Dear Max,

When i woke up, the first thing i noticed was you sleeping sondly beneath the coffee table.  And I laid and watched you and relished the rarity of the moment; you hardly ever sleep when I'm awake. Sometimes I catch you dozing when i wake up in the morning or can't sleep at night.  You always lay across my legs when i am sleeping in my own bed.  Sometimes you'd have bad dreams and you would whimper and twitch and I would feel so bad that I would rouse you slowly and you would lift your head and then lay your head down on me again.
I am most sorry to you, Max.  This is so hard because I don't know how to explain this to you.  This language barrier between us has never been so upsetting to me.  Even more than the time you chewed the heads off my barbie dolls, and I wanted to scream so badly at you, but dad told me it wouldn't help you understand that you had been a bad dog.  Truthfully, I have never wished to be inside your head more than I do now.
If you could read this, then you would understand that I am leaving and I may never see you again.  You would know that none of this is by choice; that I do not want to leave.  I could tell you that I tried to take you with me, but you're older now and that just wasn't an option.

But since you can't read, you will have to watch me leave today.  You will see me get down on my knees and cry.  You may understand that I am sad, but you will not be able to distinguish this time from all the other times I've held you so tightly.  You will hear whatever it is dogs hear when humans speak as I whisper "I love you" in your little ear.
And then you will wait, as you always do, by the front door.  You will bark and i will imagine that maybe you have an inkling that there is something important, something life-changing is going on.  And maybe you will.
When you've waited long enough, once you've barked yourself hoarse, you'll retire to my bedroom, make a pile of my dirty clothes into a bed, and wait a while longer.  Wait until my dad returns.
You'll hear the garage door open and you'll leap in giant bounds to the back door.  Daddy will enter, but being my dog, you will acknowledge him only with a cursory wag of your tail, then run to the back of the garage to search for me.  You'll think it's just another one of the hide-and-seek games we always play; think I'm hiding behind the car in complete darkness.  You'll round the back of the car expecting to find me like you always do and ready to jump all over me in your excitement.
But you won't find me this time.  So you will assume that i will return later that night, maybe the next morning.  you will sit by the open front door as the other kids walk home from school, watching for me to come running up the driveway.
And so this is how it will continue for a long time.  Dad tells me that when I am away on trips you sleep with my dirty clothes.  So this is how it will go.  My dad will put my clothes away into dresser drawers and vacuum away my smell.  As is his way of making everything easier for himself.
And then comes the part I am most afraid of.  Forgetting.
Dad will not forget so easily.  He will e-mail, he will call, we will be connected to each other via the modern conveniences made available to us.  he may forget the mundane details: the smell of my shampoo, the sound of my voice when it has not been contorted through a telephone wire; of my footsteps around the house...
But you will not.  You will have only a distant recollection of the girl who raised you.  You will remember faint memories, maybe, here and there.  But when I finally do return I will only be a visitor to you.  I will no longer be your best friend, your master, your mother.
Our camaradarie is coming to an abrupt end, my friend.  Please know in your heart that I am in no way doing this to hurt you, that I still love you with every inch of my heart.  You will forever be my first and favorite dog, but so much more than that.

Love,
Amber