First was Crystal, and then Shadow later on. Both were lovely black labs and adorable little heartbreakers you had to love. When he lost Crystal, my father could barely speak her name for years. To this day, her ashes are sitting on the mantle in a treasured keepsake box. Years after, Shadow’s joined hers. My father swore he would never have another dog. When my stepmom Pat sprang a chocolate lab named Candy on him, he refused to even acknowledge her…at first. But the gangly, happy little booger wormed her way into his heart…although she is quite distinctively Pat’s dog. But I credit Candy with giving Dad the craving for a new pet of his own, and that is how Magic came into his life.

Only two years ago, my Dad took custody of a squirmy, wriggly little black female lab pup, and we all watched with amazement as she grew and developed into what I like to call a ‘combo plate’. She was half Crystal and half Shadow, as if the two of them had been reincarnated and their indefatigable spirits had been sprinkled throughout her soul. Like Shadow, she always had to have a shoe, a toy, or whatever was handy in her mouth. Magic had Shadow’s unending energy too. And her dopiness. But oh, how she would be so strong and wise sometimes, just like Crystal. She would do things, little mannerisms or movements, that were just so uncannily ‘Crystal’.

Through the years my folks learned how to properly spoil a dog. It was often said between me and my sisters that they were the favored daughters (despite my Dad having five of his own) and it was too easy to be jealous of his blatant affection for them. No one ever had to guess how my Dad felt about his girl puppies. It was all over them every instant they were together. They learned what were the best toys, foods and treats. My stepmom researched in cycles everything from holistic dog medicine to baking her own doggie biscuits.

I used to say that when I died, I wanted to come back as a dog in my parents’ house.

Of course, people say the same about being a cat in my house, but they are surely exaggerating.

The rest of Magic’s story is going to tell itself now in two emails I received from my stepmother over the past two days. That her life is reduced to this, a cautionary tale, sickens me and devastates me, but as I writer, no one will tell it better or with more passion than I can.
This is what I received last night: