With dozens of puppies running around, the noise was deafening, so the lady of the house would come outside every hour or so and crack a bullwhip. It worked! For some reason, I never really felt I needed to bark. The pack leader (my dad) did all the barking for me. To this day I am praised for not being a “yapper.” Problem is, I don’t know what that means. I’m a dog, remember?

So, if I can’t speak or write, how are you reading this? Well, I hired a translator. My foster parents bought me a few months after I was born and took me to Oregon for awhile. We travelled a lot, ’cause he was an IT contractor – people call him a geek, but I don’t know what that means either. All I know is he seems to understand my quiet little “woofs” and “whimpers” and he looks into my eyes (mainly because I get up into his face when I want to be let out to do my “business”), and seems to be able to read my mind. The way he puts it, “There you go, Shadow, smiting me with cuteness again.”

Shadow: In Your Face

Anyway, with the economy the way it is, my foster dad has a hard time finding computer work, but he’s really good with websites and stuff. You guessed it – I have no idea what a website is, but he tells me it’ll make me famous and pay for my food and vet bills. I’m starting to really feel my age now. My mother and father only lived about eight years, and I’m going on fifteen! My hips and joints remind me that I’m not a “puppy” anymore. Although I’m about 99% deaf, and losing my eyesight, my sniffer works very well, thank you! My foster parents say I’m a “special little girl,” because I always seem to survive any illness or surgery.

Shadow: Always lookup up to you

Speaking of my sniffer, I can tell when somebody’s opened a bag of grated cheese from clear across the house. I don’t care how bad my joints feel – when I smell cheese, I’m there, eh? (OK, so I’m not THAT Canadian anymore, y’all.) And even though it hurts to stand on my hind legs for a treat, I’ll hop and dance on those old joints for a couple tiny bits of Mozzerella.

My foster mom gives me medicine every morning with my breakfast. I hate the pills, but she hides them in globs of yogurt (which I love), and before I realize I’m swallowing a bitter pill, it’s down. Yukk! She follows it with another glob of yogurt without the pill, though, so I forgive her. She tells me I’d be in a lot more pain if I didn’t get those pills, so I guess I can live with the bad taste.

I’m about as non-threatening as a dog can get. Cats can whip my furry butt, so I usually run from them. Big dogs scare me to death, as do these Southern thunderstorms. I don’t hear the thunder much anymore, but I can still feel it, and I can smell the rain that follows. Little kids are scary, too, because they don’t know their own strength and almost crack my ribs hugging me. But if people are gentle, and let me lick them a little, they can pet my long fur as much as they want… uh… especially if it comes with some cheese!

Now you know as much about me as anybody, so I hope you like my website. I’ll have my “translator” post a few woofs now and then, so please come back often.

With all my fur,
~Shadow~