Chaco
This summer, my dog died. I was looking for a way to say that eloquently, but why sugar-coat death? The following is a revised journal entry I wrote as an attempt to summarize the impact he had in his short 4 years. His story. If you aren’t a person who has ever loved an animal, this may seem like a disproportionate display of attachment for a creature that never even spoke the same language as me; that’s okay. This is for anyone who has ever felt the love of their own “man’s best friend” - and especially, for anyone who ever loved Chaco.
Chaco was born July 25, 2017. We met him October 1 of that year.
On this chilly Sunday, we went to meet a breeder in Middle Tennessee who had Australian Shepherds. It was just a visit to see what the temperament of Aussies was like; we’d never had one, but one of my best friends in high school did and had the best things to say. We were not supposed to go home with one that day.
Chaco always had a way of bringing the unexpected.
There were only a handful of dogs left in Chaco’s litter. The smallest was actually the one we had our eye on beforehand, to the point where we even had a name picked for her: Reese. Then there was another they called Daphne; so sweet and energetic, she took to us immediately. She even brought us a dead frog as a gift.
But then there was Chaco. Fluffy & white, perfectly midsized. He rolled in poop within the first 15 minutes of us being there and had to go be cleaned, so we actually spent the least amount of time with him - but there was just something about him. He’d trot right up to you and roll onto his back for you to rub his stomach. He didn’t play fight like the older two and wasn’t skittish like little Reese; he’d just lie right there next to you. And his eyes - those became my favorite eyes in the world. Clear and blue when we met him, they turned into a kind of honey green hazel over time, with a fleck of blue remaining in one - similar to the hazel fleck in one of mine.
Those eyes could communicate so much. I truly think he was reaching the soul the way he’d look at you a lot of times, unblinking and searching for understanding.
We went home with him that day. He rode next to Sean the whole ride. We had to stop by the store on the way home to get things like a crate and collar and leash because we had none.
His original name from the breeder was Dante, which in hindsight we all agree would have been very appropriate for him, mischievous as he was. Since my dad claims not to like dogs, we brainstormed potential puppy names and planned to let him have the deciding vote as a sort of peace offering. Among them: Oakley, Denali, Finley, Lothar & Chaco - after Nana’s favorite horse.
Chaco.
The next week we were taking a college road trip for my fall break; naturally, Chaco went with us. In the car, I think he rode everywhere except in his crate - on top of the crate, in my lap, sleeping around the gear shift, perched on Mama’s shoulders. The little trooper honestly loved it; and everywhere we went, people loved him. “He’s so soft!” they’d unfailingly exclaim once touching him. He really was so soft. He was so friendly back then, too. And he always had unbelievable stamina - those little puppy legs walked 11 miles one day in Pittsburgh. By the end of the week, he was too big to fit around the gear shift on the ride back home.
He made every day so exciting. I would get ready earlier to just sit with him in the mornings before school. I was anxious to get through classes and be home to play with him. We’d tote him to soccer games and people would fawn over him as he watched so intently. He and Nellie were cut from the same cloth that way.
He also alleviated a lot of depression for me. He had this effect throughout his lifetime, but in this first season it manifested in being my escape from the search for colleges. He unknowingly provided a welcome distraction simply by being such an utter force of happiness.
We were a little concerned as to whether Nellie would adjust to him at first. At 9 years old, she was perfectly set in her ways and for those initial couple of weeks, she really wanted nothing to do with him. Slowly, she began to accept that he wasn’t a temporary fixture. He rather quickly surpassed her size, and they would fight like brother and sister - his tactic often just being to step on her. They would zoom in circles through the house - her always chasing him - while he’d dodge and change directions. He was already learning a lot from her.
He grew quicker than any of us was willing to accept. He rode on the driver’s shoulders or lap way longer than he should have, and when we finally booted him to passenger, he’d sit right next to you - or on the console - pawing at you incessantly unless your hand was on him. He loved sticking his head out the window; a convertible was his dream car.
He considered himself a lap dog his entire life, sitting on you at 60 lbs. and blocking any view you wished to have that wasn’t completely of him.
One major benefit of growth: being able to reach counters. He quickly took advantage of this, stealing anything within his reach from pasta to pizza. We had to take off the oven nozzles so he didn’t accidentally catch anything on fire trying to see what was on the stove. Daddy called Nellie and him the “captive audience” - their eyes fixated on your meal as they sat with noses a foot in front of your plate. He practically had a seat at the table on Thanksgiving. My favorite was when he’d rest his chin on you as close to the food as he could get, staring at it and occasionally glancing at you as if to help you understand the message.
His favorite foods: pizza, chips, turkey, bacon, chicken and Chewie. He would come running at the mention of any of these. He would take pizza crust and hide it in various locations in the house, typically behind couch cushions or bed pillows. He also had the occasional penchant for ice cream; clearly, he belonged in the family.
He became obsessed with the soccer ball. I’m not sure when we introduced it to him, but it became his idol - a true cornerstone of his personality. It started with us kicking it around for him and Nellie, but this turned into throwing for two reasons:
He would crouch like a Lion, a foot in front of the ball.
He would chew up the ball to the point where the bladder would pop, subsequently flattening and ripping a huge hole into it - which honestly was more conducive to throwing anyway.
Anytime we stepped foot outside, he would bee line it for the ball. If we were inside and he was out, he’d stare at you from the glass door until you came out to throw it. If the door was open, he’d bring it to your feet in the house. It got to the point where he learned how to let himself out. He would grab the ball before he’d even pee. The ball was perpetually at the forefront of his mind.
Our first Christmas together, I got this beautiful painted Bible. After transferring my gifts to my room, I was hanging out downstairs and realized Chaco was missing. I found him on my bed chewing up said Bible. The first chunk of pages torn out, it stopped at the first page of Genesis.
He was a shadow similar to Nellie, but an easily distracted version. He would trot next to me or Mama from room to room, lay outside the bathroom door, and follow me upstairs, but if he heard the fridge open or he remembered that the outdoors merely existed, he would quickly redirect. He always came back, though. I’d be sitting in bed and see him peek around the corner with those mischievous eyes.
Leaving him and Nellie was by far the hardest part of college. I felt so guilty. Not only was I losing the constant presence of my sidekicks, but they didn’t understand where I was going like everyone else did. Whatever unspoken language existed between us didn’t have a translation for “college” and all it meant for our relationship.
I came home from Belmont for the first time after only a couple weeks for Daddy’s birthday. Chaco squealed like a little pig, jumping and running around as Nellie would patiently wag her tail with her ears down in deference until the odds of her being trampled by Chaco were down to 50% and would then gently trot over to me. This became our routine and my favorite part of going home. Chaco would howl and whine and zoom about with Nellie in the background, always patiently awaiting her turn.
Chaco hardly knew any tricks other than “sit,” but far and away my favorite was “kiss.” This was our thing. Anytime we’d see each other, I’d say “Chaco, kiss,” and he’d pop his nose up right onto my lips. Sometimes it would even be mid-jump; he was ambitious like that.
Chaco loved his pool - his “Swimmie Swimmie.” His first summer, we got him a plastic kiddie pool since he insisted on spending the majority of his days in the sweltering heat; we filled up the pool for him and he’d plop down in it with his soccer ball every few tosses. He also knew to use it to “wash his feet” if they got muddy. We’d refill the pool every few days, and that alone seemed like the event of the century for both him and Nellie. They’d bark and nip at the water, Chaco leaping back and forth over the pool as if he were Tigger and could catch the stream midair.
He hated fireworks. His first 4th of July, we thought we’d lost him because we couldn’t find him anywhere; he’d hidden himself underneath the back deck. He was never cut out to be a guard dog; rather, he was more of an emotional support buddy who would hide from the robber with you.
He was never really a barker like Nellie was. He would throw in a few good barks at visitors or if we went too long ignoring him and his ball, but other than that it wasn’t his thing. He was noisy nonetheless; he would whine and squeal constantly, to the point where it almost felt like having a conversation. I could tell he felt like he was speaking as close to our language as he could. Honestly, given more time he might’ve figured out some words.
I loved waking up with his snout in my face. Nose no more than 3 inches away, eyes fixated on mine. In Nashville it worked particularly well because my platform bed meant I was eye-level for him. He’d whine until you opened your eyes, give approximately 3 seconds of direct eye contact, and either lick you or keep whining until you got up to play.
He would lay out in the yard sometimes, stretched out on his side as if he’d fallen over dead. He just loved to sunbathe.
Going on walks with him was funny because he’d look back every few paces to make sure you were still there.
He had this red chair he loved. No one in the house would sit in it except him.
In April of 2020, the last day of my sophomore year of college, Chaco almost died. The video of him panting on our kitchen tile, dazed and struggling for breath is seared into my mind. Amidst all the things that had already happened in 2020, this was the first time I felt truly broken.
He went in for emergency surgery where they found holes in his bladder and a kidney stone. They also found advanced arthritis in his back, worsened by the repetitive jumps he would make for his ball.
Those days were some of the longest of my life when we didn’t know whether he was going to make it out or not. It seems that I blocked a lot of the details from my mind because they were so traumatizing. I came home to help take care of him. I remember us picking him up from the vet, and even with lethargy from the meds and a cone around his neck, he still showered us with kisses. Our schedules were turned upside down because we had to watch him 24/7; Sean practically became nocturnal. He would drip blood on the hardwood floors after urinating; I remember it terrifying us because it was a constant reminder that we weren’t out of the woods.
They were long days for Chaco, too; mainly because he had been suspended from soccer until further notice.
One of the defining memories I have during this time is sitting at the piano plunking through different movie soundtracks (i.e. the Star Wars theme and “Remember Me” from Coco) as he and Nellie would lay on opposite parts of the room and fall asleep to it.
Eventually he got better and I felt secure enough to return to Nashville.
But that was the beginning of the end.
After Nellie died in January of 2021, Mama surprised me by bringing him to Nashville one evening after class. I hadn’t had an appetite in a few days, hadn’t opened my blinds, there were tissues everywhere and my apartment was in shambles. I was trying to sleep away the pain and my depression was the worst it’d been in a long time, if ever.
And then came Chaco.
He quite literally was a light in my darkness. He turned everything around. Having his face there to wake me up in the mornings and his presence to simply sit next to me through virtual classes gave me purpose. He helped me process Nellie’s death.
The last time I saw him was Spring Break of this year. My friends and I had stopped at my house for the night because our flights were out of Chattanooga in the morning. He was never good with welcoming other people to our house, so we pretty much confined him to Mama and Daddy’s room while I entertained my friends. If I’d known it was going to be the last time, how much different would that have all played out? I remember leaving and I swear I had the faintest anxiety that it could be our last time, but it seemed I worried that with every goodbye because of our 2020 scare. He seemed anxious, too.
The last week of June, Mama told me he wasn’t doing well again and he’d go in for surgery in a couple days. I was on contract in Ohio all summer.
June 27th, 2022 - Sean’s 16th birthday - Chaco was scheduled for an 8 A.M. surgery. I remember thinking the night before that this could be my last night with a dog, and then immediately convincing myself I was just being dramatic.
I set an alarm for 8 A.M. so I’d be up with him for the surgery, albeit 500 miles away. I was so exhausted that I went back to sleep, but I said a prayer first.
I woke up to a missed call from Mama at 9:55 A.M. and immediately called her back. She didn’t pick up.
She calls me 8 minutes later to say she was leaving the vet.
And Chaco wasn’t with her.
I couldn’t stop shaking.
Apparently it’d been worse than we thought. The vet had never really been planning on doing the surgery.
They said he was in so much pain.
Mama, Sean and Daddy were all there.
I called right when they’d started to put him down.
When I woke up, her missed call had been from an hour earlier. If I’d answered then, I wonder if I’d gotten to have said goodbye.
I would’ve driven the whole 16 hours there and back just to have gotten one last moment with him.
I wrote Chaco’s story over the course of the 4 weeks following his passing and finished on July 25th - his 5th birthday.
Throughout this time, the stages of grief manifested themselves in various ways. Currently, I find myself navigating what acceptance looks like; documenting his story is part of that.
In a way, getting a full lifetime with Chaco always felt too good to be true. He injected so much life into every moment that it seemed impossible that he had enough stocked to last past a decade. I just didn’t think he’d run out so soon.
Doodle Bug. Little pig. Chaco Taco.
Thank you for all the joy you helped me find.
Sending you all my kisses.
