Muchas Smoochas (aka Shadow)

Last night I became someone who used to have a dog, and I'm pretty sad about that. I kind of knew that my golden retriever, Shadow (not my choice for the name), was on his last legs. He had quit eating regularly. It was hard to get him out from under the piano. He wasn't moving well. It turns out that he was pretty much full of cancer, bleeding on the inside, and just ready to go.

He was a pretty cool dog, though. For example, he loved to float down the Guadalupe River, he hated to be clean, and he would smile when he thought stuff was funny (he did have quite a sense of humor). I once made him mad by giving him a bath, so after I had toweled him off he (still soggy) didn't go to roll in the grass to dry as he normally did - no, he jumped directly between my sheets. He definitely knew how to get revenge.

Shadow wouldn't let anybody else in the house get hugs or kisses until he was tired of getting them first. If he could talk, I have no doubt that his personal mantra would have been "love me, love me!" He would howl at the neighbors as they walked into their own houses, had a peculiar dislike for people of Mexican persuasion, and had the somewhat distressing hobby of chasing skunks in the backyard. He was orignally a Christmas gift but, as it turned out, was exactly 50 years younger - to the day - than my father. That made it a little better the year that he ate the cake while we were at dinner.

He would take flying leaps into the swimming pool, lounge in the shade on the trampoline, and dig up things from the flowerbeds in order to plant tennis balls instead. He thought deer looked like fun.

He was my dog for almost 12 years, but as I said, I kind of knew this was coming. When I was home a few weeks ago, I really said goodbye to him when I left. He was a good dog, and I'm going to miss him terribly. Muchas Smoochas, buddy.