Tonight is Chloe’s last night among us. It’s the last night she will spend in her soft bed situated at the foot of our bed. It’s the last night she will be able to go out to the back yard through her dog door, which, remarkably, she can still do at the age of 15+. It’s the last night of dinner, which of late, has meant a lick pad filled with canned dog food served at the same time that we, her humans, receive whatever we are having for dinner.

Most significant for me, it’s Chloe’s last “orchestra night.” That’s the portion of the evening left after I return home from orchestra rehearsals at my university on Mondays and Thursdays. I usually arrive at 10:15 or later. Chloe is waiting, ready for a walk, her evening medication, a “Greenie,” to scrub what’s left of her teeth, and another hour or two spent trying to persuade me to give her more treats, and, more recently, to come to bed.

Chloe always seemed to be ready to party on orchestra nights. My wife, Karen, would have already gone to bed because she has to get up so early to start her day as a public school teacher. I would come in the door, walk around the kitchen peninsula, and look back toward the master bedroom where Chloe would be sitting and waiting. The shadowy outline of her devil-dog ears, pointing straight up, would tell me immediately that she was ready for a walk.

The walk may have been important to her. She always seemed to have lots of fascinating scents to explore. Or it may have been mostly a way to claim my attention; to drag me away from the insignificance of whatever I was doing when we weren’t together, and to draw me back to what was really important.

When we returned to the house the party would begin. She had her evening meds in a delicious pill pocket. Then I would pour myself a drink, fix myself a snack, and settle into the recliner to listen to the news of the day. For the next hour or so, Chloe would try everything she could think of to get another treat from me—even eating the dog food in her bowl…and it all worked! She could pretty much get whatever she wanted from me.

Finally, I would go to bed. Reluctantly, Chloe would go to her bed too. No more treats. The spigot was turned off until the next ”orchestra night.” In the last year she has become the wise one who knew it was bedtime and I, the reluctant one trying to squeeze just a little more marrow out of the day.

After the next orchestra rehearsal I will come home to a quiet house. My dear Karen will have gone to bed so that she can do her job the next day. I will look back toward the bedroom and see only an empty door frame. Chloe will surely be partying elsewhere, and hopefully, sparing a moment to think of me.