On my 7th birthday I received the ultimate gift; a puppy. A Rhodesian-Ridgeback-cross-something I'd chosen myself from the pet-shop outside Cavendish. I named him Chips because he was kind of the colour of a beef-flavoured Simba chip, and what more reason could a seven year old need?
He was a great pal to me and I loved him very much.
Shortly after his 5th birthday (celebrated, as always, with the gift of a hoof to chew on) he became unable to keep his food down. We booked an appointment with the vet and the night before we cuddled on the couch watching the weekly Dharma & Greg/Frasier double-bill and feeling excited for the vet to fix him in the morning. Although I spent the entire day at school writing pages and pages of bargains and wishes ('I promise to walk you every day if you get better' etc) my prayers weren't answered (which is weird 'cause usually God is suuuch a good listener) and I knew something was up when both of my parents came to fetch me from school.
At 5 o'clock we went to say goodbye. One last tickle behind the ears and I never saw my boy again.
9 years later and I still get teary thinking about Chips. Less & less each year but always on March 25th. If you haven't had a dog in your life you are missing out on one of the greatest bonds you will know. What a lovely thing it is to grow up with a best friend who will let you pretend to ride them like a horse and lick your face when you are crying.
♡
p.s. sorry for the sad/soppy post, on a happier note...
AH! how do pug-owners get anything done?!
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