Me and My Shadow...

When I was a very little girl, I fell in love with the story of Peter Pan. I read the book, saw the movie and even had the album of the soundtrack-which I played over and over on my little record player (and probably drove my parents nuts.) One of my favorite parts of the story was when Peter lost his shadow and Wendy had to sew it back on for him. Watching that shadow dancing away, finally free, was one of the funniest things my four-year-old self had ever seen!

I didn't think about how sad Peter might have been without his shadow, his constant companion. Until a few weeks ago, when I lost my own shadow as well...

Trace was my Australian Cattle Dog. I got him when he was barely nine weeks old, a chubby little guy with a cute face and a very unusual "ring" tail (we used to call it his raccoon tail)

Having lost my female rottweiler about a year before, I wanted a dog that could run with me, protect me and be a wonderful companion. I didn't really know what I was getting myself into with a Cattle Dog.

As a puppy, he was insanely active. He could go from morning till night, no holds barred. A huge ball of energy that I could barely contain, making me realize that THIS dog was almost more than I could handle. He also drove me crazy because he was always, always on top of me. Where ever I went, there he was. In my face, on my lap, at my feet, UNDER my feet!

I had a siamese cat at the time, and they became fast friends. I got endless hours of entertainment, watching the two of them play:

As he got older, I kept thinking he would calm down. Didn't really happen. He remained an intense dog, one that watched people with a wagging tail but would go crazy if a stranger knocked at the front door. A dog that loved to hike and climb mountains. My ex used to take him hiking all the time, and one of his favorite pastimes was chasing sheep off "his" mountains.

The force was strong in him, although I think he was more inclined towards the dark side. His herding instinct was always at the forefront. When visitors left our house I had to lock him up or they were likely to leave with bite marks on their ankles or the backs of their legs. He caught my brother unawares a few times, sneaking up behind him as he started out the front door, giving him a painful nip before racing gleefully off up the stairs, too fast for anyone to catch him.

The only thing that overrode his herding instinct was his need to have a "job". Dogs that are meant to work have to have something to focus on, a task that guides them daily and makes them feel useful. I was Trace's "job". I was his focus, his responsibility. And he took it seriously. Everywhere I went, there he was. In my face, in my lap, at my feet, UNDER my feet. There he was.

In time, I grew accustomed to it. I didn't notice that he stood directly behind me when I was in the kitchen, nose often gently pressed against the back of my calf. I didn't notice him laying next to me when I sat on the couch watching tv, or sleeping at the foot of my bed. He became part of me, an attachment that I couldn't shake. My shadow.

Despite the intensity and sometimes aggresive behavior, he did have a soft side. He could be very tolerant with small kids and babies (older kids, not so much. He'd herd 'em up and bite them as soon as look at them)

And then there was his relationship with Bella, my little Brussels Griffon that we lost back in August:

This is a picture from when Bella was a puppy and Trace was about two years old. It is one of my all-time favorite pictures. There is so much love in his expression, while Bella is full of her big-dog attitude. We called them "The Dynamic Duo" and it was true. They loved each other and depended on each other for daily support and entertainment.

Over the years, Trace did calm down. His hearing slowly went, causing him to no longer bark and snarl like a maniac when someone knocked at the front door. He began to sleep more, and at night when I came home from work, he often didn't wake from his deep slumber. I would have to go over and touch him to wake him, but he always started wagging his tail when he saw me, getting up slowly to follow me around the house. I got to where I would try to sit down on the couch and stay there for awhile, so he could just sit by me and not be stressed and in pain trying to follow me.

At the end, he still made me his job. We went on a trip in early December. Ever since we'd lost Bella, he had been fading more and more. I was very concerned about leaving him. My cousin stayed at our house and my dad was right next door, and both assured me they would watch over him and he'd be fine. We were gone five days. We came home early Monday morning. He greeted me with his usual joy, grateful to have me home. He didn't eat that day, nor did he take any water. That evening, he laid down in the hallway and refused to get back up. I spent most of the night sitting on the floor next to him, watching him slowly go comatose. He laid with his head on my lap, and I talked to him all night. I told him that he had done a wonderful job, had taken care of us all, and it was okay if he needed to go now. I knew he was so tired.

We took Trace in early Tuesday morning. My boyfriend had to carry him out to the car, as he could no longer walk, and while he carried him, he whispered to him that he promised to take care of me now, that it was okay to leave me because he would keep me safe.

I held Trace in my arms and whispered my last goodbyes to him as he went. I told him that I was so proud to have been his owner, that he had been the best dog I'd ever had and I knew there would never be another love in my life like his. He went quietly and peacefully.

In the weeks since his death, I've had to adjust to not stepping over a dog as I exit a room, not feeling the weight of him against my leg as I watch tv, missing his presence and the peace his devotion brought me. Like Peter Pan, I am without my shadow, and I have no way of getting it back.

Right after he passed, I had a vision in my head. I saw his old body rising up into a white tunnel of light. As he passed through the light, his body became young again, his eyes bright, fur shiny, muscles sleek and powerful. He came out into a big green grassy field. Bella was waiting for him, barking and jumping in joy. Together, they ran off across the field, ready to chase frisbees for eternity, happy and free of any pain or suffering. Maybe that seems silly to some, but it gave me a great amount of comfort and still does.

Trace made it to almost 16 years old, a long and happy life for any dog. He got to do things and see things that many dogs never do. He had the same family his whole life, from puppy-hood to old age, never having to experience the trauma that so many pets have to go through as people treat them like they are disposable and get rid of them without a second thought.

I hope he's up there, chasing frisbees and barking at sheep, Bella at his heels. I hope I see him again someday. I think I will.