On Nov. 17, 2018, Caesar and I took our first trip to Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Even though Caesar has been in my life since 2011, I didn’t start walking and hiking with him avidly until 2017. I was 25 then, and a lot changes in a person at 25. I desired to connect with nature and my dog more and find a healthy way to spend my time.
So, in 2017, we began to walk, and we began to walk A LOT. My goal was to get him fit enough for Hocking Hills. By November 2018, he was ready (more ready than I was, as it turns out). We visited Hocking Hills in early November 2018, and just around two weeks later, after such a great experience together, I booked a stay in CVNP. Since then, we’ve visited every year and sometimes two or three times a year. It’s always been “Our Special Place.”
CVNP is where I’ve truly gotten to know and bond with Caesar. We’ve hiked over 12 miles in a day there—20 miles in a trip. We’ve tackled nearly every major trail, pushed our bodies and minds to do and see more, hiked in the snow and rain, gotten covered in mud, and most importantly—we’ve bonded.
For 5 years, we’ve made this trip in the fall and sometimes the spring. Each year, Caesar’s body could handle less and less. In October 2021, at 10 years old, Caesar hiked 10 miles and was still stronger than ever. In October 2022, when Caesar was 11 years old, we hiked 6 miles, and I remember looking back at him near the end of one of our hikes and telling him I was sorry for making him go so far. He had slowed, and I could see in his face that he was tired. I wondered to myself if that would be our last trip.
2023 has been a hard year for Caesar. He’s lost 20 pounds over the past year and a half; he began having seizures in June 2023, and in September, he got a stomach bug so nasty that he had to spend 2 days in the emergency vet, and I was sure he would die. His hearing and eyesight aren’t as keen as they used to be. While his body still allows him to run and hop along, his back legs have become weak, and if he stops for too long, he tumbles over.
But Caesar is a tough dog. He keeps going. He lived through this year and overcame the odds. So, when the chance arose for me to have a week off in November, I knew I had to seize the opportunity to return to CVNP for what very likely was the last time with my best friend.
On Nov. 1, 2023, we returned to the Valley. I thought that it would be worth going even if we just sat in the park and didn’t move. I had no expectations except to enjoy what time I had with Caesar. To my surprise, we ended up hiking 4 miles—the most Caesar had done since before his near-death experience in September.
Mostly, we strolled and enjoyed our time together. I don’t push Caesar like I did when he was young. Now, I go his pace, even if that means we stop for a while. For the first couple of miles, Caesar’s pace was charging. He spent much time off-leash (the benefits of hiking on a weekday with a 12.5-year-old dog). He galloped, hopped, and sniffed away. If nothing else—seeing his happiness was worth going again. He truly enjoyed himself.
I very realistically know that there is a 99% chance that was our last trip to CVNP together. The next time I go, it will likely be with Gatsby.
CVNP has served as Caesar and I’s Special Place for over 5 years, and it feels hard to think about taking someone else.
Watching your dog grow old is difficult—and made more so when it’s your first dog. For 12.5 years, we’ve seen my world together. Caesar gave me the best years of our life, and the least I can do is make sure he has the best day, every day, for the rest of his.
I recently found this poem about how it feels to have a senior dog and watch them as they age each day. It’s beautiful and true, and I hope it resonates with you, too.
What do you do when your dog grows old?
When his feet are tired and the pads are worn?
When your words of praise are muffled in his ears,
and his eyes are milky from their years of use?
When his face is grizzled and his color isn’t as vibrant?
You love him.
You rub the feet that dutifully carried him by your side.
You speak your praises more loudly,
so everybody else can hear the words that he can’t.
You guide him the way he has guided you,
and prevent him from getting lost as you were before he came along.
You kiss his muzzle and admire the wisdom that has beset him in his later years.
And when it comes time to put him to his final rest,
knowing that an irreplaceable part of your heart will follow him,
you will do so knowing that you loved him.
And he loved you more.
Jackie Short-Nguyen