When Chewy first came into our life, I was not charmed by his puppy ways to say the least! He barked and whined most of that summer night, after my step-daughter dropped him off in our backyard. He wanted inside with us and I wanted him and his yowling gone.
Chewy was a mix of breeds, all of them big! Black Lab, German Shepherd, and likely Husky, but I was convinced he was part wolf that first night.
After that rocky introduction, Chewy settled into our routines, with his new best friend, Ollie, our other canine boarder. Ollie was the antithesis of Chewy in nature. Gentle, quiet, shy, he seemed to spread peace in his wake as he passed through a room. Chewy was still a growing puppy, but being laid-back and mellow wasn't a part of his DNA.
Chewy not only weathered the storm of my distress at having a second dog taking up residence with us, he won my heart. I guess it was the perpetual, mischievous grin he seemed to wear and his good natured play. I enjoyed watching him tear around the yard chasing Ollie, in some crazy game they devised, in their unique understanding of having fun. They'd weave in and out of of trees, up and down the deck and end in a friendly tussle on the soft grass.
We were a happy, blended family and our two furry sons gave life a new dimension to enjoy and experience. But as in all of life, no matter how we struggle to ignore it, there is a beginning and there is an end.
Chewy was a creature with an adventurous spirit. He loved nothing better than exploring the world around him. He was constantly digging under our heavy fencing, likely with Ollie's total cooperation. As the pack leader, Chewy would pick the 'where and when' of their next adventure into the unknown woods and fields surrounding us. This plotting didn't take into consideration the busy road a quarter-mile away.
I found Ollie sitting by the garage when I returned home on yet another summer day, but Chewy was no where in sight. I put Ollie in the house and began searching by foot, calling Chewy's name, knowing in my heart he wasn't going to be found this close to home. Getting into my car I began driving and dreading what I knew I'd find.
He was lying, stretched out along the side of that busy road. I don't remember pulling over, but in the next minute I was kneeling beside Chewy. His lively golden eyes, already dulled in death, didn't light up with that love-connection our dog companions have for us. He couldn't hear the distress in my voice as I stroked his sleek head whispering, "No. Chewy, no!" I don't know how long I mourned over his still body, but gradually, I realized I was no longer alone.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. For some reason, I didn't flinch. I wasn't afraid when the stranger placed a strong hand under my elbow and helped me to my feet. I looked up into his face, blurred through my tears. He was very tall, dressed in faded jeans and a T shirt.
He gave me a knowing smile as I stood, almost transfixed in my shock and sadness. "He's gone, but he didn't suffer," were his first words.
"I want to take him home, but I can't leave him here alone." I felt compelled to share with this stranger. I began sobbing at the thought of leaving Chewy exposed to the living, as death claimed his own hunger for life.
The tall man took me into his arms and I pressed my face into his chest and cried. When I pulled away, I saw that same gentle smile and he said, "I'll stay with him until you get back with a blanket, so we can wrap him and put him in your car." Nodding and looking down at Chewy, I returned to my jeep and began to pull back onto the street. I glanced over at the man. He stood with his hands crossed in front of himself like a soldier standing watch.
When I returned ten minutes later, the stranger was in the same position. He took the old blanket from me, carefully spread it and rolled Chewy's limp body onto it. After securing it around him, Chewy was placed inside my car and the hatch closed with a finality. I was standing beside the man. This time my tears slid silently down my face. The wailing was a ceremony and now it was over.
I moved around to the front of my vehicle after thanking the stranger for all of his help and "especially for the hug." I got behind the wheel, ready to drive Chewy home for the last time.
When I left earlier to retrieve a blanket from the house, I noticed the old pick-up truck the stranger parked behind me. I never heard it pull over in the fog of my shock. I vaguely remembered the man telling me he stopped when he saw me kneeling beside my dog. How did he know I didn't just hit someone else's dog?
Before I pulled onto the road, I glanced back again. The truck was gone. I didn't hear his truck driving over the lose gravel where we were parked. I hadn't see him pull out onto the street, driving off in either direction.
Driving that ten minutes home, my Jeep felt like a hearse, with my beautiful Chewy in back. Suddenly, my maudlin thoughts resolved themselves into a stillness like the face of a quiet pond. I felt an unexpected calmness enter me and I embraced a new memory.
I will always cherish the time Chewy shared his zest for life with us and miss his grin and knowing golden eyes. I will also always be grateful to the stranger who held me in a calming, loving embrace. I will always remember Chewy's Angel.
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