Chewy

He was a loyal companion, full of grace and elegance. Always there to wake me up and tuck me in at night. Chewy was his name. He reminded me of the fabled Chewbacca of Star Wars. His brown and black and white colorings. His shaggy hair. His quirkiness. All of these did not compare to his simple wellness and how he calmed me down, every time I petted him and walked and fed and groomed him.

Chewy was a rascal. He was my emotional support animal. He always knew when I was either down and out, or suffering from staggering anxiety. His attitude never changed, from that of an awesome dog. And an even more awesome owner.

I never remember when I did not love him. Even when he got himself into trouble with the adjacent neighbors. They would always apologize when they saw how cute he was. His size did not stop him from appearing agressive. Although he did not have an agressive bone in his body.

He would ward off the enemy with passion. This is a montage for what he would become. A great dog with little room to roam. The apartment size was not what this dog could enjoy. He needed room to grow and thrive. I could not provide this for him. Although I wanted to let him be what he was. A nightcap in surprise. Something to tell the kids, when they grew up. I would only have one, it would seem.

Kid that is. Chewy would need a playmate. And this was something that I could provide for him. Something to sink his teeth in, so to speak. A chew-toy with unlimited supply and demand.

Chewy Jennett was a monstrosity of love. Everyday I would yearn to be with him. And share his memories with. That was the passion I wanted to create with him. A world he could share with over a pot of coffee. He drank this too, with much gusto and savant approval. Nothing was going to get in his way over the strond desire for that cup of coffee. Catnip had no effect over him. He would sniff and sniff and sniff with no reperation for reprieve.

Jennett Chewy we once called him over the radio. He won the prize of the Nobel, in my mind. And that is just a little fib. But what is a story without a fib or two? You might say?

The dog toy had got stuck in his maw, and he could not shake it free, for the life of him. I had to manually remove it, before he freaked out and spasmed, with a fit of rage on his collar. Hello, this was the end. He could not control himself for the longest time. I introduced him to his best friend, Wanda.

Wanda knew what to do with him. She was a vet of the best sort. She provided for him, when I could not. Her talents were endless. And she knew how to put down a good dog. But this need not happen. The control of the situation was long but gone. Hopefully the grooming and the preening were enough for Chewy to get out of his head. I hope I would never have to find out. And let him lay in peace while he rested.

Another culture lost to the ambition of a traitor that was to become my best enemy. Probably not, but that is okie dokie with me. This is a conclusion to my sadness over losing the best friend in my life. Though he will end up comforting someone else.