We said good bye on November 11, 2025.
You had a good day on that day, with all your family and Ting here with you, feeding you delicious treats, with hugs and kisses, smiles and tears, being there together to see you off, with all the love from our hearts. We even nestled a small soft toy by your neck, keeping you companied for a while longer…
I have missed you so terribly. When I went for a hike in the trail we used to go together, it felt as though you were just around the bend—just a little ahead of me—trotting along with your head slightly lowered and your tail held high.
In my meditation today, memories began to surface again. But this time they stayed longer. I held them in my mind, looked at them closer, treasuring each moment – the feeling, and the exchange of our energy each time. Then I saw it – the constant underling current of love. A beautiful, steady flow between us, even as its form, circumstances, and expressions changed.
In the last few months of your life, when we took our walk around the block, I still tried to encourage you to go further, maybe try the longer route? You obliged sometimes.
Why did I do that? Why did I not just let you choose your own way, your own preference of the distance that you would like to walk at this point in your life? Looking more deeply, it is because I wanted you to stay strong for as long as possible, so that you can stay with me just a little longer… that’s the way I knew how to not let go of someone I love – if you could keep walking with me, maybe you would not leave so soon.
Looking back in my own life journey, this has been the way I treat myself too. What I wanted to do, or taking an easier way out of things were often times overruled by my mind in order to stay ahead, stay strong, and stay diligent. This is the way I learned how to live for a very long time. Being softer, gentler did not come easy. The survival-based way of living has its toll and is very reluctant to yield.
In one of our last hikes in the mountains, you hiked in no problem. But as soon as we to turned back, your body said, I’ve had enough. I’m tired. It was a warm day, with little shade, and dusk was approaching. Claire and I coaxed you down the mountain as best as we could. You struggled so much. I remember the moments when you didn’t want to move. I knelt beside you, nudging your head, talking to you—You have to get up. We need to go. I’m sorry we went too far, but it’s getting dark.
I tried to time the amount of strength you had each time before your legs gave in, half pulled you forward, then rested, then up again. Again and again. We made down the mountains right before nightfall… In those moments, I had to be strong and tough with you even though in the depth of my heart, I was torn to pieces, hurting for you, regretting we didn’t stop sooner… Looking back, you listened to me the best you could. You knew you had to come down on your own (you did not like to be carried), and you obeyed me, all the way… That exchange… the depth of our love. It became a beautiful memory.
Looking deeper, I see that it was in your nature to go with the pack, to not show weakness, to push as far as you could. Sadly, you paid for that natural tendency that day. Looking within myself, I see fear – fear of the dark, of what might happen when the sun went down. Would there be cayotes? And we did not have a strong enough flashlight. Because of that fear, I pushed you hard coming down the mountain before nightfall. Had I not been afraid, you could have more time to recover and come down eventually just fine. I see that fear itself is a kind of darkness.
When you were younger, we went hiking on the trail near our house. A mile into the trail, we saw a couple of coyotes. You always loved chasing coyotes because you are bigger than most. But on that day, I got worried and ran after you, calling you back. We finally stopped at a spot that we can see the surroundings fairly well. There they came, at least half a dozen, with one large one approaching us head-on, attracting our attention, while others moved in from the sides. We were about 50 yards away. I knew what they wanted – you. There was nobody around at the time, just you and me. I put you back on leash and we stood there, tall and strong, facing the pack. I wanted them to know that they were not going to get you! We are together to the end, whatever it is!
You stood beside me, ears straight up, fully alert. I don’t know if you sensed any danger because you always loved to play! Underneath my calm exterior, I was praying hard. Then two joggers came around the bend, chatting loudly. The coyotes backed off. We were safe. Looking back, I see the purity of that bond—the deep commitment to protect our pack. That love was unconditional, loyal, strong, and beautiful.
In the Sierras, when we hiked day after day in your younger years, you ran way ahead of us to check everything out, then ran back to us to make sure we were all together. You were a true mountain dog. Every time we arrived at the mountains, at camp, the smile on your face was unmistakable—pure joy. That’s why we returned to those mountains year after year, often just you and me.
As you got older, you stopped running back and forth. Instead, you just stayed in the front. When we reached a beautiful overlook, you would stand tall, gazing out, then look back at me as if to say, Come, take a look. I always did—and you were always right. Then we moved on together. Just you and me on the trail, peaceful. Snack time or meal time, besides your own food, we shared mine. That flow, that understanding, love, companionship. Such sweet memories.
One time, we hiked over a pass and descended to the other side. We sat by a creek for a long time. I was drawing. When I got up, I got disoriented to where the trail was. We walked around and searched, no luck. I finally got a little nervous about time and daylight – we needed to get on the trail fast to reach our campsite before dark. You sensed my nervousness. As I was scaling a hill of big rocks, yet uncertain if that was the right direction, I prayed for a sign, any sign and I would follow! Then I turned around to you, asking you to come with me. You stood there, not moving! I got my sign. I came down, and asked you, ok, then which way should we go? You went one direction and soon enough we found the trail. That exchange… the trust we had of each other… and you never judged me! From then on, when trails were confusing, I learned to ask you to lead.
In your final days, I hesitated to give you the maximum dosage of medication. I wanted to save room—to stretch time. A friend told me, Just give it to him. Let him be comfortable. But I struggled. Part of me wanted more time with you. Another part recognized my own pattern—always managing life the hard way, trying to push or live to the max. It was love, yes, but through you I learned something deeper: there is no “max.” Life is layered with different and infinite amounts of subtleties, colors, tones, shades. These variations and beauty reside in all living or non-living things on this beautiful earth. When I push for the max, I may miss these subtleties in ways I cannot imagine.
“I am the light that is over all things… Split a piece of wood; I am there. Lift up a stone, and you will find me there.”
—Gospel of Mary
Now you are gone, and I reflect on the love you gave me—so steady, so unconditional. I see how often I measure love, weigh it, compare it. But you never did. You simply loved. You had boundaries, and you learned mine, and together we honored that shared space. From you, I learned how to receive—to ask without insecurity, to be present without judgment.
Love is the undercurrent in everything—the one we often miss. Responsibilities, survival, duty—they cloud our vision. Along the way, I lost sight of love.
Yet in the realm beyond time and space, beyond the limits of the mind, there is only love. In that realm, I sense you, with all my past animal friends, my past love ones, including my parents and grandparents. In that realm, I see rivers and mountains, trees, there, simply being, as I simply am. Maybe our companions can see us that way, and they love us unconditionally, always there, extending their whole being to us, happy to be with us, does not matter what we do.
So much you have taught me, my love. I miss you deeply, and yet I feel you with me—in my heart, in meditation, whenever my busy mind softens. With your help, may I always remember:
It is all about love.
