Shadow

My name is Shadow, and I'm my mommy's Problem Child. She calls me her "darling, beautiful Monster Puppy" (I don't know why she capitalizes that...it's not like that's my name or anything.) It's true that I'm a beautiful girl, and I was something of a wild puppy, but I'm much more mellow these days.

I was born in Montana early in May 1994. I had two canine brothers and a sister and I loved my family there. But one day when I was still only a baby, I was put in a crate and loaded into a big, big airplane. I had to say goodbye to my family in Montana, and I was so afraid! The airplane flew a long way--all the way to Northern Virginia. I was very tired and a little bit apprehensive when my new mommy took me out of the crate and held me in her arms. It was soon apparent, though, that my new family was every bit as loving as my old one.

Not that I made it easy! My canine mom and dad were working dogs with lots of energy, and I had inherited every particle of that energy. I was only still when I was sleeping. And I didn't know human skin was so fragile--my sharp puppy teeth did a lot of damage before I learned about control. I loved to play with my new animal siblings, Cricket and Snuggles, although they didn't want to play with me very much. Go figure!

As time passed, I posed even greater problems. Mom found that I had both physical and temperament flaws. I was diagnosed with Canine Hip Dysplasia at a very early age, and am both fear-aggressive and very prey-aggressive. When I was just a year old, Cricket did something that made her appear to me to be prey, and I hurt her. I didn't mean to. And I began to behave aggressively with strangers because I was afraid of them. Mom was worried that I would hurt somebody--I was so afraid of so many things that I would become really frantic. I was very loving and gentle with "my" humans, but the world isn't made up of just my humans.

So she found a good person to teach her how to help me behave better, but even that wasn't enough to ensure that I wouldn't hurt someone. Finally, Mom contacted a veterinary behaviorist who prescribed some medicine for me and slowly, slowly, slowly and using the training and control techniques she already knew, I got better.

I am no longer out of control when I encounter new things or new people. I can listen to Mom and do what she tells me to. Even better, people aren't afraid of me! They tell Mom how well-behaved I am and how beautiful. Best of all, the medicine I take doesn't sedate me. I still love to play ball (more than anything I love to play ball) or play in the snow when we have some. Mom says my soul dances. I think she's right.

In the evening of July 23, 2003, the end of a beautiful summer day, I sent my darling, beautiful Monster Puppy to the Rainbow Bridge. Shadow was so many things during her life, both wonderful and terrible, and I worked hard to help minimize those qualities that were terrible while maximizing the wonderful ones. Shadow worked even harder than I did, trying for me to be the best dog she was capable of being.

She was such a tiny, terrified little thing the day I met her crate at the airport. Whisked away from her littermates and the only family she'd ever had, she couldn't have known how very loved she would be. Even at her most maddening, she was always loved and she returned every particle of that love. With "her" humans, she was always affectionate and gentle.

She rejoiced in life. Her eyes sparkled with glee during play. She loved her stuffies (and destroyed them with all speed) and her Kong and lived to play ball, but snow was her favorite plaything. She danced in delight and excitement when she saw it falling and couldn't wait to go out to play in it, shoveling it with her nose or jumping up to snap at it as it fell. I always thought she wished she lived somewhere she could have snow all the time.

Shadow loved to learn new things and I loved to watch her mind work. She caught on quickly to most of the things I asked of her. Her intelligence was astonishing. Had she had a different temperament, there is no telling what kind of work she might have done. But perhaps the job she did was as important as any--she taught me more about modifying dog behavior than any other dog could have.

Her passage to the Rainbow Bridge was a gentle one. My heart is broken at having to send her on, but she has found peace and is pain free at last after a lifetime of pain. I've always said that her soul danced--I could look into her eyes and see it. I can no longer look into her eyes, but I know that her soul still dances.

My darling, beautiful girl! You were the most special and I will miss you as long as I live.

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