Papa's Little Girl

3 years ago today my best friend died. Shadow was 14 years old and she was the best dog I've ever had. That's saying something since I've had several dogs including my current dog Greta. All pets are special but the 14 year relationship I had with Shadow will always be one that I remember every day.

Shadow showed up in my life the day I came back from Bill Brink's wedding in July 1988. My wife Nancy worked for an eye doctor whose golden retriever had delivered mixed breed puppies. He was selling them for $50 a piece and she wanted to buy one for Jeff. I didn't think it was a great idea since we already had an old dog name Bo, a young cat named Sneakers (previously acquired for Jeff) and I couldn't see spending $50 for a mutt. We were also re-carpeting the house with white carpeting. But as I left for Bill's wedding I told her if she could get one of the pups free it might be OK. I was thinking that since Bo was 16 years old and on his last legs and the cat was young maybe it would work. When I pulled into the drive way Nancy Jeff and the new puppy were playing in the front yard. She was solid black and Jeff had already named her Shadow. Her name was prophetic because she became my shadow. I would usually greet her with the phrase "how's papa's little girl?" Shadow would respond with a whine that would last about a minute--like she hadn't seen me in forever.

I could take Shadow without a leash anywhere. She would follow every command. On a busy street she would stop when told, go when told. She would follow me to the extent that when I played tennis she would sit right by the court fence on whatever side I was on and would change sides whenever I did. When I would walk Shadow sometimes I would play hide & seek with her. I would let her get ahead then duck behind a tree. Once she realized I wasn't in site her world stopped until she found me. Her memory was incredible. Jeff was away at school sometimes for more than a year between visits. Whenever he came back she recognized him instantly and would whine with delight Another time Shadow was at work with me when a person I had dated for about a year but hadn't seen in more than 2 years came into the store. I was in the back when I heard that familiar whine of delight from Shadow.

When Shadow was young she loved to play with other dogs. She was very fast and would coax them into chasing her. When she got them going as fast as they could go she would slow down and just as they reached her she would make a "Gale Sayers" type move and they would slide right by her. The only dog I can remember being able to catch her was her mother (Sabrina) who we saw fairly frequently until Nancy & I divorced. As Shadow got older though she lost interest in most other dogs. But she developed a friendship with my neighbor's dog Maggie that lasted the rest of her life. They would play, wrestle and try to pin each other to the ground. 3 years later Maggie still wonders when Shadow's coming back--I sometimes have the same thought.

Shadow was always polite and somewhat timid around other dogs, but she took no shit from any dog who tried to get in her face. In 1999 we drove up to Virginia to spend the weekend with David Dunn, a friend I've known over 40 years but hadn't seen in a long time. He had an older dog and Shadow and he acknowledged each other and were fine. Later that weekend his sister in law came over with her dog--a young collie named Timmy. That dog was constantly in Shadow's face wanting to play but she didn't want to. She would walk away but he kept following her around like a love sick puppy. Shadow then started growling at him showing her teeth as if to say "leave me alone before I do something you'll regret." After about 3 hours of this Shadow was through being polite. The next time Timmy stuck his snout in her face she bit his nose and he jumped back hitting a table with a bunch of glass figurines. They all shook and a few fell over but none broke. After that exchange Timmy left Shadow alone.

In October, 2001 Shadow had her annual check up at the vet and everything was normal. On December 6 I came home and my neighbor left a voice mail message that she had rushed Shadow to the vet because her eyes were jaundiced. The vet decided to keep her overnight and it was too late for me to see her. That was only the second time in her life that Shadow had spent a night away from home without me or in the company of a roommate, neighbor or friend. The vet ran extensive tests and we hoped she had ingested something poisonous because that could probably be treated. However, the results came back as liver cancer and there was nothing we could do except put her on steroids and hope for a couple months.

Those 2 months were the best AND worst months I have ever experienced in my relationship with Shadow. Knowing the end was near made every moment we spent together very special. She had mostly good days for the majority of those 2 months. We fed her virtually anything she would eat because there was no long term any more--chicken, steak, baby food whatever. It was comforting that I could say good-bye over a period of time but having to face the very end was brutal. On Saturday (02/10) Shadow was feeling really bad, but when Jeff came by that afternoon she perked up and greeted him with her joyous whine. I thought we had more time but it was not to be. Calling the vet to schedule euthanasia and making arrangements to have her cremated were gut wrenching. My neighbor Jeannette drove us to the vet--I had it scheduled for the evening after everyone else was gone but after putting her on the exam table I couldn't stay--I said good-bye and left. I walked to my office, stayed there a few hours and then walked home. I didn't want to see anyone, I just missed "papa's little girl" so much. I cried. Three years later I still miss her.

I have her ashes, and hope someday (many years from now) they'll be scattered with mine. Shadow's not really gone. To quote the last line in Willie Morris' book My Dog Skip, a" part of her lies buried in my heart. I think of Shadow every day."