She was a wonderfully special dog, a constantly shedding ball of fur that I saved from a bad situation who rapidly carved her own special niche as a part of my family. Her first year with us, she ran every single time any outside door was opened. She was testing us, to make sure we would always come after her and that she was loved. One day, as I was returning home from an 16 hour shift she made the dash to the road the minute I tried to get inside. I was too tired to chase her, so while she stood at the edge of the road ( front end down, butt in the air, and tail wagging), waiting for me to grab my car keys to play the "chase me through the neighborhood" game with her, I told her that I had just worked a 16 hour shift, and loved her and would always have a safe place for her to stay and food for her to eat but I was NOT chasing her and she needed to decide if she loved us back enough to stay. She never ran again....did I already mention how smart she was?
When my kidneys started acting up in 1994 and we discovered I had polycystic kidney disease, she developed a second sense for knowing when I was getting ready to go into a flare-up long before I developed symptoms, and she would drive me crazy herding me until I started taking my meds in order to head off a potentially bad infection, it wasn't until she saw me take my meds, that she would give me my space back again.
She raised more than her fair share of cats, our cats, the neighbor's cats, any cats crazy enough to get close to her. She would carefully pin them under her front paws and nibble up and down their spine, to groom them... I am sure it was a tad un-nerving to stray cats the first time she did it to them, but they always came back for more mothering from her. Our cat Isis, who pretty much hates everyone but me, slept with Sheba every night (and is now wandering the house looking lost).
At night when the kids were still living at home, she would wander the house at night, sleeping with one for a couple hours and then moving on, just to make sure everyone got a fair share of Sheba cuddling each night. She loved watching Animal Planet and cartoons, she loved playing at the beach and car rides. She had this smile, a REAL smile, all teeth showing, that she handed out freely to anyone who would rub her tummy, it earned her the nickname Slut-puppy when she was younger, as she got older and slower moving, after she willingly donned a purple velvet hat with leopard trim the nickname was changed to Pimp-doggy instead. She was the only dog I ever knew that willingly ate dill pickles and lettuce on her burgers. She would only eat french fries that had been dipped in ketchup. She knew every bank, gas station and fast food joint in Portland metro that handed out doggy treats and one bite icecream cones and she always said thanks (by barking) when she got a treat.
I still get the giggles out loud when I remember her explosive diarrhea episode in the minivan when we were traveling over Hoover Dam on our roadtrip to NM....I can still hear the squeals of the kids as the shit started flying in the back of the van. She was sneaked into her fair share of hotels and motels in her life with us... and she loved being sneaky. She thought the cat box was a snack tray and often had to be talked to about her poop-breath issues. She loved getting a shower and when she was younger it was not unusual for her to climb in with me when I was showering.... (for the last few years she had to be lifted into the shower).
She loved everybody and was protective of her family... even my grandson Keegan, (who I am pretty sure she saw as another puppy trying to steal her family). I have to admit it wasn't until she figured out he was here to stay that she accepted him....and I suspect that him sharing his cookies and food with her probably played a BIG part in her letting him stay and her protection of him.
One of her last acts last friday was to lick the tears from my face as I laid on the floor with her at the vet's office quietly discussing how hard it was on both us this process of getting old, we chatted about past camping trips, all the plates of other people's food she helped herself to over the years when they were not looking, of the road trips we took together and we giggled quietly about the many fond memories we had of our life together. I told her how gracefully she had aged and how she still was the most beautiful dog I ever met....inside and out. She was a loving mommy-doggie to the very end even though my family was the only litter she ever had to raise (besides all the cats). She was a gracious, gentle, loving grand dame, and we were all lucky to have had her grace us with her love and affection for the 14+ years she lived with us. Saying she will be missed doesn't even come close to describing the huge void she has left in my life with her departure.
Edit: I am doing much better today than I have been, but this whole mourning/adjustment thing is going to take me quite awhile. Without thinking about it I called out her name a few minutes ago, (force of habit), because we always had this deal regarding the last bite of anything I ate belonging to her.... now, suddenly... I have no idea what to do with my last bites, but I know I cannot eat them.
