Trading My Next Life For You

I was scrolling through a private, dark corner of an online pet forum when the headline stopped me cold.

5 Days Left. How do I say goodbye so she wont break?

Below it, another line.

Should I just vanish? Pretend I ran off and die somewhere private?

The comment section was full of little dog avatars.

No, seriously, dont do that, one replied. Your human will spiral. Last time I accidentally slipped my leash, mine took two weeks off work to hunt for me. Dont you dare leave her with that guilt.

Its terrible, isnt it? another chimed in. If only we could talk, we could ask them how they want us to go.

I froze, hovering over the screen.

I typed a reply, stepping outside the dog voice everyone else was using.

If I were the owner, I wrote, Id want a fur-ball, maybe one of those tight little tumbleweeds they make. Something I could keep, a tangible relic, for when the ache hits.

The original poster immediately thanked me. Thats perfect! But I dont have time to wait for the natural shed. Ill have to pull the hair off my tail, then.

Moments later, my dog, Jet, padded onto my bed, a familiar black, felted ball clutched gently in his mouth.

The sight of his tailbare, patchy, almost rawfroze the blood in my veins.

Are you really sick, OP? a user asked. Why do you only have five days left?

If youre hurting, just whine and refuse food. Humans always panic and take us to the vet then.

Im not sick, the poster replied. Im just old. Im dying of old age.

A Golden Retriever avatar urged: You still have to tell her, you need to give her a heads-up. Shes devoted her life to you. If you just disappear, she wont cope.

The poster replied with a sad emoji.

I just want to keep her from crying.

And Im scared. Im really scared shell lose it after I go and follow me.

This caused an immediate uproar in the thread.

Bullsh*t. Dont flatter yourself. Ive been a good boy for twelve years and Ive never heard of a human dying for a pet.

Right? You think youre that important? Stop spouting nonsense just because we cant bite you through the screen.

The insults grew angrier, but the poster patiently replied to each one.

Im not lying. Mom had a really bad sickness years ago. When she was sickest, she always held me and said that if I wasnt around, she wouldnt want to live, either.

So, I made sure to eat every meal and run every day, just to stay a little longer for her. But I really am too old.

He sent a big crying emoji.

I just really want my Mom to be okay and live a happy life.

I had been scrolling through the thread while riding home with my best friend, Zoe, after booking a ridiculously expensive luxury dog resort for Jets birthday.

Jet hit the jackpot when he picked you, Zoe said, keeping her eyes on the road. Fifteen hundred dollars a day for a Pet Playhouse and you didnt even blink. What dog gets a birthday like that?

I laughed weakly. He saw other dogs playing on TV last week and got so excited. I just thought, if other dogs have it, my dog should, too.

But yeah, it hurt. Two months rent, gone.

Zoe rolled her eyes. Stop pretending. Youd sign the papers again in a heartbeat.

The landscape blurred outside the window.

Time flies, she murmured. Can you believe Jet is turning fourteen?

I nodded, but my gaze was fixed on the thread, specifically the posters original question: Should I just vanish? Pretend I ran off and die somewhere private? Will that make it easier for her?

A cold dread settled in my stomach. I thought of Jet, my sweet, gray-muzzled old man.

I posted a reply to the question. Please dont do that. Your owner will be devastated.

I have a dog. If it comes to that day, I want him to be in my arms, peaceful. Not somewhere awful and alone where I cant find him.

I paused and typed the advice Id already given.

If you truly want her to be less sad, the fur-ball idea is good. A memory object, something to hold on to. A touchstone for when she misses you.

As soon as the message went through, I got a flurry of question mark emojis from the other avatars. I realized my mistakeI was the only human voice in a dog forum. I went to delete it, but the original poster replied.

Youre right! Im going to make one for my human right now.

I dont have time to collect the shed hair, though. Ill just have to pull it off my tail. He sent four or five happy, bouncing emojis.

I sent him a quick Good luck and then pulled up my contact list, inviting all of Jets dog park friends to a surprise party five days from now.

The group chat exploded with happy replies, but I couldn't focus. I kept refreshing the forum, needing to know what the poster was doing. It was the fact that I had an old dog, too. Even knowing it had to be a human behind the keyboard, I couldnt help but superimpose the situation onto Jet.

Zoe burst out laughing. Your Jet? An old dog? Cass, that animal runs faster than the two-year-old Labs at the park. Hes a tank. Stop projecting, youre making yourself miserable.

Her words made me smile, and I shook my head. She was right. Jet still ate like a horse. Just last week, when Id jokingly asked him how long he planned to stay with me, hed nudged my hand for the answer ten more years. My boy didnt lie.

A wave of warmth washed over me. I squeezed the new chew toy in my hand, desperate to fly through the door and hug him.

But when I opened the door, Jet was sitting there, a black, palm-sized fur-ball in his mouth, which he immediately shoved into my hand like a proud offering.

My body went rigid.

Why was his tail bald?

My phone vibrated. It was a DM from the poster.

Im sorry, I dont think my human liked the fur-ball. When I bring her a toy, she always praises me and gives me kisses. But shes just standing there, frozen, with a weird look on her face.

The aggressive Mastiff avatar replied: I bet you were too scared to pull the hair out yourself, liar!

The poster shot back, sending a photo. Look! You see that hair in my Moms hand? Is that mine?! Im dying, you think I care about a little pain?!

I looked at the image, and a cold, suffocating terror gripped my chest.

The photo showed a black fur-ball the size of a golf ball resting in a pale palm.

But the one thing that stole my breath: the tiny, cherry-red mole on the center of the palm.

I slowly brought my own hand up, my eyes locked on the spot.

A bald tail, an identical fur-ball, and now that red birthmark. Coincidence was dead.

My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. I immediately clicked on the posters profile.

I bit an old man today. Mom was furious. But he was taking pictures up her skirt! She misunderstood me.

Grandma and Grandpa are gone. They were never nice to Mom, but shes still crying every night. When I found her, she just cried harder and said all she had left was me. She told me to stay with her forever. But Im so old, too. Sigh

I checked the date on the post: June 28th, 2024. The month my parents died in a car accident.

I checked the biting incident: October 2nd, 2024. Last October, Jet had indeed bitten someone. It cost me two thousand dollars in settlements.

My hands started to shake uncontrollably.

Before I could dig any further, the poster messaged me directly.

Hello. My name is Jet.

Excuse me, but are you human?

He quickly added, as if worried about offending me: This is a special forum for us dogs. Usually, only dogs talk here, but the way you type sounds like a person.

Im sorry for asking. You dont have to reply if youre busy.

My eyes stung. I typed a shaky reply.

Why are you named Jet?

The reply was instantaneous: Because when Mom found me, I had a broken leg. She said she wanted me to live a happy, full life even if I only had three working legs. She wanted me to always be jetting around.

Tears instantly splattered on the screen.

I typed another command, desperate for final confirmation.

Go right now and bring your human your absolute favorite toy.

I watched Jet. He cocked his head, thought for a second, then spun and limped toward the toy basket, snatching up his favorite, battered yellow duck.

He was missing his back right leg, but he ran straight toward me, his face alight with a happy, goofy grin.

The last nerve holding me together snapped.

Jet was the reason I didnt end my life after my parents pushed me tothe day I found him, a man was savagely stabbing a tiny puppy with a box cutter on the side of a bridge. The puppy was no bigger than my palm, and the tendons in his back leg were severed.

Id never considered myself an animal person, but in that moment, watching Jet tremble but refuse to cry out, I knew I had to save him. I spent the last of my savings, three hundred dollars, to buy him from his attacker and rush him to the vet.

I was clinically depressed then, often crippled by physicalized anxiety, barely able to move. Every time I managed to crawl to the kitchen and reach for a knife, Jets sharp, desperate cries would start, reminding me that a tiny, three-legged thing was waiting for its bottle.

I never thought hed live. I just thought Id care for him until I couldnt anymore. But his insistent, needy cries forced me to put down the knife, crawl to the fridge, and feed him.

And he lived. He thrived. He was ridiculously perceptive, too. When my mood was low, or when my parents would call and tear me apart, he would wobble over and gently nudge his tiny head against mine, making silly, heartbreaking faces.

He followed me through college applications, grad school, and starting my career. He was a non-stop, social machine. Because of him, I had to drag myself out every night, even after working ten hours, for his mandatory hour-long run. Through him, I was forced to talk to people, to join dog parent groups, to keep going.

No matter how hard or terrible my life got, the thought of that enthusiastic little creature waiting for me at home always made me feel like things were manageable.

I looked at Jet, who was now nudging the yellow duck against my feet, waiting for praise.

Tears streamed down my face.

I had known he was aging. I had prepared for the day hed be too weak to walk, too frail to chew his food, when hed finally pass in my arms.

I hadnt prepared for this. For him to be so healthy, so vibrant, and then just die.

I frowned, picking up my phone. Arent dogs who die of old age supposed to be weak and starving? You were planning on running awaythat means youre healthy. What did you really die of?

The reply was slow in coming.

I looked over at Jet, who was staring at me, whimpering softly. He was worriedI hadnt cried in front of him in years.

I quickly wiped my eyes and pulled him into a hug.

Its okay, Moms fine. Just a rough day at work. Im just letting it out. Dont worry.

Jet studied my face intently until my tears stopped. Only then did he lick my cheek, tasting the salt.

Then, the message came through.

I actually died of cardiac arrest.

I died five days ago. The only reason I can talk to you is I made a trade with The Ferryman. He gave me ten more days.

He sent a sad emoji.

I was scared that if I died while Mom was working late, shed blame herself. I was even more scared shed lose it and try to follow me.

Even if Mom had been home and rushed me to the animal ER, I wouldnt have made it. I was just too old.

I remembered the night I worked late. Jet had suddenly appeared on the pet cam, howling uncontrollably, then collapsing in violent spasms. When Id flown home, he was bouncing around like nothing happened. I had been so relieved that I never considered the darker possibility.

My heart felt like it was being torn into shreds. I choked down the metallic taste of blood in my throat.

I asked him, my hands shaking: What did you trade? Why not trade for more time?

He sent a happy emoji.

I traded all the good luck and happiness of my next life. The Ferryman only grants ten days maximum for that kind of deal. Its short, but I think its a steal.

I just wanted to come back and say a proper goodbye. I need her to know she has to keep living, even without me.

He sent a dog-with-droopy-ears emoji.

She kept saying she wouldnt live without me. When I was a puppy, I thought it was sweet. I thought I was the luckiest dog in the world.

But as I got older, I started hating it. Humans live a long time. I watched her work so hard, go through so much. Now that things are finally better, she cant throw it all away for an old mutt like me.

So, I came back. Ill die in a way she can accept, maybe then she wont follow me.

I clutched the phone, collapsing onto the floor in a fit of uncontrollable sobbing.

I had always been a child starved for love. Because of my parents, my only goal in life was to hear one word of praise. But all I ever got was, Why dont you just die? Youre an annoyance.

It was Jet who taught me I could be loved fiercely and unconditionally.

Now, because of me, a dead dog had gambled away his next existence out of fear for my own self-destructive tendencies. I was a failure of a mother.

I squeezed Jet tightly, about to tell him I knew everything.

The phone buzzed. A new DM.

It was from the user The Ferryman.

Do not leak the secret.

Since you have found out, I urge you to release Jet to the Underworld quickly. The price for this return is not as light as he claims. The longer he stays, the worse the cost in his next life.

I have never seen a creature brave the cost of ten days. Do not betray his sacrifice. Send him on, or his suffering will be pointless.

He paused, then added: If you understand, send him now. Remember, the secret cannot be shared. He must willingly choose to go.

The messages came in fast. Before I could reply, the account switched to a series of error characters, indicating it was deleted. But in that split second, The Ferryman's profile picture turned into an image of Jets Book of the Dead, a silent emphasis that everything he said was real.

My heart was a tight, painful knot. I glanced at the wall clock and quickly typed a message to Jet.

Your human says she is going to live a long, happy life! So you must go to the Underworld and reincarnate now!

He sent a happy dog emoji. How do you know?

I typed frantically: I posted a poll on a human forum asking what people would want to do if their pet died. A dog avatar that looked exactly like you replied, choosing the keep living option.

I chose a picture of him and sent it.

Jet barked with delight in my arms. Thats me! Thats great news! See? I told you!

But Im not in a hurry to go. I want to spend a few more days with Mom.

Jet snuggled into my neck, clearly pleased with himself.

Panic flared. I gave him a dozen reasons, but he stubbornly refuted every one. I have to stay with Mom.

The second hand on the clock ticked. Every beat was a hammer blow to my chest. Jet, however, found a comfortable spot on the sofa and promptly curled up to take a nap.

I lost it. I shoved him off me, hard.

Just go die already! You pathetic, needy old mutt! Im sick of looking at you!

Jet hit the TV stand with a soft thud. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with shock.

My heart shattered. I rarely raised my voice at him. Even when he was bad, a stern voice was enough. I had never touched him in anger.

But I knew it wasn't enough. I had to make him believe I truly didn't want him anymore. He had to be convinced to leave.

I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, dragging him to the front door. I pulled him outside and, once we were off the property, I kicked his one good back leg.

Ive been waiting to tell you this! I dont want you anymore! I found a cute new puppy, so go wherever you want, but dont follow me!

I spun around and walked away without looking back.

Jet was terrified. He wanted to follow, but he was afraid of my anger. He trailed a few feet behind me, letting out tiny, wounded whimpers.

I gathered every ounce of strength I had, and screamed at him. Stop! Just go! Dont you know how annoying it is to care for an old dog? Im replacing you! Now be smart and get lost!

Jet froze. He stood like a statue, staring at me in complete disbelief.

My heart felt as though it had been flayed open and rubbed with salt.

Jet was fiercely possessive. Since he was a puppy, he never allowed me to pet another dog or even feed one of his dog park friends. If I showed the slightest bit of affection to another animal, he would pout, go silent, or even refuse to eat. The only exception was strays, but even then, hed watch me like a hawk, ready to nip my hand if I dared touch them.

I knew that statement had gone straight to the core of his biggest insecurity. He was truly broken now.

Tears streamed down my face as I walked back into the complex.

This time, Jet didnt follow.

I hid behind the wall, watching him, and messaged him again, begging him to go to the Underworld.

He didn't reply. He just stood there like a stone sculpture, looking in the direction Id left. He stayed that way until the neon lights of the street flickered on.

Then, a light rain began to fall. Just as my shirt was becoming soaked, I got a reply.

I understand. Thank you.

I watched him drop his head and slowly limp away, heading in the opposite direction from the apartment.

Immediately, Zoe messaged me.

I got him. Dont worry.