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Calypso has been a fixture in my life, an extension of me, for ten and a half years. Learning to live without her is going to be a long process.

June 2nd was a difficult day for me. June 4th was unlike any other. Calypso had been limping with what we thought was a sprained leg for a couple of weeks. We tried to keep her quiet, but she wasn’t cooperating. On June 2nd, my husband took her to the vet while I went to physical therapy. He ended up leaving her there because the doctor said x-rays were needed and he might need to do a bone biopsy depending on the x-rays. I picked her up after my appointment. I wasn’t expecting to hear what the vet had to tell me.

He showed me the x-rays of Calypso’s left and right front legs. The bone in her right leg was almost non-existent. The vet opted to do a different bone test rather than the biopsy because he was afraid the bone might shatter. All I could do was stand there and stare at the x-rays. My heart was breaking because I knew I could not let her suffer any longer. She was in excruciating pain and there was no recovery from her ailment.

I brought my best friend, my emotional support companion, home with me. I needed time with her. I wasn’t ready to let go. I knew Calypso was aging and had hip problems, but I wasn’t prepared for the sudden change in circumstance. I spent the remainder of Wednesday and all day Thursday by her side, soaking her up, crying, and spoiling her. She had little strength left and I had to help her stand. I was in constant fear of her shattering the bone as she struggled to stand up. I knew I had to let her go.

Friday morning, at 11 am I said goodbye for the last time and my husband took her to the vet’s office. It was one of the most difficult goodbyes I have ever said and I am heartbroken.

The days drag by as I try to focus on mundane things without much success. I hear a dog bark and I get up. I pass the kitchen door and peer into the garage to see if she’s sleeping soundly. I no longer open the front door as the emptiness of the view is unbearable. Feeding time comes and goes. We had rituals. We did things at certain times every day. She had my back. I had hers.

I often referred to Calypso as my wild child. She loved being exactly what she was, a dog. She was special. If I came inside and left her outside, she’d follow my footsteps in our raised cottage and would go to the nearest door and start barking to let me know I had left her behind. One of her favorite places was the front porch, smack up against the door. Sometimes, she would stand and peer in to see what I was doing and the glass is full of her nose prints. Other times, she’d lay down facing the door and watch me. It didn’t matter where I was or what I was doing, so long she had me in her sight, she was good.

From the time Calypso was born and took her first sip of water, she always drank with her front paws in the water bowl. She was so little at the beginning that I was afraid she would drown. She had a small water bowl and Ryka, my other shepherd, had a large bowl (sized appropriately). Calypso was still a baby, but she wanted what Ryka had. Ryka had a beautiful long tail and Calypso wanted that too. She would chase Ryka trying to grab her tail. She loved Ryka’s tail. It wasn’t long before she had one of her own and she chased it. She actually had a reputation of being the shepherd who chased her tail. Not quite the reputation I would have asked for, but she was happy and that is what mattered most.

Calypso was graceful. If you have ever watched the gracefulness of a cutting horse, you will know what I’m talking about. In the spring she loved chasing the dragonflies, back and forth and back and forth for hours on end. They would fly along the flowers to the end and turn and fly back to the other end of the flower bed. She would follow them and pivot and follow them back. I watched her shuffle on her back feet to gain her balance and then rise gracefully to pick a dragonfly off of the fence without ever touching the fence.

She and Ryka would chase squirrels up the pecan tree and then sit under the tree for hours waiting for the squirrel, who probably had his cheeks full of pecans, to make a break for it. She never met a cat she liked though. On more than one occasion, we had to grab her and bring her inside so a cat could come out from the floor joists and exit the yard safely.

Calypso was always waiting at the gate for me when I left. It didn’t matter if it was rain or shine, cold or hot. She was always there. She would hop up on the gate as I unlocked it, fussing at me and she’d continue the fussing all the way to the house.

Calypso’s name comes from John Denver’s song, Calypso. It personified who she was. She was a free spirit and she embodied life. I’ve included John Denver’s song at the end of this post.

Calypso and I spent hours together every day and those hours are empty now. I really miss her. My head knows she’s gone, but my heart still longs for her. I have so many memories and for those I am grateful. Rest in peace, my faithful companion. You own a piece of my heart.