When we finally decided it was time to say goodbye to Kelso, our 12 ½ year old Aussie Collie, we spent our last weekend together spoiling him as much as possible. Chicken nuggets from McDonald’s, donuts from Tim Horton’s, broiled salmon, sushi. He ate like a fucking king that weekend, not that he ever ate like a pauper, but we wanted him to feel drunk with food and our love. Of course, his little brother, Archie, a one year old Collie pup, benefitted from this, as well, and devoured smaller portions of everything we served Kelso.

We took him for a short walk on Sunday afternoon, during which we bumped into a neighbor walking his two pugs, Oliver and Winston, and when Kelso barked and lunged at them, as he often did, he lost control of his bowels and shat on the street, one final movement.

When the vet came to our house that evening, before the sun set, Kelso didn’t even react. He was just so tired, and we knew the time was right. Before she administered the anesthetic, the vet removed a treat from her pocket, a Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie. Of all of the food and treats Kelso had eaten in his nearly thirteen years, the one thing we had never given him was chocolate, but on this, his final day, he partook. He loved it, of course. It’s fucking chocolate. Archie wanted some too, but he couldn’t have any, for obvious reasons.

No one has ever claimed that dogs can’t eat chocolate because they don’t like it, and it made me think of what it must feel like to live your entire life, and to taste chocolate for the very first time, minutes before you die, that flavor on your tongue as you slip into eternity.