Shelby, the Lion Who Has Loved Us

Saying goodbye

This morning, we met with Shelby’s veterinarians. The words were soft, but their meaning rang through us like a bell.

Shelby has declined. Swiftly. Steeply.

And so tomorrow, early in the afternoon, we will do what love sometimes demands of us—we will let him go, gently, peacefully, before pain overshadows peace. We will offer him comfort, and in return, he will offer us the unbearable grace of saying goodbye.

We can’t stop crying.

But we are also certain—utterly, achingly certain—that this is the last gift we can give him.

And if I know anything in this world, it is this:

Animals go to Heaven.

Not with trumpets or pageantry, not through sermons or sacraments—but with a tail that thumps once in trust, a deep breath let go, and the kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken to be understood.

They go carrying nothing but the devotion they spent their lives giving away freely.

But they don’t stay gone. Not really. They return like soft echoes—like a sigh across the pillow, or the sound of nails on the floor you haven’t heard in months but swear you just did. They find their way back in dreams and dappled light and in the sudden need to cry in the peanut butter aisle. They come back, because they never really leave.

Especially not the great ones.

Especially not the Leonbergers.

To love a Leonberger is to be in a long-term relationship with a bear who thinks he’s a lap dog. Shelby was no exception. With fur like thick gold fog and eyes that understood sadness in a way no human ever could, he didn’t so much walk through our home as anchor it.

A Leonberger doesn’t ask for much. Just a cool patch of tile, a bowl of fresh water, and permission to sit directly in your path like a furry traffic cone. They don’t demand affection; they emanate it. They sit beside you like ancient monks in fluffy robes, offering silent counsel, warmth, and the occasional drool string across your jeans.

They were bred in Germany to resemble lions. But Shelby never needed a breed standard to prove he was royalty. He ruled gently. He made the air feel warmer. He gave our other dog, our cat, our home, us, a sense of rhythm, purpose, and quiet comedy.

He had a smile that could knock you over with joy. A goofy, upside-down sprawl that defied dignity. And he never stopped choosing us.

Crystal’s parents came down from Canada to be with us during these final days, and I will never forget what that has meant.

Crystal’s father, Brent, has a full-blown man-crush on Shelby. He kisses him on the nose without hesitation, whispers to him like they’ve shared battlefields together, and I swear there’s something conspiratorial in their bond—like they’re both in on a joke the rest of us will never quite get.

And Crystal’s mother—my sister in heart, though the paperwork says in-law—is a marvel. I lord it over her that I’m three months older, as if I’ve gained wisdom in that extra trimester. But the truth? She is light years ahead of me in grace, unconditional love, and the way she floats into a room with comfort cupped in her hands.

She dotes on all of us. She reminds me what the word family is supposed to mean.

Having a mother-in-law as your best friend is rare. Having one who shows up in pajamas and tears, just to sit beside a dog and cry with you? That is divine.

We’ll remember Shelby curled in the sunlight, all limbs akimbo and joy radiating like heat.

We’ll remember his lopsided grins, his great bear hugs, the way he made the couch feel like a chapel when we all piled on, bleary-eyed and blanket-wrapped.

We’ll remember spaghetti dinners that were really just thinly veiled dog feasts.

We’ll remember him lying in the garden, lion-hearted and tired, watching over us with ancient patience.

And we’ll remember tomorrow—not as an end, but as the moment we whispered: Run ahead. We’ll catch up.

We love you, Shelby. You have been the soul of this home.

Please share your stories with me and all of us. I’d like to talk about Shelby and know how you have dealt with the deaths of your beloved pets. It helps to talk about them and how they bless us. My whole heart thanks you for being here. Gloria xox