The end of an era--Bossman has left the building.

The house is too quiet. Just over a week since he's been gone, but a strange eternity all the same. I thought I was ready. He was 14-years-old after all; ancient for a German Shepherd from working lines. I wasn't prepared. I feel as though someone should come over a loudspeaker and announce "The Bossman has left the building." Maybe then I'll quit waiting for the encore.

A friend recently posted a link to an article on social media referencing mourning. The article described how mourning the death of a loved one was also mourning your own death. Conversations with that person will never take place again, inside jokes will be shared no longer...a past that is truly in the past brings into present focus one's own mortality. Boss's passing signifies this and more. It is the end of an era for me. I am struggling with the loss of him as well as letting go of a large piece of myself. I have lost grandparents, friends, an uncle, my mother, my brother, other pets, and an unborn child. I have suffered loss. I am no stranger to grief but this "letting go" of a chunk of my identity is a foreign concept that I am struggling with.

I'll never forget the first day I took Boss for a spin. His name was Bo at the time. I was instantly in awe of his vibe and presence. I met him as a puppy about a year before and had heard how difficult he was to housebreak but I knew that he loved children and children (one in particular) loved him. I was slightly apprehensive with him at first because I wasn't the one who had taught him the basics but I remember his smile putting me at ease on that grassy roadside in Douglasville, Georgia. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and invited me to have fun with him. A few months later he was mine. Within weeks I lost my right-hand-dog, Thor. Within months I learned I was pregnant. As my belly and my awareness of struggles ahead grew, so did my bond with Boss. We worked hard on developing new skills together and teaching other dogs and humans how to have a better relationship. He let me cry on his neck as I grappled with the future and he made me look good when we were working. The day he jumped up on the couch and rested his head on my swollen belly I knew plans had changed. The dog once destined to become a K9 was now mine. He chose me and my unborn baby in that moment. I was his person.

Boss was there for me after Parker was born and Charles had to travel. Boss chose me as his person on multiple occasions when he could have run away or acted like an idiot or at the very least not wanted to participate. He was brilliant so many times, going above and beyond what was expected. We moved away from family and friends in Georgia to North Carolina and he became my best support system when Charles was away. He loved me, he loved Parker, he loved all the things I chose to do. He was my marathon training partner and ran twenty miles or more on multiple training runs. He was always so happy to just be near. He never had to be in your face or in your space; he was like that friend that you didn't ever have to talk to--you could be content lying in the grass staring up at the clouds in silence for hours as long as you were together.

Boss was very healthy throughout his life and I am very thankful for that. He began battling Degenerative Myelopathy a little over two years ago. I thought that would be what would take him until last Monday. Parker and I walked in the door after my morning of coaching and his day at school. Boss didn't get up from his resting spot in the middle of the kitchen floor. He was breathing, but I instantly knew that something was off. Parker commented that Boss was "REALLY tired" when the dog didn't rise to meet the loving face of his boy. I picked up Boss's head and felt the drool that had trailed down his neck. I saw the nystagmus in his eyes and I knew. He had suffered a stroke. He couldn't walk. He couldn't stand without my help. I spent the night on the floor with him, partly to keep him as comfortable as I thought possible until the inevitability of the next day dawned and partly for my own selfish need to come to terms with what was happening.

I couldn't help but think back on the stages of my life he was with me through. We became a team when I was in my early thirties and determined to take over the dog training world. He was by my side as I instead became a first-time mother of a child who would need two major surgeries within the first year of life. He became my marathon training partner and silent confidant when we moved away from friends and family and into a new life two states north. He was the perfect example and disciplinarian for the service dog trainees that came through our house. He protected me when I was alone at the fledgling CrossFit gym that I had no idea how to oversee. He showed our goober Bull Terrier what it meant to be respectful. He barked at the doorbell until he heard it no longer. He waited for his boy to get home from school at the right time every day that he left on the big yellow bus.He was patient. He was loving. He was firm but fair. He was stalwart. He was fun.

Tuesday was a hard day. Beyond hard. I cried into his neck like I had so many times before. I held him tight the whole time. Even for awhile after.

Everyone I know has been incredibly supportive this week. Current and past members at the gym, family, friends, fellow dog trainers--so many have reached out with sympathetic and empathetic words and gestures. I appreciate each and every one of them. For those who might not totally understand: be gentle with me in the coming days. Please understand if I cry. Don't look away from me. Just hug me, or grab my hand. Let me cry. Know that I am grieving not only the loss of my favorite Hairy Hooligan, I am grieving what will likely be the last German Shepherd to live in my house. I am lamenting the quiet passing of the thirty-something go-getter dog trainer that could run circles around most and wasn't scared of even the toughest dog. I am sad because I will never again witness my toddler putting bunny ears on a dog . I am remembering the hours spent running roads and trails with four feet padding alongside my two.

I know I am where I am supposed to be. I love what I am doing. I no longer need a dog that is trained to do everything under the sun. I know that I still have dog training clients that appreciate what I do and I know I am still a good dog trainer. But I'm still sad and I'm still grieving. When Bossman left the building, he took a big piece of my heart and a chunk of my identity with him.