(Note: this was written right after Shadow died two years ago, but I couldn't bring myself to publish it, instead opting for a pictorial tribute. I think I'm finally ready to give her the eulogy she deserved.)
Confession time: I never wanted a dog.
I was raised with cats and still would consider myself more of a "cat person" than a "dog person." A dog attacked and killed my first cat, a horrible memory. But I married a guy who is definitely a dog person. When we were engaged, I recall discussions of his desire to own eight German Shepherds. I swallowed hard and married him anyways.
Ryan, our oldest, was dog-phobic, when he was very young. We never knew what caused it, but he used to start crying when he even heard a dog at a house we were going to visit. So I thought we'd never own a dog, certainly not while I had small children.
In 2002, some friends of ours found a half-grown Labrador puppy wandering around the junior high nearby. No one could find her owners and they asked if we were interested in taking her. It was definitely not the right time to get a dog -- Kelly was 4 months old, and Ryan was still not keen on canines. We went to look at her to be polite but I was so sure we weren't coming home with a dog.
You can probably guess by now how this story goes. Family meets dog. Boy plays with dog instead of cowering in fear. Dog puts on Oscar-winning performance as Good Dog. Father gives mother big puppy-dog eyes. And the next day, despite some very serious misgivings on mother's part, Shadow joins our little family.
She had been called Shadow by her rescuers, and we didn't ever change it. If we had, my top candidate would have been "Hoover," for the way she sucked all the crumbs off the floor and snuck food off the counters when you weren't looking. Cupcakes -- wrappers and all. That gentle retriever mouth swiping a hot dog right out of a toddler's hand without them even noticing.
Despite her eating habits, she never bit the kids, or chewed on the furniture. She rarely barked and didn't see the need to bark or bolt every time the front door opened. She let the little ones climb all over her. Baby Sean used to give her eye, ear, and teeth exams, which she allowed without complaint.
As she grew, she grew on me. I publicly groaned at having to let her in and out all day, but it was nice to have someone who didn't talk back and who was always happy to greet me. Shadow was definitely a "people dog," wanting to park herself where the action was. Usually that meant the inconvenient spot in the high-traffic hallway.
When the kids were all finally in school, she became my workmate, happiest to lay three feet behind in my home office. When she wanted out, she came and put her head in my lap. It was a great reminder to take a break and stretch along with her. Shadow definitely preferred the kids and their energy to my sedentary spot.
Then she started slowing down. She would pant heavily if we walked her too far. She slept more and bounced less. We started to notice her back legs stiffening up, and she started taking arthritis medication. On the charts at the vet, she had crossed from "old" to "elderly." So the discussions about end of life started.
It's hard to judge a dog's pain level because they are programmed to not show discomfort. Even until the end she appeared happy, wagging her tail. But the frequency of her meeting me at the door diminished. There was more sleeping, more accidents. So the conversations with the vet started. How do you let a beloved pet go gracefully? What is quality of life? We didn't want to wait too long, but we had trouble deciding when the time would be right. We talked to the kids about it and no one liked the options. I know it caused Tom some sleepless nights. Who wants to have power of life and death?
Yesterday (May 7, 2016), the decision was thrust upon us. Shadow got violently ill and Tom rushed her to the vet. She was not herself and all of the conversations about timing and choice went out the window. To keep her with us in misery would have been cruel to a dog who brought us so much joy.
So she passed, with her beloved alpha human beside her. The kids are gutted and we all cried without embarrassment. Her presence is missed in every corner of this home. She was the best family dog ever, no contenders accepted.
Whatever we know of heaven and eternity, I know Shadow is in the great dog run in the sky, free of pain and watching over us. We were her family and she was part of ours.
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