Not long after we moved to Bangkok, Thailand, we bought a dog from one of my work colleagues. She was pretty small at the time and of dubious lineage. However, she grew to be a 60+ pound powerhouse, a mama of eight puppies (which she inconveniently gave birth to under our bed.) Our friends had named her Shaytoon, which meant something in another language, and rather than change her name, we kept it.
She immediately became one of the most fantastic family companions ever. When our youngest daughter was born, she fiercely guarded her, to the point that when a visitor bent down to touch my daughter’s hair, Shaytoon moved near the person and gently put her open jaw near the person’s arm. She didn’t bite our friend, but made it known she was there to protect our daughter.
In another memorable incident, a grocery delivery boy taunted her on deliveries to our house. One day he stood before our front screened door and started teasing her. To everyone’s surprise, Shaytoon charged at the screen door and went completely through it, racing towards the boy. He took off like a rocket, and when he returned another day, he made sure not to bother our dog.
A few years later, we moved to Hong Kong, and due to their strict animal quarantine laws, we had to keep her in the shelter for 180 days (yes, 6 long months) before she was allowed to be released back to us. We visited her regularly; however, this was a very long separation for all of us. Soon enough, she was home with us in our apartment, sporting a new tattoo inside her ear attesting to her British good health certificate.
Fast forward to our return to San Francisco, our home. Of course, Shaytoon made the trip and quickly adjusted to the life of a City Dog, enjoying rides and walks everywhere. We were never apart, from picnics on Stinson Beach to runs on The Marina Green. I’m sure she didn’t think of herself as a dog, just another enthusiastic family member.
Years passed, and like many dogs, she became ill and suffered from hearing loss and mobility issues. This is a horrible time in every family’s life, and we were faced with the prospect of having our veterinarian put her to sleep.
One day, when our daughters were at school and my wife was out, I took Shaytoon on her very last ride in our Volvo, sunroof open, and as usual, she had her head out of the passenger window. We went to the Marina Green for the last walk before heading to the Vet a few blocks away. It was time, and I was the only person in the family who could do this. It still hurts my heart to think about that day.
As I led her into the doctor’s office, I bent down to nuzzle the soft blond fur around her neck, something I’d done thousands of times over the years, to give her one last mighty hug. I removed her collar and San Francisco dog license before letting her be taken into the inner office; in seconds, she was gone. I was heartbroken and drove home without her in a daze, realizing we’d never spend another moment with her again.
I’ve kept the license tag all these years (it’s the image in this posting.) She was a valued family member for many years, and I’m delighted to have this reminder of our time together. Thanks for everything, Shaytoon.
I know you’re having a lovely time in Dog Heaven.
Are we there yet? 