his Heaven

We used to have this dog named Shadow when I was kid. Claire received her as a birthday present when she was 8 or 9, but I'm pretty sure I was more attached to the mutt than my little sister was. It actually worked out quite well, since I got to love the dog and, since Shadow "officially" belonged to Claire, she had to pick up the poop. (And Claire has never forgotten that fact...)

Shadow was a pretty good dog. Sure she had her faults. She was a little timid with strangers and a few family friends and wasn't so comfortable with little kids, since we weren't exactly little when we got her, so she wasn't accustomed to having little beings pulling on her or chasing her. But I still loved her. My grandpa did, too. But, then again, my grandpa loved any animal.

I guess you could say he was the St. Francis of our family (I know you Catholics out there get it...patron saint of animals). The man would go out in the yard to work and have garter snakes that he had tamed follow him around as he completed his chores. He thought it was great, but when the snakes tried to make friends with Grandma when she was hanging laundry on the line, she wasn't too thrilled! He talked to the deer and rabbits who wandered into the yard and fed the stray dogs passing through over the years. Yes, he loved all animals, and somehow got all of them to love him back. I mean, Shadow would almost pee on the floor from excitement every time I asked her if she wanted to "go see Grandpa?"

As my cousins, my sister, my dad and my uncle got up to speak about my grandpa last week at his prayer service the night before his funeral, I listened to heartwarming words and funny stories pertaining to his work ethic, his parenting skills, his love for his family, and his faith. I wanted to stand up and tell the fondest memory of my Grandpa, but was a little worried about possibly being judged for the event I wanted to share and also erupting into either tears or a coughing fit, as I was battling a cold and sinus infection, so instead I stayed seated. I've been thinking about it ever since, though, so...here goes:

Three weeks after our wedding, Kris and I drove up to Harbor Beach to spend Labor Day weekend with my family. At this point, Shadow was about 9 years old. She had been barking and growling at pedestrians on my parents' road, so they had decided to board her for the annual Labor Day bbq that weekend, so she wouldn't be overwhelmed by the crowd and cause any issues. The day before THE party, an impromptu pre-bbq happened to form at my parents' with my grandparents and several of the seasonal neighbors' kids and grandkids who were camping down the road for the weekend.

Shadow was still home, at that point. One of the little girls who was over had just lost her old black lab and was so excited to see Shadow, who looked like a mini black lab sitting there. Before we knew it, she had hugged the dog from behind and Shadow turned around and bit the little girl on the cheek.

Everything happened very quickly ...the little girl was rushed to the ER for two stitches on her face and my parents decided it was time to put the dog down and dropped her off at the vet's office to be boarded until she could be put down on Tuesday. And I cried...off and on for the rest of the afternoon/evening.

Everyone kept reassuring me that the little girl would be okay. That it was only two stitches and the doctor said you would hardly be able to notice the scar at all. And I did feel so bad for her and her parents and did realize how traumatizing the whole event must have been for all three of them. I did hope that she wouldn't fear dogs from that point on, as she had been such a dog-loving little girl. But, at that moment, even though I couldn't tell any of the pre-bbq attendees, the tears were for the dog I loved and knew I would miss terribly, even though I no longer lived in the same house or the same state as her. Ashamed of my selfish tears, I was hiding in the bathroom when my grandpa knocked on the door, came in, closed the door and, with tears in his eyes, said, "I'll miss her, too." He gave me a hug, dried my tears and I headed back outside feeling the relief of knowing that he understood.

And that was my grandpa...tough-as-nails with a booming voice known to tell a dirty joke or two in his day, but a quiet, sensitive, intuitive, God-loving soul on the inside. As my relatives take comfort in the belief that he is reunited with so many other loved ones who went before him, I believe he is also scratching a few furry loved ones behind the ears and enjoying every minute of it.

I'll miss you Grandpa.