I still remember the moment you met Grandma for the first time. It was right after Christmas, I had only had you for a few days, and we walked up to her door, knocked, and waited with you in my arms. She opened the door, took one look at you and blurted out: "Oh! Your eyes are so far apart!"
It's not the reaction every girl dreams of when her mom meets her baby for the first time, but I can't help but feel that that story epitomizes our life together: honest, a little odd, full of surprises, and nothing we couldn't overcome.
I was only 23 when I went to pick you up, still practically a kid myself, and I had no clue what I was doing. I couldn't keep plants or even goldfish alive - but I hoped it'd be different with you. I just wanted companionship - someone to hang out with after work, someone to go on walks with. But I had no idea that the night I brought you home, hoping you wouldn't pee on me in the car, that I'd just embarked on the biggest adventure of learning and love. For someone who insists on having everything in its time and place, you sure disrupted that. Between chewing my shoes and cabinets, escaping your pens when I was out, and peeing on the furniture when you were mad at me, I think we can both agree that you ran our household. But I do appreciate how you kept my chronic tardiness at a minimum every morning by barking when it took me too long to get ready and your morning treat was late. I could really use that timekeeping right about now.
I wasn't ready for how much more human than dog you were. When you were a puppy and I took you to the dog park you'd never pay any attention to the other dogs, but you'd go from human to human trying to solicit attention from whomever was willing to dote on you. As you got older I got smarter and realized you could get the same attention and I could be far more productive if we went to the mall instead. We both loved that. To this day I can't figure out how you learned to hunt Easter eggs or open presents and I'm so glad I have it on video
or nobody would believe me. I remember how shocked I was the first time you got up and walked to the bathroom when I told you I needed to take a shower. I guess these things are all proof of your best trait: you were always such a good listener, even when I didn't need (or want) you to be and even when you weren't giving me the famous Pug head tilt.
Our relationship was always full of give and take. Remember the time our power went out and you were chewing my pantyhose right in front of me because you knew I couldn't see? Turns out you were ahead of your time - nobody wears pantyhose anymore. There was the time you snuck my entire chocolate snowman lollipop while I was napping. And I'm still not over you destroying my Michael Kors smartwatch. Of course there were all those times you helped yourself to my plate whenever I left it too close to the edge of the coffee table. But then there was that time I tricked you and put plastic wrap over the spaghetti and conveniently put it within your reach while I made sure to capture my trickery on camera. You taught me that getting even was sometimes the better option - and way more fun. Ironically enough, no matter how much you begged for my food while I was eating it, the one time I tried to feed you sweet potato chips from my own lips you wouldn't take them.
You always knew what you wanted and you weren't afraid to ask for it - something I'm still trying to grasp. You fully expected to have your tummy rubbed by anyone in your presence and if they were unaware of their purpose you pawed at their hand or their foot, whichever was closer and available. Funny - this was everyone's favorite thing about you - sometimes they'd stop rubbing your tummy just so you'd remind them to continue. But how nice it must have been for you to have a room full of people wanting your attention and to rub your tummy. Tummy rubs were your very favorite thing - next to food. You could always tell when I was upset, crying and/or just needing some TLC, because you always came over with a sad, loving look in your eyes, and in a move I'm still trying to comprehend, asked me to rub your tummy every time. Was it because it made you feel bad to see me sad and you wanted to feel better? Or maybe that you thought since it made you feel good it made me feel good too? I guess I'll never know.
For a little dude you were certainly full of courage and mischief. Between not being able to open your jaw all the way, tearing ligaments in both knees, the time I paid $400 to find out you were constipated, getting stuck in the sticky paper mouse trap at Popo's house (grandma thinks you saw a mouse, but I still think you were being bad and got what you deserved), falling in the water fountain, and all the other random trips to the vet, you never wavered in your resolve to push forward and get to the next meal.
The thing I loved most about you was your heart. You loved with reckless abandon, with an open heart, without judgement, and you welcomed everyone into our home and our life with excitement and requests for tummy rubs. You trusted our friends, and our family, and I believe you trusted me to only bring you the very best people, whose limbs just happened to be ripe for tummy rubbing. You loved getting to go places and taking vacations, you loved the parties we threw, and you even loved staying at grandma's when I was away (something about human food and treats all day long I guess). I am so lucky that you loved car rides, loved your stroller (which made it easy to sneak you in and out of places like ice rinks and hotels where you shouldn't have been), and you just loved life. I imagine this feeling is a lot like the pride people feel for their kids - when you know you are over-the-moon lucky to have a really good one.
I'm thinking that right about now you are super stoked to have gotten out of the annual photo shoot for the now famous Chile Christmas Cards. Thirteen years running, we had quite a streak going - even though after the first year you figured me out and maliciously did whatever you could to make it difficult for me to get the perfect shot. You hated taking photos about as much as I loved taking them. We were a match made in heaven. I think you knew you were a Christmas dog. "Gotcha day" was December 23 and you were just like me in that you loved everything about this holiday: the tree, the presents, the parties, the decorations, the cheer, the food. It was the cutest thing when you'd lay under the Christmas tree as soon as it went up, taking your rightful place amongst the presents. This year I hung your stocking on my new mantle - the stocking someone gave you for your first birthday when I threw you that big party with 70 people and 10 dogs. Your very first Christmas card picture is still on the front of it and looking at it as I write this I can't believe the things I got away with putting you through. Maybe I deserved to have my food swiped and my shoes chewed after all. I don't think it was an accident that you left us on December 26. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you pushed through for one last Christmas with us, even though you were so sick. It's like you knew. You also knew you had to wait until I left you to make your run for the rainbow bridge because you knew I wouldn't ever let you go by yourself. You were always so much braver and more independent than I was...and I guess you knew that too.
I can't help but think you knew you needed to leave so that I could learn to walk by myself. Honestly, I think you're probably proud of me for how far I've come. I am. Although I must admit, I feel like grieving you has been stuck in my queue for the last two years because crazy things kept coming up, one after the other, distracting me. I realized recently that that Christmas wasn't just the last one with you, it was the last one with Grandpa and the last one in Popo's house. I hope you and Grandpa are getting along - I promise he isn't as scary as you thought he was, you just can't get away with stuff like you could with everyone else. Would you believe I have been stuck in this place for the last nine months all by myself in the middle of pandemic? My evil laugh comes out when I think about how much you'd have hated this. (Remember when I started working from home full time and you made me go out and get two part-time jobs?) But after all the cooking (don't laugh), the walks up the hill and the scarf knitting, I've had a lot of time to myself to think, and it being Christmastime again, my thoughts wander to you a lot. The last two years have been a big mixture of beginnings and endings, opens and closes, doors and windows. Maybe that's what this letter is for. Two years later I finally have the chance to slow down and reflect, mourn and rejoice, grieve and celebrate...you...and all the things I wasn't expecting to learn from a loving, defiant, walking ball of shedding fur with a pig's tail and eyes too far apart.
Love you forever,
Mommy
"Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole." -Roger Caras