The Last Chewy Report: July 24 2008

It was still cool enough for a jacket this morning when Maggie and I headed toward the vineyard in silence. I carried a shovel in one hand and a small Bible in the other. Maggie, of course, had Softie in hand. We didn’t look at the small box draped in a God Bless America blanket sitting on Grandma’s front porch. We knew what we had to do and we had already begun saying good-bye late into the night as we vacillated between sweet remembrance and questioning, “why God, why.”

I know for sure that had we been told in December that the tawny brown little Puggle from North Wilksboro would only be with us for six months we would have loved her with no less depth and whole heartedness. Despite her local origins, for some reason we quickly abandoned her dignified name – Charlotte- for the nickname Chewy and gave her the persona of a recent Mexican immigrant. During regular “Chewy Reports” just before bed, she would recount the highs and lows of her day. The report would always be laced with references to her “mother land” and the abundance of tacos she enjoyed as a very small child before being torn away by smugglers and brought to America.

While like us all, Chewy carried fond images in her heart of another time and place, she was also very aware of how good she had it here on the farm. Her days were a dog’s dream. She played just as rough as she wanted with her older, benevolent brother Hudson the Shepherd mix. Her original intent on doing harm to her sister Sally the white, long-haired cat, quickly changed to a playful camaraderie and a fondness of including tales of “biting kitty cat butt” in her evening reports. Her other brother Meshak the Siamese mix regarded her with curious caution but she never went a day without showing him the same playful love and affection she showed the others. She slept each night in a comfortable bed, often at the feet of her most beloved “Madre” Maggie. She enjoyed high quality canned food and hand outs directly from each plate we ate from yet reserved her dog’s right to eat whatever gross thing she encountered around the farm. She spent many mornings playing in the vineyard while her “Grande, Grande Madre” Ruth worked and afternoons in her Grande Madre Carla’s office chair.

So often the lives and especially deaths of our most beloved pets reflect back to us as humans how to live. I want to live like Chewy. I want to run and kid around and be mischievous, act silly with wild abandon wearing myself out each day sucking the marrow out of life, and maybe even a succulent bone here and there. I want to curl up each night and appreciate the ones I love and those who love me and all the comforts that surround me. And maybe we would all be served well by a touch of the immigrants mind set: long for home, but enjoy each day right where you are.

The last Chewy report is short and sweet:
“I awoke with my Madre Maggie. I went outside to do my business, greet my brother Hudson and enjoy my breakfast. I ran and played all day without restrictions. I watched “Grande Madre” Ruth care for the vineyard. I went for a walk with my “Grande Madre” Carla. I hung out in the afternoon with my loving “Madre” Maggie and watched Sponge Bob. Then in the evening I went home to be with my maker and all my relations that have gone before me. It was a good day.”

Charlotte
Most loved dog
May you always run free
September 27, 2007 - July 24, 2008