Grendel was my dog; she was a brindle-colored lab that I adopted and raised. Unlike the name suggests, she was sweet as pie and rhymed with her coat. But my ex and I split up and when I moved out, I went to an apartment that wouldn't accept dogs. It was heartbreaking to leave her, but it was one of those things that had to happen. An ache in my chest formed, as I knew, I needed to be out of a relationship and losing Grendel was part of the split.

When my ex lost his job months later, I allowed him to stay in my apartment because I felt sorry for him. Grendel came with him, which is maybe what I really wanted. I asked my apartment manager, for a second time, if Grendel could stay with me and they allowed it.

Then, my attitude at work changed drastically as soon as he moved in. My ex was up at night playing video games while I was trying to sleep in my tiny, studio apartment. There was no door between us and the space was too small for two.

After a few days of that, I snapped at a coworker in front of my boss. My boss then pulled me aside into his office and said,"Christine, you were just yelling at Jim!"

I looked at my boss amazed and asked, "I was?"

I really had no idea. But, I quickly put it together and said, "My ex lost his job and I let him stay with me. I haven't been sleeping, he's been keeping me up."

My boss gave me a knowing-look and I replied, "I'll take care of it. There won't be any more problems."

My boss urged me to take care of it as soon as I got home that night to which I responded, "I'll tell him tonight."

That night I went home and told my ex, "You can't stay here anymore. My work is suffering. If this goes on, I'll lose my job and we'll both be out of work. What good will that do?"

I knew he was pissed as he left with a gruff mumble. I suppose for the first time, I was looking out for myself and he didn't like that. He took Grendel, but he told me she would be back. She was going to live with me now. He said that he was leaving town and wanted to drop her off on the way. Fortunately, my apartment manager said that she could stay permanently.

On the afternoon that he came, without so much as a word he took off in the other direction leaving her on my stoop. I didn't really care much about that, as our relationship was over.

I was so happy to have her back! Having Grendel close was like a long lost friend had made their way back to me! I'd had her for nine years, trained her and taken her to obedience school when she was a pup. She was the best dog in the whole wide world; the only dog I'd ever had. I dealt with the excessive dog hair and allergies but surmised that it was worth it. She was so smart and loyal. Whenever she was around, I felt protected and safe.

I lived on the second floor right by a staircase and took her downstairs to go to the bathroom, as we had done millions of times before. This was when I noticed that she wasn't herself.

I said, "Come here Grendel! Come on!"

She couldn't really move.

This was not like her; she always followed commands. Normally, she would bolt out of the door, so excited at her freedom. She loved being outside and chasing after soccer balls.

I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. I watched amazed as she progressively and rapidly got worse. Pretty soon, she wasn't able to walk down the stairs at all. A few times, I carried her as best as I could, all 80 pounds of her. After a while, I couldn't even do that. When we got down to the grass, she could barely walk. She'd squat and wouldn't be able to stand back up.

I called my ex and asked him if he had noticed a change. He didn't return the call until days later, at which point, I was already carrying her everywhere. He claimed not to have noticed a thing, but I knew that was a lie.

I made an appointment with a vet and took her to get some blood work. Meanwhile, I was leading Grendel to the bathroom in my apartment. I picked her up over the side of the icy, porcelain tub and held her from above. I placed my arms around her underbelly and squeezed. That was the only way she could urinate or pass bowels. She had to use the bathroom in my tub because she just couldn't make it outside.

I was giving her medicine and she hardly ate. The real cruelty in it all was that I had finally gotten my precious girl back, but she was dying.

On a Saturday night, after I'd had her for a week, she was in her kennel kicking around and making a lot of noise, so much so, that she woke me up. It must have been four in the morning. She was signaling to me.

I walked over to her kennel, half asleep, and said her name. Her big eyes were staring right back at me and I knew she was trying to tell me something. Exhausted, I pulled her out of her crate by her legs, since she couldn't move. I pulled her onto the carpet and then went back to bed.

I woke up at 10 o'clock the next day. The instant I knew something was wrong was when her typical, tail wagging which normally made a "thump thump" sound, whenever I came near her, didn't emit.

That morning there was absolute silence.

She was curled up in a ball facing me where I slept. I reached down to touch her and she was cold. It was the day I had dreaded for years and I used to tell my ex, "The day that Grendel dies will be a bad day. I can't even go there."

I wish I could back to that moment and hold her while she was in pain. I wanted to be with her when she died.

The lab work was supposed to be back the next day, but she died less than 24 hours before I got the results. I'd like to think that she finally felt safe to go, now that we had been reunited. I tell myself that being returned to me gave her the signal that it was OK.

At the same time, I came to realize that my decision to end the relationship with my ex had been a good one. My ex had to have noticed something and yet, he did nothing. He said nothing; he admitted nothing. He would have rather seen Grendel suffer than take her to a vet, because he was mad at me. I was relieved not to be involved with that any further.

What if that had been our child? Grendel practically was my child.

Once, we got stuck on a rock while white-water rafting and I was barely clinging to the raft, afraid to go over the falls. The guides had warned us that we could break a leg or get seriously hurt if were swept into the rapids. Needless to say, I was very scared. My ex was the only person who did not fall into the freezing cold, Colorado river. When I waved my hand at him for help, he saved himself and watched me go over. Luckily, I came away unscathed and it was a muscular guide who reached his hand into the waters to pull me out, not my ex.

A man who barely knew me was more willing to be heroic than the man I was with.That changed everything. I asked myself the same thing back then, "What if that had been our child?"

By the time Grendel had died, I wasn't surprised by his indifference as I'd seen it before. But this time, I was more upset because it was my steadfast dog, who I loved. After a split, from someone I truly loved, I would never want them to be hurt. I wouldn't lie about or to them or exact revenge. I wouldn't punish an animal or a child.

We couldn't have been more different in our motivations. We simply didn't belong. But, he kept things going just to be a jerk. Months later, he used a picture of himself with my dead dog for a profile picture online. Next, he emailed me claiming something was wrong, only to brag about getting married when I responded.

When I moved, he kept messaging me to find out where I was and wanted to know things about my life, to which I gave him no details. Then, he called my relatives to complain about me.

I thought, "Don't you have a wife now? Why are you pestering me?"

It was such a turn-off.

Eventually, I tried legally to make him leave me be. All he needed to do was agree not to contact me anymore, to which he outright refused. Increasingly creeped out by his behavior, it seemed like he wanted the right to reach me whenever it suited him in order to make me uncomfortable, like keeping tabs on me filled up his otherwise boring life.

I don't have a need to care where he is or what he does; that doesn't interest me. Why was he so worried that I would meet someone else and be happy? I started to wonder since it wasn't about love. Then, I realized, he must have said things to get back at me and didn't want to be proven wrong.

It was, as it has always been, about saving himself. It was just like he'd done in the river. I turned away then and when he hurt Grendel. Those were things he lost and weren't redeemable for a long-term pairing with myself. Maybe it was alright for someone else, but not me. Then, a friend told me that he wasn't ready for the responsibility, as an explanation.

But, I thought, "Since when is being a gentleman or brave a responsibility?"

I've had plenty of male friends who were more protective and never would have let anything bad happen to me or something I loved. I knew I deserved someone who wouldn't sacrifice my beloved pet. I knew I deserved someone who would do anything not to see me hurt.

I think Grendel knew that too.

The Monday after she died, I found out that she had tested positive for myasthenia gravis. Her results were pretty significant and she would have needed lots of medications and care, not that this would have mattered, I'd have done anything for her.

Even though I felt she left before her time, I was relieved that she passed away near me. I concluded that maybe it was a blessing, which enabled me to go on. I still miss her, all the time. I've never replaced her.

Then I think, "No one can ever replace her."

Maybe, I will find a new dog friend who I will love as much as her.

I lost many of my belongings through the years, but I still have Grendel with me. I had her cremated and wherever I go, she goes. On lucky nights, she appears in my dreams. She is happy running and we are together; that's how she reminds me never to settle again.