Saying Goodbye

A Dog's Life

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 ~ Chaps, our dear dog, died yesterday.

So keen is our grief that it is hard to describe, and almost unbearably sad to write. A good friend and fellow entrepreneur, in speaking of the passing of a loved one, has always prayed: "May his memory be eternal." Those are wise and heartfelt words, and there is no doubt his memory will be such in the recall of my family and all who knew him. And also in my mind, and in my heart.

Chaps had great character. Unfailingly friendly, he barked little, but would always respond to the question: "Do you love me?" with a woofy yes. He was the Big Dog, the Hound "El Grande", and engendered his own superlatives: he was houndelicious and hounderrific (a hound terrific). When he was happy, he showed it not just by smiling and wagging his tail, but also by sneezing. And sneezing. he's the only dog I've ever known who sneezed when he was happy.

Chaps was born on Saint Valentine's Day, 2001. We first saw him as a puppy, carried on stage at the Humane Society's annual charity auction fundraiser, Tuxes and Tails. Along with a half dozen of his brothers and sisters, he was presented by impossibly buff, shirtless firefighters to a full room of adoring animal lovers. (The opportunity to be a celebrity judge for the annual firefighters calendar was another popular auction item that evening.) We were told he was a Rottweiler and Shepherd mix, but the shape of his head always suggested he had some Labrador in him too, and his curiously spotted tongue was much like that of a Chow.

He was a remarkably gentle and loving dog. Sometimes strangers, obviously unfamiliar with dogs, would see his Rottweiler coloring and, quite simply, panic. One woman, shrieking the whole time, even tried to climb a tree. Chaps, tail wagging, looked at her, and back at us, perplexed. All he ever wanted was to make friends.

He made friends with all of our cats, even though at his first encounter with Otis, the cat was not so sure. Otis didn't climb a tree, however, and soon accepted the little guy. Every cat since has followed the same pattern, as have some number of people: wary at first, but quickly won over by his winsome personality.

Chaps loved his toys. One of the first was an old blond doll named Cheryl, plucked from a box of stuff to give away, which he greatly enjoyed thrashing this way and that in the yard, tossing it in the air as he tore around the lawn.

We bought him his own doll when he wore out the first one, but he soon developed a penchant for Teletubbies. He especially liked the ones that would talk when you squeezed their bellies, which he would joyfully do. Every Christmas he got a new one, and he worked his way through La-la, Tinky Winky, Po and Dipsy. He knew their names. We'd ask him, "Chaps! Where's La-la?" and he would become very alert, get up and run off, only returning when he found it. He knew their names and could tell them apart.

As with many dogs, he loved a good stick, too, and would retrieve them from the woods in our yard and leave them scattered about the porch. Fetch? Sure, but he loved to chase them and get them a whole lot more than he liked giving them up. Reluctantly, he would share with his good friend Jag.

Size never mattered. Sticks of all sizes were fine, but especially larger ones.

Balls were great too, and he had many happy hours going after the squeaky ball my wife would throw him. When he got tired, he'd lay down on the grass and make it squeak and squeak.

Walking down to the park to play was one of his greatest joys.

Even snowballs were worth pursuing, and having a good bite of snow, or just laying back and rolling around were moments of unselfconscious happiness.

Chaps always loved to be involved in any family celebrations, and was unfailing patient with the typical indignities of birthdays.

His own birthdays were always celebrated, and he always got a present and some kind of special treat, even his very own birthday cake.

Christmas? Just like Santa, he brought sure delight every time.

There was always a present for him too, which he always helped unwrap.

He loved a scratch around the ears; what dog doesn't? He also loved his back scratched, and the top of his nose. Most of all, he loved a good chest rub, and would strain his head skyward for as long as you would massage his big barrel of a chest.

Chaps was a fantastic family dog. No matter the event, he was sure to get in on the action, and be part of every festivity.

He didn't bark much, but it sounded ferocious when he did. No burglar got past the bark to find out there was no bite. Get the family singing or carrying on, however, and he'd bark right along with the rest of us.

From the time he was a puppy he had a special affection for my wife, who took him on long walks every day and made sure he got a regular bath and a nail clipping. His nails grew rather fast, and before long we could again hear him coming, clack clack clack, at his affable sauntering pace down the hall.

When the deer got into the rose bushes, she would call him and say: "Who's out there? Who? Go get 'em!" and he would be out the door like a torpedo, scattering the foolish herd.

His greatest love was being outdoors. Mention a walk, and he would be up, excited, and ready to go. Weather didn't matter. Nothing else mattered.

Soon he even learned to spell, as saying "W-A-L-K" would tip him off that an outing was afoot. He was a great walker, and he and I had any number of pleasant outings ourselves.

Over the years, however, his range got smaller. After a long walk he might be limping a bit. He started to have trouble going up Rattlesnake Ledge and other hikes in the mountains that he once enjoyed. The vet thought he might be getting a touch of arthritis, so the walks got shorter, and the terrain more gentle. He panted more.

Still, he lived for his walks, to sniff everything (he was a great sniffer), to greet everyone, to feel the wind in his fur, and to ensure that no rabbits remained unchased or squirrels without a good barking-to.

His other best friend was my oldest granddaughter. He has been a constant companion in her life, and the two walked and played together from the time she could lift up her head.

"Chaps is my dog" she always said.

And he was.

She read him stories. She dressed him in tutus. She insisted Ken and Barbie ride on his back. She scolded him when he didn't play her games properly, and called him back if ever he tried to wander off.

Chaps always appeared in the kitchen if he heard the microwave going, just in case someone was making popcorn, his favorite snack.

We would sit and watch a movie, eating popcorn. One for me, one for you, one lofted towards Chaps, who usually caught it out of the air before it hit the ground. He was ready for the next one before he had swallowed the first.

"Chaps is my best friend." If ever there were two in love...

She would gave him a dog cookie, holding it up (as she had learned from us) and saying "Who's the best dog?" at which he would bark in the affirmative and scarf it down.

If you asked him a question, he would tilt his head sideways as if to say: "What? Really? I'm all ears." He had the softest ears that never changed from when he was a puppy. They were like the finest velvet.

In his last days, Chaps would sit on the deck, or out on the grass in front, head tilted slightly back as if straining to catch an elusive scent. Smelling the flowers? On guard for other dogs walking his way? Just relishing life? Probably all of these.

His decline was sudden and shockingly rapid.

Five days ago he went for his usual walk. Returning home after being out for dinner, we let him outside, and he couldn't get back up the stairs. The next day he couldn't take the stairs at all, and needed to be carried. The next day he couldn't walk, and couldn't get up, or lie down without yelping in great pain.

The first vet thought he had torn his ACL, but the second gave us the grim truth: bone cancer. All through his hips. Chaps was never a complainer, and carried on living his life how he wanted, doing what made life a joy for him, and brought joy to those around him. Only when the pain got to be too much did he reluctantly let us know he could go no further.

I was with him to the end, stroking his head and his impossibly soft ears, and telling him what all who knew him already knew:

"You're the best dog."

Chaps
2/14/01 - 6/30/12
RIP