Well, the last post of the year may be the hardest. This morning Shadow refused to eat again and seemed to struggle getting around the house. The vet visited mid-morning. He believes she has cancer. We can either put her through a series of painful tests that, while identifying the problem, will probably not provide a path to a cure, or we can keep her comfortable until she’s in pain. Then we’ll make the call to let her move on.

I’m slightly buzzed now. Allow me to write my dog’s eulogy.

I first met Shadow in my second year, I think it was my second year, as a teacher at St. Ailbe’s School in Chicago. She, a collarless stray, wandered onto the playground one December day because, I assume, three hundred kids seemed like fun. As winter had arrived and she had no place to stay Shadow slept in the school boiler room for the first three nights I knew her. By the way, slight sidebar, Sister Kathryn, you fucking rock for letting us keep a dog in the school’s basement for three days. After talking it through with M we decided to take Shadow home. She promptly barfed all over my Lesabre, fought with the cats, and conned her way out of her bed in the bathroom and into ours within a week. What do I remember the most about our first year with Shadow? I remember the way she tilted her head the first time she heard voices (Billie Holiday) come out of a stereo speaker. I remember M, frustrated with her first teaching job, standing in the backyard, smoking, while Shadow played nearby. I remember Shadow leaping over the fence to play with the neighbor’s dog. What the hell were we thinking? That was dangerous. I remember walking with her around Chicago and thinking of how small she looked on the city streets.

For the last eleven years, most of Shadow’s life, she’s lived in a small Wisconsin town. My memories of Shadow revolve around home. I loved the way Shadow would put her paws on the windowsill and watch the street. I’ve sat on the back steps with her probably 500 nights, watching the stars, listening to the bats circle above us. I’ve walked hundreds of miles with her down the bike paths and woods. Shadow was a beautiful dog who rarely needed a leash and rarely, if ever, bit anyone. She was wonderful with my sons. My oldest son’s first word was, in fact, “Adow”. I believe she taught them about love, trust, and the souls of animals. I owe her forever for her role in the raising of my sons.

In close to fifteen years I slept away from Shadow maybe thirty nights, and ten of those were in Italy last year. She always slept next to me, whether I was on the front porch, the couch, or in my bed. She charmed the neighbors and chased the rabbits. She stole liberally from tables and licked my tears away. She has the best heart, the most trusting, innocent heart, I have ever seen. She taught me about goodness through a decade and a half when that lesson was more important than anything. In some ways we became adults together; I grew into a teacher and raised my children with Shadow at my side. I love her, and I will miss her for the rest of my life. Perhaps I’m just trying to make myself feel better, but I believe in the afterlife, I believe in souls all around us, and I hope and pray that I will feel her presence and she will feel mine. It’s not fair that we’re not dying at the same moment.

I won’t let you feel any pain, Shadow. The vet said you weren’t in pain. When you are, when it hurts and there’s nothing we can do, I’ll hold you as you pass on to the next world. You’re my girl. I owe you that. Thank you for everything.