Shadow "Buddy" Wegener 1993-2005

This past week has been one of rollercoasters. I faced a new mountain in life and somehow overcame it. I climbed that damn thing, and now I'm falling down the other side. I put my dog down. My parents had been badgering me about my dog for quite some time now. I can't go into too much detail without exploiting the evils of my family life, but there are some devils that I will not release. To be honest, I am still in shock. I still don't believe that he's gone, and I still don't believe that I was the one who did it, so I will one day have to accept it. I carried his collar around in my pocket for a couple of days. I guess it might be weird, but at the same time, it was comforting. All that's left is to sprinkle his ashes up at the cabin. I'm definitely a strange one when it comes to death. I usually just accept that the person or pet is gone and in a better place, and it brings me peace. I do mourn them, but I only cry a couple of times. I shed as few tears as I can, because I think their life should be celebrated. Of course you want them there by your side and you miss them, but that cannot be. To stay true to my feelings, I will give you a brief glimpse of Shadow's life.

Back in the year 1993, there was a boy's weekend at my cabin that consisted of Cas, my father, and myself. During our weekend of fun, my father informed Cas and I that there were some free puppies at the local watering hole. We wanted to see them, so the three of us went up to the bar. When we got there, we learned that there were five puppies in all, three females, who were all taken, and two males, which faced death if no one adopted them. The puppies were left on the bar owner's doorstep the previous night. Cas and I, being the animal lovers that we were, couldn't let them kill the puppies, and we were the only two there, so if we didn't take them, they would be euthanized (by gun, unfortunately). Somehow, probably by the will of God, we were able to convince my father to take the puppies. I still don't know why or how he let Chuck take one. I don't remember if we carried the dogs home, or if we rode in the back of the wagon, but they had names by the time we returned to the cabin. Cas named his Midnight, and I named mine Shadow due to the blast of white hair that resembled a man on his chest, and to which the rest of his black fur referred to. Midnight and Shadow grew up together and many years later Midnight had to go to the Humane Society for undisclosed reasons. Cas's family couldn't bear to see him go, so they went to retrieve him the next day, and another family already took him. For years, when Shadow got away from my family, he would always show up at Cas's house looking for his brother. Shadow loved the cabin and especially the lake. As soon as he was up north, he went immediately from his kennel to the lake, and wouldn't come out until it was dark, or he was exhausted. I learned from my friend E today that black labs are most always psychotic. I say this, because our family has always thought Shadow was a silly, crazy dog. I will share of his many special qualities: he would push his food bowl around (every single day of his life!) with his snout to the point of making it bleed (bleeding happened rarely), when he was in the lake, he would go deep enough to where his waist would be submerged if standing on his hind legs, and he would then stand and slap the water for hours with his front paws, plastic bottles where always his favorite toys, except maybe tennis/hand balls, a love he inherited from our other dog, Buffy. He loved to run, so when my dad and I walked him, he was never on a leash. When I was a sophomore in college, he acquired diabetes. I cried because I thought there was no way that my parents would let me keep him if he had such a terrible disease due to the expenses involved. I was fortunate to have him around for 3 more years.

When I wrote the first paragraph of this post, I was still quite upset from the shock. Because he was my dog, I probably would have waited too long before putting him down, and although he still looked young and lively, I have to stubbornly agree that my parents were right to have me put him down. His quality of life was nowhere near that of his younger days. He couldn't see except through his peripheral vision due to his cataracts, he didn't run or walk at all anymore, and if we took him on a walk, he would be pretty tired from just going down the block and back versus in the past when he would fun for hours on his walks. He was getting bad arthritis and had difficulty climbing stairs, and probably worst of all, he couldn't go in the lake he loved so much because he would get lost due to his poor sight and get scared, until we called him back to shore. Putting him down was he hardest thing I've ever had to do. I had Cas and non-g/f with me, which helped immensely, so thanks guys. I probably would have driven into a wall or something stupid if I had to do it all myself. I really miss him, and I want to pet him, but I know I'll never have that chance again. The next time I return to my parents will be extremely difficult because he won't be there when I get there. I guess being away from home has made it easier to deal with so far...

Here's to you, buddy! I'll see you on the other side! I hope I was a good master!

P-Wagz