how genuinely she loved to just be with us - wherever that may be. She’d follow us to the end of Earth and back - no questions asked. 

It was while we sat together on the beach that I thought how wonderfully cruel this moment was. We knew she was sick. That cancer had invaded her body and spread. We knew she had to be in pain, that she was slowly wasting away from not eating. But at the same time she held so much peace and contentment. How could she be so sick and yet still so present? But that’s what she always taught us. To be present. To appreciate the newness of each moment, to be exactly where we are, with the people we’re with. She did that for us. She taught us to be better people, better memory makers, better stewards. She taught me to love in a way that now seems so heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time. She was my kindred spirit, familiar, soulmate. And now she’s gone.

So many of you have fallen in love with Juneau along the way. Whether you actually knew her and loved her as a friend, or loved her through reading about our adventures, I know she felt it. I feel it. 

A month has gone by and while the first week brought us relief, knowing she was no longer in pain, the following weeks have amplified her absence. Our home feels empty without her. 2012 was a special year of firsts. Everything we did that year was for the first time with Juneau as part of our family. 2022 will also be a year of firsts, our first time in over a decade of learning how to do things without her. There will be other dogs, dogs we’ll love and have our own first experiences with. But there will never be another Juneau. Juneau was our first, the one that made us feel like a family. 

Thank you to everyone who has loved our girl along with us.