I was 16 when we got our Wheaten Terrier, Chewie. My brother and I named her. It was Chewbacca or Chachi, my parents found that they could live with Chewbacca, since they were able to call her Chewie for short. I imagine it was a little more dignified. For the first few months I pretended that I hated her. I was still upset over the loss of my mutt Mugzy the previous December. My Dad and Brother actually carried me out of the house kicking to get me to go to the breeder, where little butterscotch colored balls of fluff, flopped and romped around in the sweet the way only puppies can. My mother chose Chewie, because she went right up to her, untying her shoelace; a significant moment foreshadowing the years to come.
When they brought Chewie home, I wouldn’t go near her or allow her in my room, but her happy attitude and teddy bear-like appearance soon melted my heart. I had just walked in the house at curfew, and there was Chewie. The dim light over the sink bathed her in a yellow glow as she rested, limbs splayed, on her back. She lifted her head to look at me, seeming to be enjoying her own private joke, then flopping back and moving it from side to side. I am sure you had to be me at that moment to appreciate this, but that was the moment I fell in love with my little Chewie.
During my time with her, I caught her thoroughly enjoying herself with her head in my mug of hot cider and even rushed her to the doggie emergency room for ingesting a box of Sinutab she had managed to steal from my father’s desk. I called Poison Control for her eating Jerusalem Cherries, not once, but twice. She curled up on my bed at night, liked batting at me with her paws like a kitty, loved jumping into the dirtiest of mud puddles and even cracked pistachios for herself. One night saying our prayers at dinner, eyes closed, hands held, Chewie jumped up and placed one paw on my arm and another on my Father’s joining the family as we gave thanks.
She was the sweetest little pup and we are lucky to have known her. My family lost her yesterday and our hearts are broken. I know I will be taking the extra time to pet my Barney tonight and to remind myself of how much richer our furry little friends make our lives. If you have a special memory of a pet, I’d love it if you’d share it.
This has been a difficult week and my heart hasn’t been in the kitchen. I will have a special recipe to share with you next week.
Oh, that’s so sad to hear. ((hugs)) and hopes that the grief passes into the comforting memories as soon as possible.
So sorry for your loss Erin. I watched three cats come and live with us and then fade away. Possum adopted us and there are still photos of her with a doll’s bonnet on her head in my sister’s pushchair. Possum would sleep on a chair in my room and chase squirrels halfway up a tree before backing down slowly!! Goldilocks or Locksley had lived with an old lady and came to us as an old cat. He would fall asleep on the arms of the sofa before falling off – on the wrong side! But once on the carpet, he’d just sigh resignedly and fall asleep again. Our last cat was Manfred a rescue cat who I loved deeply and was a good friend. He would wait for me to come home before sleeping on my lap or stretching out on my chest.
I miss them all, so I understand how you miss Chewie. I love the thought of him with his face in hot cider!! Manfred was caught on a work surface with his face in a plate of chicken slices!!!
Thanks Rainey. If there is one thing I have from Chewie it is wonderful memories. She had such a funny little personality.
Griffin, I laughed out loud at the mention of a bonnet and stroller. I used to do the same thing to my mutt Mugzy, even entered her in a costume contest. We lost. I think they could read the irritation on Mugzy’s face.
Well you call him Mugzy and then give him a bonnet?!!! How’s he supposed to be a tough guy in that, eh?! Jeez, even Edward G Robinson never had the bonnet and stroller treatment… tho’ if it had been offered by Rita Hayworth he may very well have submitted!!
Possum wasn’t bothered, she was very tolerant and utterly charming.
Griffin, I guess I should have added a cigar to the costume. Mugzy had a way of curling her lips up to display her irritation that was utterly hilarious.
So sorry, Erin. Chewie seems to have been a sweet thing.
I do have a story. We once had a dog named Moe. My dad found him abandoned somewhere and he was a little goofy and “off” (which is why we called him Moe), but very lovable. One day he was gone. We had no idea what had happened to him. Months later I arrived home from school and he was in the backyard, jumping up on the fence, as if he was trying to get out. I was so excited! He was scratched and a bit roughed up in general. I recall crying (happy and worried about him…was he okay?) and bringing him in the house, trying to keep him still long enough to clean up his cuts with cotton balls and peroxide. I’m sure it was comical. We never found out where he’d been or how he got back into the yard. The secret lives of our pets…
When I was in the throes of teen angst and about to be uprooted to the Middle East during high school, my folks bought me a puppy I called Styx. Don’t ask.
Styx and I were inseparable, as you can imagine, until the real day came that my folks took her to Israel with them and I stayed behind. I don’t remember leaving the airport, I was so traumatized by having to drug my dog and know she was going to be thousands of miles from me.
A year or two later, I flew to Israel to spend the summer working on an ambulance in Jerusalem. Back then, the airport had a long walkway just outside the customs area where your loved ones stood along a barrier to catch a glimpse of you.
Knowing my folks had brought Styx to the airport to meet me, I let out a whistle, OUR whistle, to hail her through the crowd. At the top of the walkway was my father, crouched, waiting to release the hound. She heard my call, he let her go and she gravy-trained it down the concrete to me. She wiggled like a rattler the whole way. When she heard me call her name at my feet, she peed.
All over.
I was so flattered.
She spent that whole summer glued to my side. We got fleas together. We wrassled together. We talked for hours, as she was part shepherd and could jabber a blue streak…
Cherish your memories of Chewie as I do mine of Styx. Its what makes you able to love Barney, and me to love Ellie.
Denise, We are convinced our Barney has a secret life. He doesn’t escape, but whenever we come home he always seems a bit shifty. Thanks for sharing Moe with me.
Jen, I love that they don’t forget. Chewie was a pee-er too, she hit my brother’s friend every time he came to the house. She loved him. I am very thankful that Barney’s greeting, while boisterous, is much more sanitary. Styx sounds awesome, thanks for sharing your story Jen.
Knifethrower, that is an awesome story. Especially the part about the fleas. You rock.