I wrote a series of stories about Shadow ten years ago, and am currently revising them. The collection is called The Shadowphile Files, and this is the first story. Animal Communicator Alison Martin says Shadow is excited about co-authoring from beyond the veil, and I wouldn’t put it past him. He was always getting into everything. (Read The Superpower of Dogs). I’ll be posting one story a month.

Like a Vampire Bat

The vet had just told me the cancer was incurable and she gave Shadow six months to live.

“A year if you’re lucky,” she added optimistically.

Stunned, all I could manage was a choked “But he’s only four years old!” Too young to die, I thought, what was she even talking about? From that little lump I’d found under his armpit? Ridiculous. “He seems so healthy,” I croaked.

Like most things medical, the name of Shadow’s cancer was practically unpronounceable, taking me almost as long to learn to say it as it did for him to recover from surgery. Subcutaneous Hemangiosarcoma. Cancer in the blood.

Shadow had come to me through the amiable morning culture at the North Sixth Avenue dog park in Tucson, back in the introductory days of the new millennium when he was only one year old. Those early risers were a close-knit crew of like-minded dog lovers, and when some guy showed up one morning with an adorable pup he was going to take back to the Humane Society, word got around fast.

“He’s half-Pug!” my friend Vicki Fox told me, horror lacing her voice at the very idea of an incarcerated Pug. She had two of her own, and quickly agreed to foster Diablo, as he was then known. I rode with her to go pick him up.

“His original name was Lestat,” Vicki told me on the way over. “He does kind of look like a vampire bat.”

When we got there, Diablo was wearing devilishly pointed ears and a black coat so shiny he looked like he’d been shellacked. The first thing he did was jump up on me, rather rudely I thought, but then I looked down into two obsidian pools of animated intelligence and was hopelessly captivated.

I just didn’t know it yet.

Half Pug and half Schipperke, Diablo boasted a corkscrew tail, an endearing underbite and a squared-off muzzle. In profile, he looked rather like the Egyptian god Anubis, escorting souls journeying through the underworld.

Dancing around excitedly, Diablo checked the perimeter of the patio repeatedly while we gathered up his things, and I thought it was cute the way he paid special attention to the gate. He’s smart, I thought.

We were expecting a sad pup when we took him from his guy that day, but Diablo never looked back. He pranced along to the car and hopped right in, which was great until he howled the entire drive home. If I had known then that was something he’d do for the rest of his life in cars, would it have mattered? Probably not.

Diablo Gets a Name Change

When we got back to Vicki’s apartment, Diablo trotted in like he owned the place. Lola and Haley, Vicki’s middle-aged Pugs, were beside themselves at having this youngster in their midst, and Diablo was very sweet with the girls.

“This should be interesting, I’ve never had a little boy before,” Vicki commented after watching him check out the yard. “He sure pees a lot.”

Diablo investigated his new surroundings that evening by sniffing every square inch of the yard and every room in the apartment. This was interspersed with bursts of joy when he would charge into the living room and fling himself down, kicking his legs in the air. Oh yes, I could hear him thinking, these ladies will do just fine!

The first time he did that, the girls came over to sniff his private parts, as is polite among dogs. Haley wasn’t impressed; she went right back to eviscerating her bear. Lola’s reaction, on the other hand, was unexpected.

She. Was. Electrified! After getting his scent, she stood stock still for a moment, then started careening in circles around the living room, wiggling from head to tail. The dignified dowager was behaving like a blushing schoolgirl! This went on for months. Shadow was a perfect gentleman the entire time, never reciprocating her advances.

Understandably, energy was pretty high that evening. Diablo wasn’t a shy boy (to put it mildly) and he played ferociously. Athletic little Haley was not to be outdone, certainly not in her own home, and the three dogs thundered up and down the stairs to the loft most of the night.

“Pugtona!” Vicki pealed, clapping her hands and laughing. They were still at it when I called it a night and went home to my cottage across the street.

He’s really cute, but I’d never want a male dog, I thought, too much marking behavior.

It was Vicki who decided a name change was called for the next day.

“Let’s not set up the expectation he’s going to be a devil,” she reasoned. “Shadow sounds sort of the same as Diablo, don’t you think?” He had his new name down solid within a couple of hours.

I wanted to be helpful with the adoption process so I met with several people who were interested in Shadow. After talking with them, though, I had reservations.

“He needs someone who’s going to work with him, not just dump him in the back yard,” I told Vicki. “Besides, those last people live out in the desert, he’d be coyote bait out there.” After a few rounds of this, Vicki cocked her head and looked at me.

“How come you never think anybody’s good enough for this dog?” she asked.

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Higher Education

Shadow came to live with me in my tiny cottage a few days later, where dumping him in the back yard wasn’t an option because I didn’t have one. I was ill-prepared for an energetic pup but we made the best of it, and a wonderful thing happened. We started walking a mile every morning before I went to work, and another mile after I got home. That went on for a year, and I got to know my neighbors in a way I never had before, anywhere. A cute dog really encourages people to say hello.

Shadow was my first co-foster failure.

That year in the little cottage was filled with expectation on my part. Shadow wasn’t my first dog, after all; I figured I knew the ropes, and we went straightaway into obedience training at the Humane Society. My head was swimming with visions of a well-mannered dog lying at my feet in a coffee shop. Shadow had other ideas.

“Maybe it’s because that’s where he got put in jail,” suggested Vicki, as my stories about Shadow’s reactive behavior grew more extreme over the weeks, rather than less. “Maybe being there makes him nervous.” Surviving that class was a matter of chicken breast and a distance of at least ten feet between Shadow and other dogs at all times.

“He’s come a long way,” pronounced the trainer at the end of the course. “But it wouldn’t hurt Shadow to go through again. It would give him a chance to get more used to being around other dogs.”

There was a moment after that when I almost reconsidered. We were sitting on the couch watching TV one afternoon, which was pretty much the only way to keep Shadow from non-stop barking, and a series of thoughts came into my mind. This is not an easy dog. He’s NEVER going to be an easy dog. I’m going to be a slave to this dog.

Another idea crept in then and demanded consideration. I don’t HAVE to keep him, I mused. It’s no wonder two people have already given him up. That idea made everything perfectly clear, suddenly.

Shadow would be staying with me. He was home.

Final Exam

Next time I signed us up for a class that met outdoors, and that was a little better. With so much stimuli coming in, Shadow didn’t fixate quite so much on the other dogs, and there was another difference as well. We each had an adversary.

Shadow’s nemesis was a burly black Lab who’d been sitting docilely alongside his owner until 25-pound Shadow lunged at him out of the blue and all hell broke loose. After that, we carefully kept them on separate sides of the circle for the rest of the classes.

My antagonist was the prim young lady with the Standard Poodle.

“Her grandfather showed at Westminster,” she announced proudly at the first class. “I’m planning to show her, and I want her to get used to being around all kinds of other dogs.” Poodle sat perfectly still while her mistress talked, then she rose and fell into an impeccable heel as they circled the group.

Meanwhile, Shadow had his back turned to the class and was eyeing a random passerby. I tightened my grip on the leash as Poodle approached and tried to get him turned back around, but I wasn’t in time. He erupted into a frenzy of barking, startling Poodle, who broke stride and jumped back. As I reeled in my culprit I caught a disgusted glare from the Mistress that didn’t let up for the entire eight weeks. We stayed on separate sides of the circle, as well.

Our final exam was an exercise where everyone, one by one, was to lead their dog in a heel around the circle, weaving in and out between all the other pairs. Those of us who weren’t performing were to keep our dogs in a sit-stay. When the trainer finished explaining the drill, she pointed at Shadow.

“You two are up first,” she barked. “Go, go, go!”

Sweet mother of pearl! Heart pounding, I set out at a dead run, which surprised Shadow so much he kept pace with me.

“Let’s go, let’s go! God boy! Let’s go!” I chanted desperately, trying to keep his attention on me. With a few pieces of chicken at the right moment we made it around the Lab, and after racing back to our starting point, I was rewarded with high praise.

“That was great!” called the trainer, clapping her hands. “Way to put some energy into it!” Handing out certificates later, she took a moment to speak with me.

“Shadow’s adorable, but he’s a very challenging dog,” she said, confirming my suspicions. “It’s good he’s little! He’s come a long way in the last eight weeks,” she went on, and my heart sank because I knew what she was about to say next. “But it wouldn’t hurt Shadow to go through again,” she finished.

Those sixteen weeks weren’t wasted. By that point Shadow had me trained to cook chicken breast for him, and to feed him every time he had something to say to another dog. He thought that was swell.

Little macho boy

Watch for another update on Shadow next month. Does he keel over, or go on to raise more heck?

Do I ever learn to outsmart my dog?

These are true stories. No names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Next Week:

Tune in for a conversation with volunteer Nan Wollman, who among other things, brings up the topic of dealing with dogs that are developing dementia. Do you have experience with this? If so, I’d love to hear from you. I could use a few tips.

Read the most recent newsletter here: Cherished Tails Newsletter

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