My four-legged best friend’s body is burning in a pile of coals outside of our house. The smell of burning flesh wafts across the property as the kids play in the playground and we pack our Yukon for a three day camping trip. Today was the day we’ve all been waiting for; the day we finally had to put our beloved dog, Charger, to sleep after nearly 13 years of friendship.

Charger was born in my mother’s haunted one-bedroom apartment in Seward, Alaska. He was one of 14 puppies born by Nala, fathered by a horny German Shepard who lived out in Stony Creek somewhere. I kept Charger because of his ability to charge up mountains at only a few weeks while the rest of the litter stayed behind the snow. Charger always charged ahead.

I grew up alongside Charger. He raised me. In the time I had Charger, I lost a mother and a father, and had too many people come in and out of my life to keep track. My brother came and went, came and went, and came and went again- and there stayed Charger and his mom, Nala. By my side no matter what. No matter how mean I was to him, the awful things I said, the times I didn’t want to get out of bed due to depression, the times I didn’t want to go for a walk– there was Charger, always loving, always forgiving, always lying by my side.

I never wanted a big dog, but after having the 130 pound Saint Bernard/German Shepard for so long I can’t imagine anything else. When I was feeling lazy, he lazed about all day. When I holed away to write for hours, weeks, or months, he found a bed nearby to sleep in. He was an Alaskan dog, born, raised, and died here. He was a country dog who protected our land, our family, and our property. He had stitches three separate times from dog fights and a snowboard edge. He once broke free from a leash tied to a tree to chase a black bear up a tree on our daughter, Marlena’s, birthday.

Charger came into my life when I was a single man of 28 years old. I was an isolated drunk/stoner who didn’t think anybody cared about me because I didn’t care about himself. I didn’t care if I lived or died because I really didn’t want to live. Charger was by my side as I took the baby steps of getting sober and then dove in full force. He was there when I chain-smoked cigarettes at night because I didn’t want to drink or smoke pot. He was there when I was irritable and mean, when I obsessively worked on my first book to face the demons I had buried and then obsessively worked on the land to take out my anger and guilt on my body. He was there when I finally got some sober time and I started walking him more and more, especially at night, before all of the neighbors moved in and we could still walk this road without being afraid of cars hitting us.

He was there when I brought home my wife and we pitched a tent in the living room and she snuggled up next to him on the dog bed like they were old friends. He approved of her, I knew it at once. He was a gentle dog with a fierce bark and a intimidating presence, but he hardly bit. Charger watched me grow from a solitary man to a man who started making friends again to a man who started loving people and himself to a man who started loving a woman and spending a lot of time with her until finally tying the knot and bringing beautiful children into this world. He and I used to spend many days without saying a single word, those days are long gone.

This morning, we all piled onto his dog bed with him and gave him some last snuggles before the vet came over. I cried and whispered into his ear. I thanked him for saving my life, and apologized to him for being such an asshole on some of those tough days. He didn’t even raise his head, but I knew that he was listening.

Yesterday, I built a big pyre in the yard to burn his body just like we did with his mother. It was very cathartic for me to do. Gather sticks and pallets and logs to build a big bed for him to be laid on while the fire raged below. This morning, after the vet left, we wrapped Charger up in the Quilts of Valor quilt I was awarded years ago and then tied it closed with a rope. I picked up my big friend and carried him outside in my arms over to the yurt area where I laid him on the pallet bed and then covered him back up. The girls picked dozens of marigolds, fireweed, calendula, clover, and yarrow to cover his body and we all prayed to ourselves. I poured some gasoline on the fire and everybody stood back. The fire went up and it went up fast, and the four of us stood there as babies cried in the distance as we watched our beloved friend’s body turn from hair to flesh to bone to ash.

“We’re going to have to watch a lot of movies today,” said Primrose, who went inside with her sister to watch How to Train a Dragon.

Savanna and I continued to feed the fire and watch Charger’s huge body become smaller and smaller. Meat sizzled, intestines dropped out, his soft head that I used to pet so much became a skull. It smelled quite delicious, to be honest, and I was reminded of the Nepalese people who cooked dogs over a fire when I was there. It seemed like kind of a waste of good meat, to be honest.

His spirit had traveled on while his temple burned before our eyes.

It’s been an emotional few days, seeing him suffer and watching it get worse and worse each day, I am exhausted and hungry and all I want to do is eat Cheetos and Pizza and binge watch 90s movies. But I can’t, because my kids need me to feed them real food and to play with them and to get them ready for the next adventure. Charger taught me how to take care of somebody else even when I didn’t want to.

I will sure miss that dog. We all will.