24 years, 2 months postmortem

The years ticked by. After Stormy died and Bay rejected the puppy we sent for her, I thought time would grind to a near-halt. Having to wait for a human's lifespan to run its course seemed like a daunting punishment for dying. With Stormy by my side, it wasn't so bad, even though his head was full of air.

We established a system to check in on her. Sometimes it was out of duty, others out of guilty pleasure. Mostly we alternated who would spend a day watching her. We spent every other day together, roaming Dog Heaven and chasing after nothing.

Trippy joined us eventually. He was rarely interested in frolicking, even though he had all four legs back. He preferred the couch potato afterlife, and we often found him splayed out on a soft bed somewhere.

Bay never adopted another dog after Trippy died of old age. At least he went easily and expectedly, with no cars in sight. By then, Bay was aging. She looked nothing like the Bay I first met. She grew up, bought a house for herself, and lived a quiet life. Others occasionally came in and out, but one in particular caught my attention: Honey.

For the first time in a while, it was my turn to watch Bay. She and Honey—who she now called Gia—were out for a walk together. I was only half-listening to their conversation through the television, but one phrase in particular caught my attention.

"We should get a dog together," Gia said as they traipsed through a park. "Or a cat."

My head tilted to the side. Bay with a cat? She never liked cats.

"I don't know," Bay said with a shrug. "I don't think I'm ready for one yet. After the last two years, it makes me kind of anxious."

Gia grasped Bay's hand. "The doctor said you're doing great. Your chances of relapse are slim."

"I know. Still..."

Bay trailed off and focused her gaze forward. Gia dropped the topic of another dog and they continued their walk hand-in-hand.

What is she talking about?

I finished my obligatory day in the Earth Observatory and left to find Stormy once again attempting to urge Trippy to play into his herding game.

"All you have to do is run and I'll chase you. It's fun!"

"For the last time, I'm not letting you herd me. It's degrading."

Stormy's head tilted to the side and his tongue slipped out of his mouth. "What does 'degrading' mean?"

Trippy groaned and rested his head on the pillow he had nestled into.

"Hey," I said, cutting through the tension between them. "Have either of you heard anything about Bay going to a doctor?"

"I hate the vet," Stormy said, scratching his flank with his back foot.

"Not the vet," I said, wishing I could roll my eyes like humans did when they were annoyed. "A human doctor. She said something about it to Gia."

Trippy lifted his head and stared at us.

"You really didn't know?" He asked.

"Know what?"

"Bay was sick for a while. I knew something was wrong with her before she did. I had to stay with her brother for weeks on end. His kids were demons. She could never come home fast enough, but when she did, she was different. Took a while for her to get back to herself. I heard her say something about cancer a few times, but I never really figured it out. All I knew was that something was very wrong with her."

"No," I said. "You're wrong. That's what I died from. She must have been talking about me."

"I hate to break it to you, Hugo, but not everything is about you. I heard what I heard. Guess you two aren't as eagle-eyed as you like to think."

"I'm not an eagle," Stormy protested.

My tail fell limp. Bay couldn't have been sick. We did not check in often, but we would have noticed or heard something.

There was no way Bay could ever be sick.

— — —

24 years, 10 months postmortem

I made it a point to check in on Bay more frequently just in case I missed something, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Aside from regular aging, Bay's life remained consistent. Gia moved in, this time without fuss from either of them. Bay's hair began to grow in a lighter color verging on gray, but Gia altered her hair color rather than let it lighten naturally.

They sometimes discussed the possibility of adopting another dog, but that did not become a reality until Bay's fifty-fourth birthday.

I showed up at the Earth Observatory for my monthly shift. I missed my last turn to check in, so it'd be a while. To my surprise, Gia, Bay, and a child no older than five years old were crouched on the floor playing with a curly-haired toy poodle.

The dog pounced back and forth, yipping at the top of its lungs as it chased after their hands skittering and jumping across the floor. Their laughter, combined with the tiny dog's shrill bark, filled Bay's house and the Earth Observatory.

My head tilted as I watched them. Bay had never shown an interest in small dogs. What was she doing with that yapping creature?

"Porky, over here!"

The dog's head shot up. It eyed the little girl across the room before scampering over to her.

"I can't believe you let her name our dog Pork Chop," Bay whispered while the dog crouched and skittered its paws closer to the little girl.

"She's your great-niece," Gia whispered back with a playful nudge against Bay's shoulder. "I'm just happy that our family feels complete now."

Bay smiled and gently touched her lips to Gia's.

"Just the three of us," she said after pulling away. "Together forever."

— — —

By Bay's definition, forever must not last very long. She was sick again. This time, I watched it unfold.

On the few times I sat in to watch, Bay was either miserable or sleeping. It didn't do much good for me to watch over her. She had another dog for that, even though the dog often seemed more interested in Bay's five-year-old great-niece. Gia filled the role Stormy, Trippy, and I used to cover.

"What's going to happen to Porky?" Bay asked in a hoarse voice one day as she was curled on the couch. I arrived at the tail end of her time spent hunched over the toilet before she slunk back to her usual spot.

Gia ignored her question and held out a glass of water. "You need to drink something."

Bay hesitated, then took the glass. The rim touched her dry lips, but she only took a sip.

"You travel too much for work," Bay said, her voice worn down from the morning. "I don't want Porky to end up in another shelter."

"She won't because you're going to get better."

Bay sighed and set the glass on the table next to her like she wanted to say something, but a commotion from the front door interrupted her. Zach—now an old man with silver hair and wrinkles—stumbled inside with Lainey, Zach's granddaughter and Bay's great-niece.

Chaos erupted in the form of a child and a miniature dog. Porky yapped excitedly at the top of her lungs while Lainey egged her on. Zach quickly decided they'd all had enough and instructed his granddaughter into the fenced-in backyard with the dog. Lainey eagerly obliged and led the pouncing hairball outside.

"How's she doing?" Zach asked Gia directly as he shed his jacket, bypassing his sister.

"She's been sick all day."

"I'm right here," Bay groaned. "Nice to see you, too."

"You should be in bed," Zach scolded.

"You haven't told Dad, right?" Bay asked. Zach sighed and shook his head. "Good. He took it too hard last time. I don't want him to know yet."

"Bay, even if I told him, he wouldn't remember. You need to go easy on yourself."

My head tilted to the side as I watched Zach and Gia fuss over Bay, who did her best to fend off their concerns. She eventually caved and shuffled to her bedroom with Gia following close behind.

As Gia ensured Bay was in bed to stay, a shrill yip and a child's laughter filtered through the closed window. Bay turned her head to look out into the sunny yard where Lainey blew bubbles for Porky to chase. The warm, joyful sounds outside made Bay and Gia's dark bedroom seem even lonelier.

"She was never ours, was she?" Bay asked.

Gia followed Bay's gaze. The corners of her mouth lifted into a soft smile. "No, she wasn't."

Bay drifted to sleep while Gia and Zach bustled in and out of the room to check on her.

I finally understood why Ziggy was never thrilled about the anticipation of her human coming to get her. Bay's obvious suffering overshadowed the knowledge that we would soon be reunited.

It was too soon for her to leave.

Laying on the Earth Observatory floor, I curled my tail around my nose. Watching Bay act so helpless left me vulnerable in a way I never thought was possible. There wasn't a single threat around me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was looming.