He was my sister's dog at first, but in 1996 (when I was 12) my sister was in the process of moving to a new place in Oregon that didn't allow dogs, so she gave him to me. I can't even begin to tell you how excited I was to have my very first dog. I was in charge of feeding him, bathing him, and he even slept in my room! I trained him to sit, stay, roll over, speak, and "go home" which meant he would run into his dog house and wait for me to give the "ok." He never barked, and he never chewed anything up, and he was so loving and protective of me. He was terrified of water (it must have been the Chow in him), so for exercise I took him on walks every day, and we were always wrestling in the backyard. I showed him at the Orange County Fair where he didn't do too well, because he had too much energy around all those people, and all he wanted to do was jump on them. I cried when I had to leave him and go on vacation, and when I came back home I would hug him for as long as I could. He absolutely LOVED to be brushed, and he loved to be scratched on the spot above his tail. He was my best friend.
I've grown older now, and so has he. He's almost completely blind, he's partially deaf, and he's got bad hips and joints. He's no longer my puppy, he's my old man. It breaks my heart to see him limping around and laying in the dirt for hours on end, but he still has an appetite, and he still manages to jump out of the car and land on all fours when we take him to the vet. It's unsual for labs to live so long, but he's in good shape, just old. I'm getting sentimental because I know he probably doesn't have another couple years in him, and with the recent loss of my fiance's 15 year old puppy, it makes things too real. I don't know what I'm going to do when he's gone, so I'm trying to focus on the time I have with him now, but no matter what, he'll always be my pup.
"Shilo when I was young, I used to call your name, when no one else would come, Shilo you always came... and we played." - Neil Diamond
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