Not long after moving to Bangkok, Thailand, we got a small dog from a work colleague. She had an uncertain background, but grew into a 50+-pound dog who had 8 puppies under our bed. Our friends named her Shaytoon, meaning something in another language, and we decided to keep that name.

She quickly became an amazing family companion. When our youngest daughter was born, she watched over her protectively. When a visitor leaned down to touch my daughter’s hair, Shaytoon moved closer and rested her open jaw against the visitor’s arm. She didn’t bite, but clearly showed she was there to protect our daughter.

In another memorable incident, a grocery delivery boy teased her during his deliveries to our house. One day, he stood by the front door and started mocking her. To everyone’s surprise, Shaytoon ran at the screen door and burst through it, chasing after the boy. He ran away quickly, and when he returned the next day, he made sure not to disturb our dog.

A few years later, we moved to Hong Kong, where strict animal quarantine laws required us to keep her in a shelter for 180 days. We visited her regularly, but it was a long separation for everyone. Finally, she came home with us, showing a new tattoo in her ear as proof of her good health.

Fast forward to our return to San Francisco. Shaytoon joined us and quickly adapted to life as a City Dog, enjoying rides and walks everywhere. From picnics at Stinson Beach to runs on the Marina Green, we were always together. I’m sure she saw herself as just another eager member of our family.

Years passed, and like many dogs, she got sick, had hearing loss, and trouble moving. This is a tough time for any family, and we faced the hard choice of putting her to sleep. One day, while our daughters were at school and my wife was out, I took Shaytoon on her last ride in our Volvo, with the sunroof open and her head out of the window. We went to the Marina Green for one last walk before heading to the Vet nearby. It was time, and I was the only one who could do this. It still hurts to remember that day.

As I took her into the doctor’s office, I hugged her and nuzzled her soft blond fur, something I had done many times. I took off her collar and her 1978 San Francisco dog license before she was taken inside; in moments, she was gone. I drove home heartbroken, realizing we would never be together again. I’ve kept the license tag all these years (it’s the image in this posting.) She was a cherished family member, and I’m grateful for this reminder of our time together. Thanks for everything, Shaytoon.

I know you’re having a lovely time in dog Heaven.