She loved me better than any dog I’ve ever known. She loved me better than I deserved, more than I ever did anything to earn. She was with me at my desk all day and on the floor beside my bed all night. When I left the house, she would wait for my return where last she saw me, and when I came home she would yip and scamper and dance and rejoice with every fiber of her being.
I loved her better than any dog I’ve ever known, but I loved her nothing like she deserved. I loved having her with me, but I ignored her almost all the time. But I always knew where to drop my hand when I wanted to touch her. I didn’t have to look for her. Her love and her loyalty were so complete, I always knew where she would be.
She taught me so much just by being alive, but what she taught me best was how to be that completely, that unreservedly, that rapturously alive. She was beautiful inside and out, and she was exuberantly delighted every day of her life — even this one, the last day of her life.
The photo montage above is from the out-takes from our Christmas Card for the year 2000. Shyly is the gorgeous black bitch in my arms who can’t sit still — who never could sit still.
She was a mutt, half Chow, half Labrador, but she was a proud and perfect puppy for every minute that she lived — always eager, always excited, always involved. She died at peace, as dogs can and as human beings so often cannot. I know she had a happy life, and I’m glad she had a painless death.
She was with me for thirteen years, but she’ll be with me for the rest of my life. I’ll never love another dog as much as I loved my Shylygirl. I’ll miss her every day.
Don Reedy says:
Greg and Cathleen,
So much on my heart. So little to say…of import.
You know how special you both were to Beth and I when on the first day we ever met you took time to comfort a complete stranger in the midst of the his struggle over the loss of his puppy.
In all my time with you, whenever I came into the room, whether wet, wet behind the ears, or just tracking in mud, there you were ready and willing to wag your tail and love unconditionally. You have been a metaphor for Shyly in my life.
Crying feels good right now, since I have no tail to wag to say goodbye to Shyly……
Love to you both.
August 25, 2011 — 5:06 pm
Teri Lussier says:
Love and hugs from Jamie and me.
August 25, 2011 — 5:26 pm
Russell Shaw says:
You write beautifully. You made me cry.
August 25, 2011 — 5:34 pm
Tom Bryant says:
I’m so sorry to read this. All true dog lovers know what you’re going through right now. My biggest hesitation in ever getting a dog has been knowing that in 10-15 years I’ll turn to a puddle of goo when he or she is gone.
But, focus on the fact that you gave one of God’s creatures a great life – one that enriched you, Cathleen and Shyly.
August 25, 2011 — 5:40 pm
Missy Caulk says:
So sorry for your loss Greg, our pups are with us for really a short amount of time but leave such an imprint on our hearts.
August 25, 2011 — 5:42 pm
Greg Swann says:
Bless you all. Thank you for your kind thoughts.
We used to foster rescued animals. That’s how many of our pets came to us. But because of that, we’ve seen a lot of death. The worst for me, until today, was a cat and her three kittens who all died in my hands, all within an hour of each other. I knew I’d lose Shyly eventually, but I thought we had a few more years together.
Reverse the sign: I wrote this post for me, of course, and I shared it here because our dogs have always been such a big part of this place. I’m going to lose Odysseus, soon, too, but I don’t need to think about that right now. Instead I’ve been playing the guitar — kinda loud, to say the truth — a bluesy Telecaster through a dirty amp.
The wake is for the living. We say our prayers, pay our respects and send our sweet friend off to her rest. But then we dance. And drink. And make noise.
I can mourn Shyly for a bare moment, but I can honor her life forever — in my own life.
That’s at once a toast, an admonition and a battle-cry. Shyly will live forever on the nets. That essay is mirrored all over the place. But Shyly will live forever in my own expressions of delight — and in yours, too, perhaps.
August 25, 2011 — 7:03 pm
Scott Cowan says:
Greg,
Living with pets makes us better humans. I am sorry for your loss. Losing a pet is losing a family member.
August 25, 2011 — 10:14 pm
claudia says:
I lost a special friend today
The kind you can’t replace
Shyly touched my heart
And became my friend
But only for a short of while
Housekeeping was easy
With this friend on my side
Often watching
That I do my work right
Or just keeping company
While I went from room to room
With the loud vacuum
And the green broom
Oh, how did she enjoy it
When I came with the comb and the brush
Then eagerly settled in front of me
With the absolute trust
She loved the massage too
And the hair kept on flying
(it looked like she was smiling)
Until we were thru
I know I must have done well
Because of the repay
A lick on the hand
And a wag with the tail
What a great time we had not too long ago
As we went to the doggy spa to have fun and be fro
We splashed with the water and the nails where done too
And since then your hair was soft and shiny thru and thru
Now you lay at rest my friend
It is hard to believe but it is for the best
Oh what would I give for one more repay
A lick on the hand and a wag from your tail
I miss you my little Shyly
Claudia
August 25, 2011 — 10:20 pm
Greg Swann says:
Bless you, Claudia. That was beautiful. Shyly was lucky to have you in her life.
August 26, 2011 — 8:17 am
Eric Blackwell says:
**what Scott said**
and also
**what Russell said**
Sorry for your loss, but happy for the good times and friendship. Just took Boston (Golden Retreiver / Chow) out for a walk to enjoy some time together and to enjoy every moment.
August 26, 2011 — 4:23 am
Brett says:
I am sorry to hear that Shyly passed away. I have two dalmatians that lived to be 12 and 13 years old. I do really miss my dogs. I know what you are going through.
August 26, 2011 — 7:40 am
Mark Brian says:
I am so sorry for your loss. Everyday we get to spend with a dog like Shyly is a gift not to be underestimated. I wish I could think of something to say that would help because I know what you are going through.
August 26, 2011 — 9:08 am
Jeff Brown says:
I’m so sorry, Greg.
August 26, 2011 — 6:21 pm
Thomas Johnson says:
My condolences, Greg and Cathleen. We are all better for likes of Shyly. Thank you for sharing her with all of us.
August 27, 2011 — 1:40 pm
Elle Summers says:
This part really wrung out my heart: “I loved her nothing like she deserved. I loved having her with me, but I ignored her almost all the time. But I always knew where to drop my hand when I wanted to touch her. I didn’t have to look for her. Her love and her loyalty were so complete, I always knew where she would be.”
I have been in a situation like yours, Greg and Cathleen… yet I can’t say that I know your pain, because our beloved dogs each their own personalities, and as such leave their own unique imprints in our lives. My condolences…
August 28, 2011 — 8:57 am