Hello, everyone.

Chewie came to us in a way that seemed destined. We had adopted another puppy the year before, and had searched a few months for another to make a playful pair. Seeing a photo of a Yorkie mix on a rescue site, I followed up... She had been adopted, but her brother was available -- a bit larger and several states away. I balked a bit... I would have to convince my husband and because of his work schedule, I would have to drive the distance alone. My husband took one look at the photo and said, "Go get him." with a grin.

I packed up my child and our first dog abd made the 6-hour trip to be met with this calm and relaxed brown and black sweetness; large paws that didn't seem to go with the rest of his body. I worried that I wouldn't bond with him the way I had my first, but knew that my husband would love him immediately -- and he did.

Fast forward a year and change, and Chewie, much loved by and in love with my immediate and extended family, was part of a tight trio -- me, Kylo (pup one) and he...I took much joy in running with them (he would love to hear me cheer him on "Go, Chew Chew, go!") and watching them walk side-by-side, his swish and Kylo' s confident trot. He was still relaxed, except where food was concerned. He was extremely resourceful and climbed and schemed whenever he could to get whatever smelled good. He had an adorable way of placing one paw on people as they ate, as if to say "Excuse me, if you can find it in your heart to share..." He and his brother would run and run through our house chasing each other and rough-housing, Chewie making large leaps across furniture looking more like a flying squirrel than a dog.

Then in October, he started vomiting yellow foam quite frequently. A visit to the vet ended with a referral to a speciality hospital -- the vet suspected an aggressive cancer and was skeptical that any treatment would help. We waited to see if he responded to one medication, only to end up at the specialist soon after. One visit and round of test results turned into a second and a wait for more test results. As we waited the last few days, he took a turn...not eating much and moving slowly; not breathing well. He would come and stand next to my bed, silently, in the last few days. Somehow, I would just wake up knowing he was standing there. I'd pick him up and whisper "Are you looking for me? I'm here. I'm here." and stroke his hair.

I held him and held him. We talked to him and took him to Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother's, where he surprised us by almost gulping down an entire cookie in one shot...perhaps a sign of hope.

Then Saturday came. He was turning away from all food; only getting up to follow me of I left the room; loosing control of his bowls. I put a leash on Kylo and carried Chew for a walk and talked to he picked his head up to look ar some Christmas lights, I described the lights to him and said " gotta stay with me." He had another accident on our walk, so I cleaned him up and laid him in my bed; put my child to bed and cleaned up myself and the floor where I'd carried him.

I returned with water and something I thought he may eat to find him twitching uncontrollably. I picked him up, hysterical with fear, only for the twitches to become more frequent with every second. I called the emergency vet, I called my husband, while he twitched and convulsed and finally passed, in what seemed like agony, in my arms. I held on and held on, though, knowing that if I ended this hold I would never hold him again.

I'm beside myself with grief and disappointment. How could this happen to this sweet dog who is not even two? Why did I wait to try that first medication? It just wasted time. How could I let him die in that way, his teeth chattering and his body shaking? How can I look at his favorite spots without seeing him there? He deserves so much better, and I'm devastated for him. I cannot find peace with that...especially since his last round of tests results will most likely come today, along with a treatment plan he'll never use.

My sweet boy, my Chew Chew, I''m so sorry.

Thank you for taking time to read this post.

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Your Chewie was adorable. I am so sorry. I had tears reading his story. There is nothing anyone can say at the moment to ease your grief, and along with that grief comes the guilt. They just go hand in hand, regardless. Everyone will say you must not take on the guilt because have nothing to feel guilty about, but I know from experience it doesn't work that way. It seems Chewie was quite poorly, and you were with him and loved him to the end. That is all you could do.

When I lost my Timothy I hit the internet to read every article I could about coping with this type of grief and guilt. Somewhere, anywhere, I wanted to read those words that would magically take away the crushing heartache. Of course they aren't there. I learnt I would have to get through it in my own way. The only words of comfort I can give you is that, although you honestly never think it will, the grief and guilt does get easier to deal with in time. It's been three months since I lost my Timothy. I still cry everyday and I still feel pangs of guilt that keep me awake at night, but it's not overwhelming. It's just a new 'normal' that no one wants.

Chewie was young, but he knew you loved him.

Thinking of you


"The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That's the deal"      C.S. Lewis
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