Woodstock "Woody" Shaw
2010 -2025
We said goodbye to our dog this week. This is his story.
We were in the stage of married life when date nights were as simple as sharing a combo-meal at Wendy’s and then looking at the puppies through the windows of the “Animal ER Clinic” on Hardy Street. We had no real plans to adopt one, but it was fun and free. After one of those dates we agreed that we should go in during regular business hours some day to hold a few of them. We did. All of the puppies would scramble to the front of their cages and go bananas for attention. I could not help but assign little Disney cartoon voices to the thoughts they must be having about me and their desire for us to bring them home. They all went crazy except for one. There was one who would peer out at us, rock back on his hind legs and sit down, using the deepest blackest eyes to pierce through our souls. His little voice was saying, “We get each other, right?”
”If that little white fur-ball is there next time, we should get him,” Marianna joked. She was more of a cat person, I am allergic to cats. But there was something about this little male Maltese that enchanted us. He remained in that corner cage near the window for at least 3 rounds of “if-he’s-still-there” statements. One day I came home and Marianna said “Go get the dog… I am afraid he is gone… what if someone else got him, go get him.” 2 hours later I walked in our back door holding, in just one hand, the warmest little bundle of nourishing presence than we could have known how to ask for.
We named him Woody, short for Woodstock because of his striking resemblance (around the hair and eyes) to the little bird that hung out with Snoopy and Charlie Brown.
What we did not realize at the time was that Marianna was pregnant with our first born (Benji). She went from “we don’t need the responsibility of a dog” to “we absolutely need that dog, he is our dog,” in what seemed like an instant. Add to that the rate at which she was able to prepare our modest house for a new puppy and it becomes obvious that the maternal systems in her body and soul had been activated and were beginning to fire on several cylinders.
Woody became a fixture on Marianna’s lap for the next 15 years. Woody watched over Marianna during the year after losing her mom, during the season that we lost her dad, the season that we lost my dad. Woody welcomed home each of our 3 children from the hospital. He never once bit or snapped at any of them, or anyone. When someone would pull his blanket, Woody would play tug-of-war with the gentleness of a butterfly. When one of them would pull his tail or “bonk” his head with flailing baby arms and hands, Woody would slowly look around to find an adult in the room to make sure that we knew that he was in distress, but that he was not going to retaliate.
Some days I would walk in to find Woody sitting up-ward-dog on top of Marianna’s down-ward-dog yoga pose (or vice versa). When I would come in from a run or a bike ride, I would lay on the ground and he would lick my face for as long as I would let him.
Woody never ran away, he was not a “dasher.” You could entice him to zoom around the yard or the house by throwing his tiny stuffed giraffe, but you never had to worry about him making a desperate break for it through an open door or gate. When he did go missing, it was because he just kind of moseyed away, without anyone noticing. (This led to one of the worst nights of my life, which is a story for another day).
When we would find Woody across the street or across the highway, he would look up at us with a look that said, “Oh hey, what are you doing here?” Other times we would get calls from people saying that they had him, that the vet had scanned the chip in his fur, and that they would be happy for us to come get him, but that we need not hurry. He was probably sitting in their lap, or just walking around slowly exploring their garage. Once he was returned to us after having spent the better part of his afternoon rounds with a sheriff’s deputy, lounging on the front seat of West Feliciana Parish patrol car. He was good company to everyone.
Woody did not really beg for table scraps, he would take them, he never hounded you for them. His worst crimes were in various seasons when he would lick you incessantly.
Woody was more than I could have known to pray for when God gave him to us. There were many times when I would come home to find Marianna with tears of grief in her eyes and Woody in her lap between her arms in front of her laptop (sometimes halfway on her keyboard). Woody was doing what he was bred to do… to be there for his person. He was “just all goodness” as Marianna would say often.
Right after we realized that we would be moving to North Carolina, Woody got a little sick from licking the barbecue grill grate that I had neglectfully left on the patio after a cookout. I was not sure if Woody was going to make it through that, let alone a cross country move. The vet said he was fine, mostly. “His heart is a little finicky, but its always been that way.” She said, “You’ll know.” We were not sure that we would know. Woody perked up over the next few weeks and seemed as normal as ever over the course of our move this summer.
I wonder if Woody began to discern that his time was coming to a close. Could he sense in our bodies or in our breathing that we were settling into our new home. Maybe he felt like his purpose was being fulfilled. Maybe he was sensing it before we were. We still don’t feel “settled”. But maybe he knew. Maybe he could feel it in Marianna's heart-rate or the vibrations of her voice (it had been a while since he was able to hear much of anything).
We never lost Woody’s gaze, the same gaze that drew us to him in the pet shop window. He shared his kind face and loving eyes with us even as the rest of his body began to contort and shrink with age and immobility.
Last Monday night we prayed that God would show us when it was okay to let Woody go. On Tuesday we took turns holding Woody and thanking him for being such a faithful companion, I told Benji he should give Woody a piece of sliced turkey (which Woody loved). Benji held it to his nose and Woody lifted those eyes up to Benji as if to say, “I am ok.” He declined the treat and we all knew that keeping him much longer would be keeping him too long.
On Tuesday evening, Woody went to sleep in Marianna’s arms at the vet in Clemmons, NC. We all kissed him goodbye and left him with the doctor.
One of the ways that God was holding on to us for the last 15 years was through Woody’s tender touch, his warm tongue, and the way that he smelled like corn chips after he sunbathed for too long. People often talk about their pets as one of their children. For some reason I have come to see Woody as a trusted counselor that advised me, like having a 3rd adult in our home instead of a 4th child. Woody held on to Marianna and helped us hold on to each other during some of those toughest years. For that I will forever be grateful. Rest in Peace, my friend.
Gosh I loved Woody. I read this with tears. He was a gentle tender soul. I loved riling him up in his puppy days. I think he put up with me better than others would have.
This is really wonderful, Ben.