In Memory of Shea

On this date last year, my dog, Shea, lost her battle with cancer. It was one of the most difficult days of my life. I’ve spent time over the past year reflecting on her and what she meant to me, and although many who know me know much about that, I wanted to share it in remembrance of her today.

I was 20-years-old and a sophomore in college when I found Shea. I was living with two friends from high school, both of which had boyfriends and were 21, and I was dating a guy who lived in Phoenix, AZ. Needless to say, aside from class and work, I spent a lot of time alone. I’ve always loved dogs and I had decided that I wanted one to keep me company, and so on a trip to Phoenix over spring break, my boyfriend and I found a 6-week-old beagle puppy that I named Shea. A few days later I flew home with her, and that’s how our story began.

Shea was trouble from the beginning. She had separation anxiety and hated to be alone, and she had more energy than any dog I’d ever seen. Those things combined led to the destruction of doors, carpet, cell phones, shoes, the backyard and many other things for years. Shea also disliked other dogs and showed aggression at times, which always made life a little more difficult. Like many beagles, Shea found her way into every trash can and dug countless holes to escape the backyard. She was stubborn, difficult to train, and had a howl that would drive any neighbor crazy. But, despite all of that, I loved her. Shea had a very unique personality and was smart, sweet and exceptionally funny. And so I made it work. We went for multiple walks each day, and I arranged my schedule so I could spend a lot of time taking care of her.

Shea and I would spend the next decade together. We moved to Phoenix for my relationship and moved back and started over again when things didn’t work out. By then, all of my friends were married or had moved away, and so I dove into work and school and spent a lot of nights at home. In 2010, I graduated and got my first full-time job at the radio station. In 2011, my dad died suddenly of a heart attack. In 2013, I got a job in Las Vegas, and without knowing a soul, we made the move out west again. And in 2015, when my goals led me back home, we packed up all of our stuff and road tripped back, starting over yet again. Like a lot of people, whether by chance or by choice, I’ve had my share of letdowns and loneliness. Connecting with people very often didn’t feel like an option for me, but Shea was always there and she provided comfort at times when I needed it the most. For a third of my life, I could count on her being at home.

And so I took her all kinds of places with me, dressed her in terrible costumes, we went on walks through parks and climbed mountains. She made it into family photos and we spent Easters, Thanksgivings, Christmases and New Years Eves together. We were best friends and partners in crime. I thought I’d have her for another few years at least.

In August of last year we found a lump in her neck that turned out to be lymphoma. The vet gave her one month to live. She made it two. After a particularly tough couple of days I knew it was time to say goodbye. It was the hardest thing I’ve had to do.

I cried for hours - and I mean pretty much all hours - that day. Phone calls and text messages began to pour in from friends and family and people I hadn’t heard from in a long time. It seemed like everyone I’d ever known reached out at some point. I got flowers from work, two separate deliveries actually, as well as gifts from people who dropped things off or came to check on me. Friends from high school bought me gifts and sent money for me to donate in her name. I have three sketches and paintings of Shea that friends had made or made themselves. Listeners grieved with me and even sent me cards. And the staff at the vet’s office couldn’t have been any sweeter or more supportive, sending gifts and cards and even a clay paw print I didn’t expect. I still haven’t gotten around to thanking everyone I need to. It really meant more to me than I can express.

Thank you, Shea, for being a loyal friend and for the great impact you had on my life. I will never forget you, or the way you drank out of the bathtub, broke into the refrigerator, licked my face when I cried and nestled up right next to me when you slept. Until we meet again, friend.