When you adopt an almost ten year old dog, you are faced with the inevitability that the end isn’t ever that far away. My wife and I knew that going into this. “Old dogs need love too” became a bit of an early theme. “We’ll enjoy what time we have” was another rallying cry. When things took a recent turn for the worse, we went back to those to help give us comfort. Truth is, no matter how difficult these past days have been, neither of us would trade anything for the time we had together with our Chewy.

Chewy, aka Chewbacca, aka Chewbert, aka El Cheberto, aka Uniboob McFluffypants (due to his pronounced basset hound chest and the fact that I believe all dogs should have the last name McFluffypants) was our dog for thirty one spectacular months. His past is an unknown for us. We think he’s part shih tzu (face, hair) and part basset hound (body, bark, temperament). His face looks like that of a muppet with impossibly large eyes and teeth that don’t point in any consistent direction.  He’s a mutt in all of the best connotations of that term.  He was, without any doubt, the best dog to have ever lived.

You already know how this story ends, but all good stories have a beginning, a middle, a plot twist and then an end, and should be told in that order. So here goes.  This is the story of Chewy, at least the part he lived with us. A life lived with unrestrained and boundless happiness and love.

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