The game plan for today did not include digging a hole for a beloved pet.
It might be cliché to call him a best friend or a family member, but Chewy was very much a part of our family unit.
He was totally easy-going and had a bark for every kind of scenario. We always knew if someone was walking by, delivering mail, on the property, or even if the neighbor had a car in their driveway that he didn’t recognize.
Chewy was good like that.
He was also massively patient. Time and time again, he would be lured onto the couch by a young gal and was adorned with pretty bows and necklaces.
Understandably, the kids took it really hard. Not only was this their first experience with death, but he’s been around since before they were born. To them he was as permanent a fixture as their parents.
How will I be able to get up and stop looking under my chair or over my bedside? Chewy was my shadow. He was always by my side or under my feet. He sat with me when I was sick and slept on my feet when we were camping and it was cold.
Tonight I walked Kiko on a single leash. A single leash. I can’t remember the last time we used a single leash. For the last decade, it was only the double leash. Where one went, so went the other. I even have memories of pushing a double stroller with an infant, a toddler, and that double leash as they walked along with us.
The love we have for this guy is real. My heart aches like it’s been ripped wide open. It was so sudden, so unexpected. So raw. Our little family won’t be the same without him.
Tonight, I was suppose to start carrying weights on my nightly walks. But it turns out the world is heavy enough today.