We knew we were on borrowed time. There’s an unwritten agreement when you take a dog into your home, someday they will break your heart. If you’re lucky, like we were, you’ll get almost 14 years of joy as part of the deal.
Chipper was two when we adopted him. I was clicking around Petfinder, just dipping my toe into the idea of telling Mike we needed another dog to keep our dog, Chase, company. Three standard poodles named “Larry, Curly, and Moe” appeared in my search. They were rescues from an animal hoarding situation in Wisconsin. Within a few days, Larry and Curly were adopted, but Moe kept showing up in the listings. “He is good with other dogs but shy around people,” the description said. “He wants to trust, but he’s still learning.”
I stopped by a pet adoption event to see him. A few minutes later, I was loading him into the back of our truck and driving home. I’d like to say I walked in the door and everything turned out great. It didn’t.
Mike wasn’t thrilled with the surprise dog adoption, plus Moe growled at him when he tried to pet him. He wasn’t potty trained and soaked all the carpeted stairs as I hustled him back outside to the grass. The cats hid. Chase barked and wouldn’t let him anywhere near him. He was too skinny, had ear mites, and got away from me in the garage the first night, staying just out of reach for what felt like hours before I was able to grab his leash and get him back in the house.
It took some time for things to get better. We changed his name to Chipper — it sounded more cheerful. He was timid inside the house, always looking for an escape route. He would only let Mike pet him if he’d sit quietly on the lowest stair of our living room—no sudden movements or noise.
Outside, he was a completely different dog: romping through grassy fields off leash, running circles around Chase at high speeds, plunging his face into the fresh snowbanks, and rolling around until his fur was coated in icy balls we’d have to shower off in the bathtub. He barked with joy during car rides, head out the window, sniffing in all the smells, ears flopping in the wind.
We wondered what happened to him to make him act the way he did. We imagined plenty of scenarios, but there was no way to ever truly know, and maybe it was better that way. We learned to accept that he would always have his quirks, but we loved him. After several years, he would finally come over for head scratches from Mike without looking like he was ready to bolt at any moment.
I called him my brown shadow. He followed me around for the almost 14 years we had him, waiting by the front door, listening for my car, and barking his head off when I pulled into the driveway. The joy was tangible when I walked into the house. He insisted I scratch his head while I drank my morning coffee, ducking his head under my hand if I stopped petting him. If I got up in the night, he’d come downstairs to keep me company. When I worked on the computer, he’d stretch out nearby, dozing by my desk. The moment I left the room, he’d wake up and I’d hear the tip-tap of his paws, following me to see where I went next.
Age creeps up on all of us, and this year, it caught up with him. His back legs grew weak, stairs were hard to climb, he lost most of his hearing and he napped more on the dog bed in the living room. He developed a spleen tumor. We took him for short walks to sniff trees and rocks. Sometimes I could sneak in the house after work without him hearing me, but he’d still bark like a gleeful maniac when he noticed I was home.
We had to say goodbye a few weeks ago, on a sunny morning, on a blanket in the warm grass. We were grateful to let him go gently. There are never enough years in a dog’s life.
Chipper (16) & Cesar (5) – June 2022