This week, I lost a dear friend and family member. My one selfless friend in an often-selfish world is gone. Our dog Sheba—a German Shepherd/Golden Retriever mix—after a long illness, had to be put down.  Sheba exemplified the traits of both breeds.

She was loyal, great with my son, very loving, and active—a perquisite to coexist in the Williams household. Knowing how much we loved Sheba, friends and family urged me to simply get another dog.  But that reactionary gesture could not fill the void created by Sheba’s departure.

There would be no more neurotic barking at 4:30AM, no more morning walks for coffee, or 3-4 mile jogs, or the youthful exuberance that was her trademark until her final day.

I will miss her patience, something I could learn from, as she waited for me to finish my column.  As I simultaneously hit the send button on my computer, I would say, “It’s gone” and she would automatically know it was time for us to go out again for an afternoon walk.

Never again will I see her excitement through the window as my car pulled up. But the cancer along with the hip dysplasia could not be ignored; as she began to visibly deteriorate, it was hard to witness her puppy-like behavior betrayed by her hind legs that would give out as it became too much to be ignored. 

I was forced to tell my son, Malik, the bad news.  I gave him the choice if he wanted to be present when we put her down, it was his decision not to be here.  As he left for basketball camp, he came to the realization that he would not see her again.

As most dog owners can attest, whatever mistakes I made were of no concern to Sheba.  She was the one place I could depend on for unconditional love; and any secrets that I shared with her were kept in the strictest confidence.  When others turned against me; Sheba was there—forcing me to rub the top of her head even when she knew it was against my wishes.

I marveled at just well she knew my moods, how she seemed to know just what I needed at the right time.

I don’t recall the exact day she became an indispensable member of the family, I suspect it was the Christmas Eve afternoon, when I was ‘conned ‘ to stop by and take a look at this puppy, I was guaranteed there would be no pressure to take her home. 

Obviously, Sheba did not receive that memo, as she lovingly ran to me with her beautiful black and brown coat shining as my son looked on.  Strangely, ‘NO’ was not in my vocabulary when Malik gleefully asked, “can we keep her?”  Short of being considered on par with Genghis Khan, how could I have refused?

I am eternally grateful to my father because I did not possess the courage to do what needed be done—emotion was overruling my pragmatism.  My feelings about our loss are accurately conveyed by this anonymously written poem titled, Tribute to a Best Friend:

“Sunlight streams through window pane

unto a spot on the floor....

then I remember,

it's where you used to lie,

but now you are no more.

Our feet walk down a hall of carpet,

and muted echoes sound....

then I remember,

It's where your paws would joyously abound.

A voice is heard along the road,

and up beyond the hill,

Then I remember it can't be yours....

your golden voice is still.

But I'll take that vacant spot of floor

and empty muted hall

and lay them with the absent voice

and unused dish along the wall.

I'll wrap these treasured memorials

in a blanket of my love

and keep them for my best friend

Until we meet above.”

Thank you Sheba for 11 wonderful years.