Shiro - A lot like hard work

One morning after working the graveyard shift, I was sitting with Susan and we were discussing whether or not to be dog "foster parents". It seemed like an ideal situation because of its "temporary" nature and we'd be saving a dog's life. We came across "Sheba" (now Shiro) and as I looked at her, she looked like one of the best friends I had ever had, whose name actually WAS Sheba. Because she had a very large and muscular body, her feet looked tiny by comparison. I said, "Look at her tiny feet!". Susan glanced and commented, "Uh huh....very tiny, Katie."

We were screened heavily by the rescue group trying to save her life. This involved numerous emails, phone calls, and ultimately a home visit. All of this screening resulted in us traveling by car and ferry to go and pick her up in Port Townsend at the shelter holding her on the peninsula. 

When we arrived at the shelter in Port Townsend, which was sort of in the middle of nowhere, we parked outside and went in to meet her. They were expecting us and we stood at the counter while they went to retrieve her. The shelter volunteer brought her out and we were both struck by her "smile" when she saw us. She came out and we went outside to go for a walk in order to meet her and get to know a little bit about what she is like. As soon as we got outside, the first thing she did was stand on her hind legs and hug Susan. She wasn't quite eye to eye with Susan, but it was pretty close. We were both struck by how large and powerful she was, but also by how gentle she was with all of those things considered. We both took turns with the leash and quickly realized how strong she truly is. While being screened by the rescue group, I was cautioned repeatedly about her strength and size and how she could only be with someone patient, very sure-footed, and compassionate. These are all generally things that would describe us both, so it didn't seem too worrisome. 

Shiro was wearing this regular dog collar, which didn't seem remotely sufficient for a dog like her. Susan commented right away that she didn't trust the collar. I said something to one of the guys at the shelter and he tightened her collar, said he knew her, and felt it would be okay for now. 

We took the leash, walked out the door of the shelter and headed for the car. While being very friendly, Shiro had just been through a lot and as we approached the car, she got extremely spooky. I had the leash and she quickly whipped her head, yanked out of the leash/collar combo and bolted into the woods towards a busy road. With a hand full of empty leash and a spooky dog racing towards the sound of big trucks, I turned to Susan and yelled, "Go inside and tell them she is loose!" I headed into the trees after her and yelled at her to come back. Shiro stopped momentarily, turned to face me, and then took off again towards the road. I grabbed the first large stick I saw, shouted at her, and then threw it. Shiro turned and with lightning speed, she grabbed that stick and continued onward. My heart sank. The dog I had come to save was about to be hit by a big truck and get killed. At the time I was unaware that some woman in the shelter had told Susan there was a "fence" and not to worry. The so-called "fence" consisted of two wires, very far apart and Shiro launched through them like they weren't even there. I didn't chase her, but instead tried to follow and engage her. I managed to get between her and that busy road with the large trucks and one of the shelter volunteers got a slip lead on her ensuring that she wouldn't be crushed by one of those huge trucks. Not exactly an auspicious beginning.

While I was gone on graveyard shift that first week, Susan and Shiro formed a strong bond. Shiro was very much taken by her. Just after that, Susan had to leave in order to go lead a tour in Japan. In the few years preceding this, my mom had been very sick with cancer and it was a long and terrible ride. She suffered greatly and went through more than I could ever endure. 

My mom was undergoing targeted radiation on her only remaining lung, which the cancer had metastasized to, right after I got Shiro. Shiro didn't understand the complications of human life, but I didn't entirely understand all of the complications she had been through either. Mom was entertained by my new challenge and frequently quizzed me about Shiro's antics. 

I had been under a lot of stress and got Whooping Cough just after getting Shiro. This is not the illness you want to have while trying to walk a powerful Akita twice a day. Especially one that has had no training, doesn't understand, and hadn't spent time on a leash before. It was very difficult. I was trying to essentially walk a wild animal in a very urban area while completely stressed out and quite ill. It was far from ideal to put it mildly.

Not even two weeks after getting Shiro, I came home from work one morning -- very tired, not feeling well, and I still had to walk her. My phone rang and it was my mom. My mom and I were like best friends, really. We spoke in some form or fashion nearly every day. It may have been text, email, or voice, but the lines of communication were always there. I could tell by the tone of her voice that something was very wrong. My mom said, "Something is wrong with my brain." She had a brain tumor removed several months before that and she wondered out loud about whether there could be some kind of scar tissue or something causing her problems. Since mom had just undergone a full body MRI, this seemed extremely unlikely to me. As a former EMT, I sat down and quizzed her about her symptoms. My heart sank and I said, "It sounds like it is very possible you have a brain bleed and going to the ER is the smartest thing you could possibly do." My dad was out at the pharmacy picking up steroids for her and they had already scheduled an MRI for Monday morning. 

Even with all that was happening to her and everything she had been through, I could hear the smile in my mom's voice when she asked me, "How is Shiro? Have you made any progress? Is it still like having a big wolf in your living room??" I told her, "We have made some progress, but she is a lot like hard work and we have MILES to go." Mom laughed and said, "Well, I think she is good for you. I can't wait to hear how it turns out..."

Not long after I hung up, my dad returned to their home and my mom collapsed in their kitchen. Dad caught her, got her to the dining room and lowered her into a chair while summoning a neighbor who was a nurse as they waited for an ambulance. It was February in Virginia and the weather was awful. This was all going on without my knowledge in that moment. I felt it, but I wasn't fully aware. Later that day I spoke with my aunt and she informed me that they had to come and get my mom in a helicopter and that things looked very bad. She was not really expected to survive the night. I felt helpless, knew this had probably been coming for a long time, but still had this Akita I had to walk and care for and I still had to go to work. My heart was broken. 

I contacted Susan in Japan and told her what had happened. I was sitting there, waiting to hear the bad news when Shiro came to sit by my side while looking at me with her beautiful chocolate eyes. I turned to her with big tears streaming down my cheeks and said, "I know you can't understand. I just need you to try because this is a fucking nightmare, okay?" Shiro looked at me and put her paw on my leg. I covered her paw with my hand and we just looked at one another for a few moments. 

The following two weeks were extremely difficult. Mom was in a coma, we didn't know exactly what her brain function was, but she would never be the same. Even if she survived in that moment, the cancer was just there waiting to go ahead and finish her off. There were no good choices or outcomes available. 

I spoke to my dad each day and he updated me on where things stood. He always put me on speakerphone so my mom could hear my voice. One day when he put me on speakerphone, I started telling mom about a funny memory we shared. She reached up and grabbed the phone from his hand. He told me to keep talking to her while he tried to get a doctor to come. It didn't seem reflexive, it seemed very deliberate. She grabbed the phone and held it to her ear. As I looked over at Shiro, I was trying to figure out who the hell could deal with this dog so that I could go and hold my mom's hand. 

I had volunteered at a wildlife center which had a companion animal shelter as well. It was actually Susan who asked me if I might ask a friend, Ken, if he had any suggestions. It was an urgent thing and the clock was ticking. I am lucky that Ken actually came and dealt with Shiro himself when I flew back east. I never worried and was able to focus entirely on the situation in front of me, which was not a pretty one. I never doubted that he could handle her and that she would still be here when I got back. If I had hired a professional "dog walker", I would have worried the whole time and it certainly would have been even more stressful. I will never forget that and I'll always be thankful for it. 

I managed to fly back east, get to my mom's side, and hold her hand while she still knew I was there. A lot of people don't get that chance. She started to decline rapidly the following day and ultimately died in the end. I'll never forget her doctor taking me into the hallway and saying, "I am sure she was waiting for you. I see this all the time. You tell her anything you need to and help her to let go, okay?" I did just that and she heard every word I said. It wasn't a light conversation, if you want to call it that. I talked, she listened.  It wasn't the mother-daughter dialogue I had known throughout my life. It was the best we could do in that moment. 

The day my mom died, I still had to walk Shiro, still had to go to work, and the world kept right on spinning. I felt a bit like I could actually feel it spinning. You know damn well you are working in the wrong place when no one can cover for you the day your mom dies. That is just life. After work, which I got through, but certainly not in my most detail oriented form, I went home and was physically and emotionally exhausted. I don't know how long it had been since I slept, but it had been a very long time. I made sure I took Shiro for her walk and she didn't pull on her harness and looked over her shoulder at me intermittently in order to make eye contact. It was like she was checking on me. I was thankful that she cut me slack that day and didn't make life any harder than it already was. 

When I got back to my place, I fell into a deep sleep after fielding many of those emotional condolence phone calls that occur with these sorts of life events. I felt something against my back at one point and woke up briefly. Somehow, Shiro had gotten her giant body and her "tiny feet" into the bed with me and was spooning me. She had her body tightly pressed against mine. She knows she is not allowed into the bed, but obviously felt compelled to comfort me in the only way she knew how in that moment. I held her paw and cried into my pillow. She seemed to understand, even if it isn't entirely true. 

People ask me where I find the patience to deal with all of Shiro's antics. That is where I find the patience.  I find it because she may be a huge pain in the ass, but she is also very smart and loyal. If I ever had any doubts about her, which I really don't, she laid those to rest last week. Some guy tried to break in my back door and she immediately placed herself between us and was happy to do so. When the cop got here, she made sure she checked him out first, too. He raised his hands like a gun was being pointed at him. She knows the difference between friend and foe. It isn't taught. She has amazing senses and I see them regularly. I have heard many Akita owners talk about their undying loyalty, which is what they are known for. I believe dogs in general tend to be loyal. I can report that she is the only dog I have ever had that can tell if she needs to be concerned about someone in a matter of seconds and handles it. She is a good friend to have at my side. She is still a lot like hard work, but we continue to make progress. I am and will be patient with her because she has been with me as well. I guess we saved each other, really. 

Shiro and I watching the world.

This was the last time I got to hold mom's hand.

Shiro waiting for me to do something interesting.