A Great Loss
Back in May I lost my dog rather suddenly one night and it was gut wrenching. At the same time, I’m not sure I would have wanted it to happen another way than suddenly and quickly at home like it did.
My ex and I got him back in February of 2013. Chewy was about a year old and was the biggest asshole at the humane society. We had gone for another dog, but that didn’t work out, and in the end he won our hearts with his cute little face. Rewind one second to arriving at the facility, a dog had rudely knocked me over in the play area because he was chase-playing with another dog and it turns out that was Chewy. It was fate, or something.
The minute he came home, he pissed on the indoor potted plants and the back of the couch despite us being assured he was house trained. This was his house now. His original name was Canada Jack, but that had to go because who could yell “Canada Jack” out the door - too many syllables. Chewy was decided on as he was also immediately destroying everything in sight with his semi-puppy teeth.
He eventually leveled off, as dogs do once they feel home, and it was honestly really easy for the next ten years or so. He was house trained, walked on a leash pretty well, and eventually stopped barking thanks to some more attention from my ex at the time. He was a good boy who was sweet and dumb and goofy. He loved to be inside, hated to be alone, and did not go swimming but always wanted to be on the boat. He loved his cat brothers, and would always break up their fights. He was a hiking dog, but not too long of a hike, and a camping dog as long as it wasn’t too warm. He loved the car for a while, but eventually hated it towards the end. He lived in five different states and had a full adventurous life. He saw the mountains, the Pacific, various National Parks, the Great Lakes, and all of the seasons.
I have so many Chewy stories. I have so many years of taking him on hikes and walks and car rides. So many memories. So many moments of life that have him in it. Towards the end, I got him a wonderful dog sitter because he just hated road trips anymore. She would sit with his lazy bones and he’d be content. He really slowed down in the past year, and I think it was more obvious to everyone else that he was nearing the end than it was to me. I noticed that we could barely go a half mile before he was tired. I noticed he couldn’t jump up on the couch or my bed the same way anymore. I noticed he hated the car and started sleeping more than he was awake. I noticed, but I didn’t want to believe it. Well, part of me didn’t want to believe it.
The selfish side of me was waiting for the day I’d be independent of a pet needing care or a sitter. This side of me wanted to travel freely or be able to go somewhere overnight without worry. This side of me didn’t want him to pass away, but didn’t want the responsibility anymore. I feel bad even writing this, being so honest about this tiny part of my brain. I surely didn’t want him to go, and when it happened I am glad it happened so quickly but I wasn’t actually ready to say goodbye at all.
It was a normal night of going outside and getting ready for bed, until it wasn’t. I still look at the spot where I hugged him goodbye and I lose it just a little. It’s like it isn’t real. I still wait for the click-clack of his paws coming around the corner to see what I’m doing. I still wait for him to look over at me that he has to go out. I still say “be good, I love you” when I leave but it’s to nobody but a memory and out of habit now.
I didn’t realize how much I talked to my dog until he wasn’t here. I had no idea the stuff I’d say to him or how much I needed a struggle-snuggle or just the reassurance that I wasn’t alone in this world until he was gone. I also didn’t realize how spoiled he was until I put all of his stuff in the garage so I didn’t have to stare blankly at it in the living room. He had a good life. He was the best boy. I wasn’t always the best dog dad, but I think it all went as well as it could have. I’m glad things worked out the way they did, and I had him for his last years. I’m glad he spent a few months in Texas with my ex while I transitioned from Washington to Oregon. I’m glad I have the best friend who, when I was absolutely in shock and unable to decide what to do, just made all the arrangements for me at the end. I’ll never forget that final little car ride. I used to work at a vet clinic and handled this all the time, but it’s so different when it is your own.
Now that I’m clearing out the house and moving up to Minnesota, I’m wondering if he knew it was just time to go? Do dogs know that? I don’t know. It’s wild and weird and a little sad, but mostly good, that this is all happening this way. I’m grateful for the memories. I’m good on having a dog for a while. I know I would joke about the end, but it was to shield myself from these feelings that came through anyway. I wish I hadn’t joked as much, because I think it hurts just as much regardless. I will always love my Chewy-booey chalupa toasty marshmallow boy.
