The Day the Music Died

Dear Chubbs,

This is truly my equivalent of the day the music died. Of the three letters I have written on this blog, there is no doubt this will be the hardest. You have always been my eternal puppy, the dog who never aged, who was never sad or disagreeable, who was there for me through every bad day and heartbreak. I never thought this day would come. Everyone in my life has been chanting "10 more years" since you were 10. You had a fan club bigger than most people I know. I don't know how I can see the world the same without you in it.

You found me. You crawled under my boyfriend's car and woke me on my day off, crying in the driveway. You were six weeks old and covered in fleas. I didn't plan to keep you. My soulmate Muggsy hated you. But once I knew you, it was impossible to think of life without you. You were always smiling, always making me laugh. I still giggle to think of you running as fast as you can to get to your food bowl and slamming into the wall as a puppy. I smile thinking of the way you always nodded at me while panting as if to say "sup?" I laugh thinking of the way you tormented our other dogs, stealing toys and then tricking them until you somehow had all the toys stockpiled in your crate. You even tormented Robby, getting into the trash only when he was home, pulling out Fenway's blanket only when he could be there to be irritated, licking his spot on the bed when you would never lick mine. Your sense of humor was infectious. I was never laughing at you, as with Bammie and Duncan; I was laughing with you. You were always laughing.

Because of you, I was recognized walking down the street, in grocery stores, and in restaurants in one of the biggest cities in America. "Are you Chubbs' mom? My son loves your dog." You touched so many lives. You were so gentle and intelligent. You let children read to you. You comforted sick children and senior citizen. My absolute favorite memory of your therapy work came on the first time you ever tried it. We went with that dog who could do 100 tricks. I can't remember his name. While he performed for all the laughing children, you found the kid who couldn't open up to anyone and wouldn't talk, and you put your head on his lap and sat there the whole visit. By the end, he was talking to you quietly, even smiling. You knew just what to do. No one taught you. It was absolutely beautiful. We saw that boy years later. He was so outgoing and friendly. I wonder how much of that had to do with you and your compassion. I admired your gift every time I watched you. You knew just how to comfort someone.

You knew just how to comfort me. We've never been cuddlers, you and me, but when I'm sad, you lie next to me on the bed with one paw on my arm, just to let me know you are there. When Muggsy died, and I was living alone, you would lie next to me every night, watching me until I fell asleep. I know how much you loved your sleep. That must have been quite a sacrifice. But I never felt alone. I always felt safe and comforted. You were there with me through two heartbreaks and the loss of Fenny as well. Bad grad school days became instantly better just walking through the door to your great wagging tail, the tail that was always wagging, everywhere you went. When it came time, you picked up my adventurous spirit, powering through numerous road trips. You turned your nose up at the painted desert, you pulled me out to the edge at the Grand Canyon, you powered through hikes at Zion and Sedona, you peed all over Bryce Canyon because their fences were too tall, you played in the snow in Vail and you sat by the ocean in LA. You made my life better. Every single minute that you were in it.

You were the face of my business. In addition to comforting children, you comforted other dogs. You were my demo dog, my perfect example of how I wanted dogs to behave. You helped me train so many reactive dogs that I can't even count them. Muggsy was in my logo, but you were definitely the dog who kept my business going. I have clients who still talk to me just because I was smart enough to have a dog as wonderful as you.

I love you, Chubbs. I recognize how inadequate this letter is compared to all the people that you touched and all that you did for me, but it's all I have left to do. I will think of you every day. I will carry you with me on road trips and I will hold you close to my heart when I am sad. I have walls and walls of pictures of all the joyous memories you brought me. You were strong and stubborn and amazing, and not a day will go by without me thinking about you and the special, unbreakable bond that we shared. You were a once in a lifetime dog. I feel so extremely grateful that we had 13 years together. You beat cancer. You beat two autoimmune disorders, one that was minutes from killing you. But you finally just couldn't survive all the pain. But you will be with me forever and ever.

I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is when you're in the world.

The world will miss you, baby. And most of all, I will miss my puppy face, the most handsome dog the world has ever seen.

Love, Mama