People. I used to be that anti animal person.

Probably because of my tragic, beloved Shadow. RIP, Shadow … RIP, black baby. I should say he was our cat, but really, he was all mine, starting when I picked him out when I was four, at the shelter.

I still remember that huge, smelly cat room, and there he was. Sitting in the middle, tons of cats surrounding him, but yet he still seemed alone.

I identified with him immediately. It felt like me with the Brothers and their friends and being too little and too young to play with them.

We debated names all the way home, Knight Rider being the top runner. But it was me who turned to look at him, and said, “he wants to be called Shadow” {one of Maman’s fave stories of me}.

Shadow, or, black baby, as I mainly referred to him as {Maman and TC would ask that I please don’t shout “black baby” when guests were over}, was totally my homie.

He let me dress him up. Walk him with a leash. Pretty much do anything to him. When I returned from school one afternoon in fourth grade and asked where Shadow was, I knew.

I don’t know why we, as adults, try to cover up the obvious. Kids know. I always felt I was being talked down to, or protected, when I didn’t need to be.

I suppose that’s natural though, and as we get older, we forget we knew what we knew when we were young — something I have to continuously remind myself of with my M&M’s.

Services were held for Shadow — a dual officiation between myself and my bff, Dara. Whom I dearly miss to this day. I need to find her. I still feel incredibly connected to her … how can you not when you shared your complete beginning with someone?

After Shadow, Maman and TC put the smack down on : no more pets. And I think, to protect this little big heart of mine, I went to the opposite end of the spectrum with animals.

Didn’t want anyone’s damn dog jumping on me. No, I don’t think your cat is cute. And please! Wash your dog. He smells. Really bad. I was over it.

Until Pepe. There’s always that one that is meant to bring you back and warm parts of a hardened heart. Pepe was it for me.

A standard French poodle, my grandfather’s dog. He was an abused rescue. The sweetest, most elegant, aristocratic dog ever. I tried to blow him off. But he would not be denied.

I’d visit, he’d jump into bed with me. I’d kick him out. He’d jump back up. Back and forth this would go. The more I tried to shut him out, the more persistent he became.

He didn’t take long to win me over. His passing still brings tears to my eyes, TC, too. We all so loved him.

Then B came into my life. And now Murphy, thanks to The BF.

This week of not having The BF around has given Murph and I chance to truly bond. And similarly to Pepe, he has warmed places in my heart that needing warming in the middle of this winter.

I look at him and those eyes just melt me. They soothe away any worry and concern. We walk together as one unit. So many silent conversations had between us.

And that moment when we take a moment together, to just be. Laying on the couch, or in bed. Our breathing falling into place. I understand now just how powerful of teachers our animals are, just how connected they remain to their Source; their Godliness.

Dog; God. God; Dog.