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Written February, 1999
Seven years ... how can it be seven years?
I remember the day you were born ... so tiny you didn't even look like you were finished yet. How tough and scrappy you were, when you nudged your bigger brothers and sister out of the way and got your share of the food and more. How you were the leader and instigator of all the mischief four young puppies could find to get into.
How can it be seven years?
I remember how we used to always say you weren't really a dog, but the reincarnation of a person. You never thought like a dog ... you reasoned and thought things out in ways dogs aren't supposed to think. You thought up and played practical jokes on your sister, and it was obvious you knew exactly what you were doing. You always did things your way ... and we sure respected you for it.
How can it be seven years?
You were my loyal friend. You liked most people just fine, but you always made it plain that I was the center of your universe. I always dreaded the day I would ultimately lose you, because I honestly didn't know what I would do without you. Well, now I know ... I go on, but you left a huge hole in my life for such a small dog, and it will never heal.
How can it be seven years?
I remember the day when you finally couldn't fight any more, when your poor little tired heart was giving out and your body was shutting down ... but you couldn't give up; it was never in you to stop fighting. And I had to make the terrible decision to let you go ... and you went with love and trust, in my arms. Even your doctor had tears in his eyes ... but he told me you were with the angels now, that they need good dogs too, and I believed it. And now I know you're at Rainbow Bridge, and I know you're waiting for me.
And even that wasn't the end of the story. I grieved for you. I couldn't stand it. I felt I had killed you, and I couldn't forgive myself. Until the night you came back to me.
It was in the early morning hours, that half-light time when night is just beginning to give way to dawn. Kaylee was on the bed beside me, but she would never lie in your spot, not even after you were gone. I awoke to feel a little weight by my feet. I looked down and there you were ... cleaning Kaylee's ears just like you always used to do. You looked at me and wagged your tail, and I knew you were telling me "Hey, it's OK, I'm fine. You did the right thing. I can run and play again now, and I don't hurt anymore. Now quit blaming yourself. I love you, and I'll be here waiting."
You looked at Kaylee for a moment, and then, slowly, you faded away. And only then did Kaylee come up and lie beside me in your old spot, and she gave me a kiss as if to say, "Shad said it's OK. I'm your dog now."
And somehow after that I felt at peace. I still grieved, but I no longer felt the horrible guilt.
How can it be seven years? Shadow baby, I love you and I miss you. I always will.
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