CHIEF BEECHNUT SARANTAKES
1997-2011
Dear Chief,
You are the first of many things for me.
You were my first dog. You were my first shelter pet. You were the first animal companion that John (Daddy) and I chose together. You were my first non-human protector. You were the first (and only!) dog who ran eight miles with me. You were the first Chow – German Shepherd I ever met, and I always thought that you were so beautiful that you should be an “official” breed. You were the first dog with whom I got to spend fourteen and a half years. And you were the first dog I had to say good-bye to in the vet’s office.
I will never forget the first time Daddy and I saw you, when you were just a few months old. It was the spring of 1997, and we had decided to go find our “Chief Beechnut” (that was the name Daddy came up with before he even met me!). You were the most adorable little puppy, parked all the way down in the last run at Town Lake Animal Shelter. All the other little ones were frisky and yappy and a blur of ordinary cuteness, but you stood out. You were sitting quietly, hanging your sweet little head, a mix of shyness and humility and a bit of melancholy. You had a gorgeous orange coat, a black muzzle and black tongue, and those ears — the left one perky and erect, the right one with a slight flop at the very tip. The first time we held you, you were so calm and gentle and appreciative of the attention. You wagged your little tail and gave us gentle puppy kisses. We knew right away that we wanted you to be ours.
You grew from a precious little pup to a strikingly beautiful dog. We took you with us lots of places, and people would remark about your good looks. They would ask what kind of dog you were, as if you were a specific breed they just hadn’t seen before. You had thick, fluffy Chow fur and the features of a smallish German Shepherd. Your body was lean and athletic. Though you enjoyed long walks and playing outside, you were very laid-back and easygoing, never begging for attention but always welcoming it. We never did teach you to speak on command, but on the occasion when you did bark, it was a deep, masculine attention-getter. It was reserved mostly for strangers approaching the front door.
When Gypsy came along in 1999, you found your best friend. We were blessed to witness the deep bond you two shared for eleven and a half years. You were a perfect balance for each other….your calm, quiet, low-maintenance personality tempered the hot mess that she often was. In her defense, she was THE sweetest dog I’ve ever known, while you were more territorial. You guarded your food so fiercely that I sometimes feared that I’d lose my hand. You were also not very fond of small children, the result of sudden tail-pullings and other surprises that Matthew and Zach threw at you when they were toddlers. You gave unmistakable warnings though — something which neither Chows nor German Shepherds are famous for doing. Certainly you got the best of both of your parents, in more ways than one.
The past year has been rough. We lost our sweet Gypsy-girl last December, and the first half of 2011 was a Chief Beechnut poop-fest on our new carpet, thanks to some sort of chronic stomach thing. Once we got that cleared up, you developed a limp in your front right leg that we chalked up to old-dog arthritis. As time went on, the diagnosis changed to a spinal condition that zapped your nerves and left you unable to walk without hobbling as well as struggling to get up or lay down. You never once cried out in pain, but we could tell that you were uncomfortable and confused. You wanted to run and play, but your aging body would no longer allow it. I wanted to spend one last Christmas with you, but after seeing you continue to fall apart, I thought it would be a better gift to release you from the shackles of a failing little body. On your last day with us, I cooked you a meal of boiled chicken and brown rice, which you gobbled heartily. Daddy and I held you and stroked your soft fur, and you gave us your perfect doggy kisses — the slow, soft, gentle ones that don’t leave any doggy slobber.
I held you all the way to the vet’s office, and I could tell that you were tired. You rested your precious head in my lap and let me love on you without reservation. It was a privilege to get you there peacefully since riding in the car was not your favorite thing to do.
We sent you Home late in the afternoon, two days before Christmas, surrounding you with love and tears. Now you are at Rainbow Bridge with Gypsy. I can see you chasing each other around, darting in and out of hedges, jumping on each other’s backs and tumbling to the ground in fits of doggy euphoria. You’re smiling that big ol’ happy smile and your tail is wagging vigorously. You are at your finest, and you have left me, Daddy, Matthew and Zach better for having known you and sharing many good years with you. Daddy always considered you to be his dog, and your loyalty to him is something he will treasure always.
So long, Tail-Wagger. Thank you for being my first canine fur-baby. Between you, Gypsy and Lucky, I feel like I’ve won the doggy lottery………..
