I glanced down at the snoring at my feet, a slow, steady rumble punctuated by the occasional “woof.” He was dreaming, all four paws in motion as he tried valiantly to catch whatever creature was taunting him. Now 15, I could clearly remember Duke as a pup, those chocolate brown eyes and paws the size of river rocks telling me he would be one of the great loves of my life.

I looked up from the dog and out my kitchen window to see a red plastic bag tangled around my back fence. Knowing I’d have to retrieve it, I threw on my jacket and tried to sneak out the back door without Duke noticing. A pointless attempt; he was already struggling to his feet, the rustle of my jacket signaling it was time to head outside. I frowned, wondering whether he was suffering so I didn’t have to. After all, his unsteady legs were just the most obvious of ailments that included failing eyesight, hearing loss and a vanishing sense of smell.

“Alright, old man,” I sighed. “Let’s go.”

Always the dutiful soldier, my dog fell in step as I trudged outside and headed for the back paddock. I walked slowly so he could keep up, letting my hand trail so that I felt the occasional bump of his nose against my fingertips. We passed the first gate and he woofed, his old man speak for “This is far.” It made me both happy and sad, because I adored the sound and knew it was fleeting.

We reached the fence, and he sat patiently while I unwound the plastic and stuffed it in my pocket. The bag was from a little market down the road, and it brought back memories of stops for cold Dr. Pepper after runs to the feed store. One look down at Duke, and the last 15 years came flooding back.

We started for the house and I thought how lucky I was to have him with me. How heartbroken I’d be to take those walks alone. He shuffled alongside as best he could, the occasional knock of his muzzle against my leg comforting in its simplicity. Back in the house, he collapsed on his bed with an exaggerated sigh, and the snoring resumed.

I sank into the moment, relished it—knowing he’d soon take the long walk home without me.