Chapter 7 - TITAN’S LAST MISSION
Titan turned eleven.
Large German Shepherds do not hide age gracefully.
His muzzle whitened.
His hips stiffened.
Stairs became slower.
Kiara noticed everything.
“Titan’s old.”
Dustin answered honestly.
“Yes.”
“Is he going to die?”
Not the question he wanted.
“Yes. Someday.”
“When?”
“I don't know.”
“I hate not knowing.”
“Me too.”
Kiara sat beside Titan.
“He can't die.”
Dustin's heart broke.
He remembered the first weeks after Rachel.
Kiara had tethered herself to Titan because dogs did not disappear unexpectedly.
Except they did.
All living things did.
Sarah later told Dustin:
“Don't promise her more time than you control.”
He nodded.
They took Titan to the veterinarian.
Arthritis.
Manageable.
For now.
Medication.
Weight control.
Gentler walks.
Kiara created a schedule.
Titan enjoyed the extra attention.
For six months, things remained good.
Then one night, Titan collapsed.
Dustin carried him to the emergency veterinary clinic.
Kiara sat in the back seat holding Titan's head.
Sarah met them there.
The diagnosis was aggressive cancer.
Advanced.
Dustin hated that word.
Advanced sounded like achievement.
The veterinarian discussed options.
Treatment might buy weeks or a few months.
Pain likely increasing.
Dustin looked at Kiara.
She was ten now.
Older.
More articulate.
Still carrying grief.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Kiara cried.
“I don't want him hurting.”
That was the answer.
They brought Titan home for two days.
No school.
No rules.
Titan ate steak.
Kiara slept beside him on the living room floor.
Sarah slept on the sofa.
Dustin sat nearby.
On the final morning, they took Titan to the beach.
Cold wind.
Gray Atlantic.
Titan loved water when younger.
He walked slowly now.
Kiara removed her shoes and stepped into the surf with him.
Dustin took photographs.
Sarah stood beside him.
“He saved her.”
Dustin nodded.
“Then let her save him from pain.”
Dustin closed his eyes.
At the clinic, Kiara held Titan.
Dustin held Kiara.
Sarah remained beside them.
Titan died peacefully.
Kiara screamed.
A sound so full of grief that Dustin nearly broke with her.
But he did not tell her to stop.
Did not say be strong.
Did not say Titan was in a better place.
He simply held her.
That evening, Kiara said:
“I hate everybody leaving.”
Dustin sat beside her.
“I know.”
“You’ll leave too.”
“Someday.”
She cried harder.
Dustin wanted to promise fifty years.
Instead:
“But not tonight.”
Sarah joined them.
Kiara looked at her.
“You too?”
Sarah’s eyes filled.
“Someday.”
“This sucks.”
Sarah laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
Kiara leaned between them.
For the first time since Rachel died, she allowed grief to be grief without turning it into silence.
That was Titan’s last gift.
They buried his ashes beneath a maple tree in the backyard.
Kiara placed Mark Keller’s old dog tag beside the urn.
Dustin told her:
“Mark loved Titan.”
“Did Titan love Mark?”
“Yes.”
“Did he love me more?”
Dustin smiled.
“Different.”
Kiara thought.
“Like Mom and Sarah?”
Dustin stopped.
Sarah looked down.
“Yes,” he said.
Kiara nodded.
That answer made sense.
A month later, Dustin found Kiara brushing an empty dog collar.
He sat.
“Want another dog?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe someday.”
“Okay.”
Six months later, Kiara asked to visit a rescue.
They did not choose a working dog.
No heroic German Shepherd.
No symbolic replacement.
Kiara fell in love with a ridiculous, long-legged mutt named Pickles who was afraid of vacuum cleaners and sneezed when excited.
Dustin looked horrified.
“This dog has no discipline.”
Kiara hugged Pickles.
“Perfect.”
Sarah laughed.
They brought him home.
Titan was not replaced.
May you like
Life simply made room.
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