Our family’s soft spot for dogs triggered a lot of tears last week as we bid goodbye to Shadow, our beloved Great Dane.

Tall, regal and friendly – a true gentle giant befitting the reputation of his breed, he came to us on a crisp autumn afternoon back in 2017. He was a “rescue” dog, but it was Shadow who rescued us.

My elderly father, who had lived with us the last four years of his life, had died in the spring. We’d had dogs before, but we were nervous about having an energetic animal around a frail old man. But now, with my dad gone and three young, energetic boys, we felt something was missing. We were eager to get them a canine sidekick again, an animal they could love and learn to care for as they grew up.

The late Roger Caras, who served as president of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA), as well as the host of the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, put some of our feelings into words. “Dogs are not our whole life,” he said. “But they make our lives whole.”

Shadow’s “foster family” told us he had been relinquished because of bullying by an overly aggressive dog in his first home. They didn’t have details, but a small chunk out of his left ear offered clues. Our sons, Riley, Will and Alex, could be rambunctious, but they didn’t bite dogs – so everyone became fast friends.

Soon, Shadow’s favorite perch was Riley’s bed on the second floor, where he could keep an ear on the activities inside and an eye on what was going on outside.

It might sound cliché to say dogs and cats become part of the family, but it’s true. Through all the seasons and twists and turns of life, there they are – our noncritical, nonjudgmental companions. You can bond quickly with a dog who loves you unconditionally, and that’s exactly what happened.

Shadow wanted to be wherever we were, which can be difficult for a 120-pound dog. He loved to hop up on the couch and bury his head in your lap. He claimed a chair in the living room, and we never had the heart to kick him off.

A whole lot can change in nine years inside a home with three children, but in God’s perfect plan and as Ernest Hemingway observed, life tends to unfold gradually, then suddenly. In time, the boys got taller and stronger – and Shadow grew grayer and frailer.

Riley began his first year at Washington University School of Law in St. Louis last month. Not only is his bed now empty, but in the last year, Shadow could no longer make it up the stairs and hop on it.

I struggle with change. When you’re young, you want time to speed up, but then when you’re older, you wish life would slow down or, better yet, stand still. Both are impossible, of course. That’s both the gift and the cruelty of time. Ready or not, it marches on.

Shadow watched three little boys become young men. He was there for birthdays and Christmas mornings, homework and heartbreaks, backyard fun, laughter and tears.

Will and Alex began ninth and 10th grade the week after Riley left, and as if on cue, Shadow began stumbling more from degenerative spinal disease. He suffered two major falls on Thursday night, and it became clear he had reached the finish line of his race.

This past Friday afternoon, the wonderfully compassionate team at Village Center Veterinary Care in Rockrimmon helped us through Shadow’s last moments. We came home to bury him in the backyard, right beside the swing set.

Through tears, Julie reminisced about how often she had sat on those swings, telling stories to the boys and tossing a ball to Shadow. I looked at the swing set and our dog’s final resting place and realized we weren’t just burying our dog.

We were burying a season of our children’s childhood.

We want to hold on to the people we love, and we want our parents and children to stay young. And we also want our favorite dog to keep climbing up to sit with us.

Yet, children grow up and adults and dogs grow old. Our time with all three can be painfully short, but thankfully, long enough to change us and remain forever in our hearts.

Paul J. Batura is a local writer and founder of the 4:8 Media Network. He can be reached via email at Paul@PaulBatura.com or on X @PaulBatura.