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In reading the
paperwork that came with the adoption, they shelter had determined that
she was part chow-part shepherd. That evening I became worried that the
chow in her might lead to aggressive behavior. That night I really
wrangled with a tough decision. Should I keep her, or should I take her
back while she was still a puppy and adoptable? I was worried that she
might get more aggressive with age, and I didn't want that. So the next
morning, we packed back into the car and I took her back.
As we arrived,
she became more and more panicky like she sensed what was going to happen. Holding her like a baby, we headed
inside and I returned her. When they came to get her, she was holding onto
me so tightly that her claws scratched my neck as they lifted her out of
my arms. I was really upset and drove home. All the way home my gut was
telling me that I had made the wrong decision, but my head kept saying
that I had to "think" through what life with a chow might be like. That
night I didn't sleep at all, and I decided-first thing in the morning
that I would go back and re-adopt her. I arrived at the shelter almost 2
hours before they opened and stood by the door. When they opened I raced
inside, and reclaimed my friend. From that moment until her passing, we
were never apart.
 Disney was without a
doubt the smartest dog I have ever had or known. She was what I call
"problem solving smart". From the first moments together, she and I
seemed to speak the same language, and commands came very easily to her.
Sit, stay, come-all of those were a breeze. She picked up on hand
motions. I would wave at her and she would smile and come. She also
learned to wave and would wave her paw.
She loved Frisbee games, fetch,
rough housing and "get the hand", where I would tussle her hair and she
would playfully try to catch it. She never once bit in anger, and around
children she was always so gentle, allowing them to pet her to their
hearts content.
When I first brought her home,
she was so small that she could not climb the steps either up or down.
She would try, and I remember my heart melting as I bent down and picked
her up every evening when it was time to go to bed, or when she was coming
in from outside.
One day when she was very little we went for a walk. It has snowed a great
deal, and she accidentally walked into a really deep drift and vanished
beneath the snow. Her head popped up, tongue out and bounded back out. I
still laugh when I picture that.
At a concert with the Ohio State Spring Marching Band she attended, and
howled during the final notes of the alma mater, as if singing. The
audience laughed and cheered her on:)
She had a sneaky side that I always loved-and this shows her intelligence.
One night I ordered pizza and after eating as much as I could I took it
into the kitchen and placed it on the table for a second. While I was
away, she lifted the pizza box lid-ate the pizza, and somehow
closed the lid back again. Nothing on the table was disturbed at all.
She lifted the aluminum foil lids off a Thanksgiving pie one year-and put
the lid back after she was done.
 When she was very young, she had so much energy that she would sprint
between two of my apartment rooms-the living room and the family room.
Each room had a couch, and she would use each as a springboard for the
dash to the next room. Back and forth at full speed until she was panting.
It was hilarious to watch-and I think she enjoyed the attention our laughs
brought.
One time when she was very young I was carrying her to a church event in a
laundry basket. She squirmed and fell out of the basket onto the ground.
I dropped to the ground terrified that she was hurt. She sat up very
groggy and waddled over to me, where she all but fell against me in a hug.
She was fine-dazed but fine. It touched me that she came straight to me
for comfort.
Many years later when she had surgery, the vet carried her
out. When she saw me, she staggered straight to me and collapsed in my
arms. As she was recovering, I sat by her side for hours and just held
her hand while she slept off the anesthesia.
I always needed her, and it was nice that she showed so clearly that she
needed me too.
You see, within days of bringing
her home we made a deal with each other. She would watch over me while I
slept, and I would watch over her while she slept. She was my best
friend, my protector, my confidante, and a part of my soul. From the start
we were bound together as if we were meant for each other. I completely
believe that I was meant to find her, and that she was meant to fill my
life. She always knew when I was down or needed encouragement. She
would sit by my side, lick my hand, bring a toy to play with in...While I was
working or playing on the computer, she would always curl up right under
the computer desk at my feet. Every time I sit down to work or play on my
computer now, I think of her, and I miss her.
I miss her so much, and I can feel the empty feeling inside that she
filled with her kisses, her cuddles and her companionship.
I held her in my arms as she passed. I told her that I had to let her go
now, and that God would look after her until I came to join her. I told
her I would miss her, and most importantly of all that I loved her. My
last words to her as she passed were "I love you so much". The pain of
losing her is impossible to explain. As I write this, it has been three
months, and the pain is just as strong as ever.
I miss you Disney. I miss you so much.
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Disney first came
into my life in the Spring of 1995. 
