Yesterday I Lost My Best Friend And The Bestest Boy

Our beloved Chewie (2012 - 2023) crossed the rainbow bridge yesterday morning, and I am gutted. Every dog owner thinks their dog is special, but I swear it was true with this beautiful soul. There was a brightness and joyfulness to him that I've never seen in another dog. He found so much joy in everything that he made me a better person. Every day was Christmas morning to him when we took our daily walk. A car ride to the store was a trip to Disney World. A winter fire was a trip to the Bahamas. He would literally scream with joy pulling into grammy and grampy's driveway, or when we pulled into the parking lot to meet our walking group. No one who witnessed this had ever seen a dog express excitement in this way before. At 11 years old he would still do a little tap dance of excitement when getting a run of the mill dog biscuit. When he got one of the special treats that we kept in our pantry, he would grab it and run like he had the winning lottery ticket. I work from home. Every morning, I say, "let's go to work" and he'd follow me downstairs where he'd spend the day. That office is going to feel so cold and lonely now.

He could have been a mauler if he chose to. He was 65 pounds of pure muscle with a jaw that would put Kong's guarantees to shame, but he was as gentle as a lamb. That's who he was. He loved everyone and everything. One of my biggest fears was him encountering a bobcat or bear in the woods because he would try to make friends. He did make friends with a skunk much to our mutual displeasure. He hated baths like every dog. Despite his size, he thought he was a lap dog. Almost every article that I've written here over the past 11 years has been done with him on my lap, laptop on chest, and me typing with tyrannosaurus arms. That was until he would flop his head around on my chest and demand some eye contact and head pats. I would take a break from writing, put down the laptop, and rub his chin until he was satisfied. The entire time he'd be staring into my eyes, and it felt like he was staring into my soul.

We're going through so much right now. Bitterness is near the top of the list. 11 years was not enough time with this sweet, sweet boy. The vet would always compliment him on his perfect canine physique during his annual physical, but his life was shorter than many couch potato dogs. The suddenness of this has snatched our breaths away. It was only four hours from him running up the stairs to go to bed with us, another big daily event for him, to him starting his death spiral, and we will never have a definitive answer on what was the cause. I have cried more in the past 24 hours than I have in the 24 years previous. But right now, the biggest feeling is utter pointlessness. Nothing feels like it matters right now because we can't share it with our ray of sunshine. I will need to take a break from Bantha Skull for a while. I don't know if that will be days, weeks, or months. Something tells me that it will be on the shorter side because we all need community at times like these.

My dad, like his son, was a dog person, but after his dog of 19 years passed away, he never got another despite how much joy it brought him. He said he couldn't take the heartbreak again, and suddenly I know exactly what he means. There's a famous dog quote that I can’t find right now, but I will do my best to paraphrase:

It's a tragedy that his life is so short, and mine is so long.

Rest in peace, Chewie. Mommy and Daddy love you so much. I hope that at some point I can appreciate the miracle that was these 11 years of utter unconditional love, but it's too raw right now. The world is a little worse today without his spark, but heaven is a little brighter.

Please hug your fur babies for us today, and cherish every moment these bundles of joy are in your life.

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