Dogs are perfect little animals. They love unconditionally, forgive easily, and never ask for money or the car keys. Dogs are also future tragedies with a limited lifespan, guaranteed to crush even the coldest of hearts. Recently, my son Will’s dog Shiloh lost his eight year battle with diabetes, a certainty which had been long accepted, yet never fully considered.
I first met Shiloh when returning home from a business trip, when he greeted me at my front door. Three dogs were already in residence in our home; Scarlett (a Basset Hound, and pack leader who once attacked a Rottweiler who dared to sniff her food bowl), Tara (a large, athletic Black and Tan Coonhound, who once fought Scarlett for kitchen supremacy. During the fracas, my wife Janet hit me with a short uppercut as we were trying to separate the combatants. Janet still claims the teeth rattling blow was an accident), and Belle (a sweet little Basset Hound and Scarlett’s progeny). RoanokeCity allows only four dogs per household and Shiloh’s addition elevated us to full capacity.
At first I thought that Shiloh might be a visiting pup, belonging to a family friend, after all, my own dogs NEVER met me at the door. Janet, Will, friends, and strangers were always received as if they have arrived home from a twenty year hitch in the French Foreign Legion. Bur me? Nothing! Moving towards the den, I found Janet.
“Who is this?” I asked pointing to the small Beagle-mix scratching his ear.
“That’s Shiloh, Will’s dog!” she excitedly replied.
Remembering my standing in the family (outranking only Mo, our lone surviving fish), I welcomed our new arrival to the zoo and poured myself a drink.
At first, Shiloh was rather aggressive with the rest of the dogs, earning his nickname of “Weenie”, a moniker he would respond to as well as his own name. Gently terrorized (uh, trained) by Janet, during his boot camp days, Shiloh quickly acquiesced and became a pack member and model citizen in record time.
During the next few years, Shiloh blossomed into a fine companion, and quite a lothario. Unable to resist Belle’s steaming Basset pulchritude, Shiloh fell in love. At times, usually when we had guests, Shiloh would lick and chew Belle’s plentiful ears for what seemed like hours. Belle’s expressions of ecstasy clearly made our visitors a little uncomfortable, sensing that, perhaps, this exhibition might be better situated behind closed doors.
As Belle grew older, however, the affair became more of a friendship, and Shiloh began to drown his sorrow in food, gaining enough weight to warrant yet another nickname, “Tater Dog.” Imagine, if you will, a large Idaho baking potato with four toothpicks representing legs. With the weight came a penchant to pass gas, adding the tag, “Weenie Von Hindenburg” to his many aliases.
At age four, Shiloh began losing weight rapidly. Transporting him to Virginia Tech’s excellent veterinary school and facility, it was discovered that our Shiloh was diabetic.
The expense of caring for and maintaining a diabetic dog is a daunting project. Injections twice a day, special food, and follow-up visits continued for the next eight years. Our lives revolved around Shiloh’s regimen. Only dog sitters who could handle the insulin injections were considered. Our other dogs were fed on a strict schedule as well, adhering to Shiloh’s program.
When Will went off to college, in 2010, Shiloh struggled to adjust. Nightly, Shiloh would stand in front of Will’s door, hoping his bed buddy was waiting inside. When I explained that Will was in Pennsylvania, Shiloh would sneer as if to say “you mean it’s just me and you?” Deeming me a poor substitute, Will’s dog would begrudgingly lay his head down and dream of his master’s return.
Eventually, Shiloh’s disease rendered him sightless. Armed with a mental blueprint of every inch of our home and yard, Weenie navigated our property with bat-like precision, dodging every step, hole and fence post. Despite his handicap; Shiloh remained a happy, active dog for many years. No doctor could have taken better care of that dog than Janet, who had long since devoted herself to extending his days.
A few weeks ago, Shiloh was diagnosed with bladder cancer. For nearly three weeks, Janet and I followed him around, tried to feed him, and carried him to the yard and back. Janet slept beside Shiloh each night monitoring his activity, and when Will returned from college for his winter break, he knew is friend was in trouble. On the Sunday before Christmas, our creator called the toughest little dog in the world home. Mya and Roscoe huddled close as Will, Janet and I stroked Shiloh’s brown and white fur and whispered,
“It’s alright, Shi, we are all here with you.”
Although death ends a life, Shiloh lives on in our memories. Young, in love, sighted, flatulent, courageous, and a cherished part of the pack.
– Jon Kaufman
