An exceptional dog.
We weren’t going to let Chloe up on the furniture.
We were going to be firm but loving dog parents.
After the drive home from the adoption site (and the cleaning of my car after the nervous emptying of her bowels), we came inside. She dutifully sniffed around the house, saw all she wanted to see, and promptly hopped up on the couch. After curling up, she turned to us with big eyes as if to ask permission. Krystal and I looked at each other and realized there was no way we could say no to this little interloper. Chloe had bet on us being big softies and won.
She and her littermates were left at the door of an animal shelter in Iowa. A rescue organization in MN brought them up here in August 2010, and set to finding them all homes. We saw Chloe online, then met her in person at Petsmart on September 10th. The moment she snuggled up in my mom’s arms, we knew she was our dog. She was so calm, sweet, and snuggly, but we were soon to find out one of those things was an utter lie.
We brought her to the vet, where we learned she had giardia and worms. Once we took care of those things, the calmness completely disappeared, and we realized we had a maniac on our hands. She was not calm. She did not do anything slowly. She did not slow down. No, to Chloe, life was to be lived full-bore, experienced with all her senses as overwhelmingly as she could.
As we began our lives together, I headed back to work and began what would be a 9+ year tradition of coming home to check on her on my lunch breaks. We tried to crate train her, but we soon learned there was crippling separation anxiety. So severe was the anxiety, and so determined a dog was she, that she started breaking out of her crate. The first few times it happened, I just figured I hadn’t latched the door all the way. But after a few more times, we realized she could lift the entire front of the crate in her powerful jaws so it would ultimately fall inside, and she was free!
She wasn’t content to simply escape. No, with her remaining energy (and there was SO MUCH ENERGY), she took to shredding blankets, toys, and in one memorable occasion, an entire IKEA lamp, right down to flattening the metal end of a CFL bulb. How she didn’t die in those early months remains a mystery to me. (She did, however, break off a sizeable chunk of one of her canines, prompting our ‘cheap’ shelter dog to rack up $2000 of vet/dental visits in her first year.)
When we were all home, the shenanigans continued. She made fast friends with the neighbor dog Hank. (He wanted to be more than friends, but she shrugged him off.) He taught her how to crawl under the chain-link fence. When we blocked that off, she realized the full potential of her athletic ability and just started jumping the 4' fence instead, clearing it with ease. So we added height to the fence — no matter. She was not to be deterred. As a result, for the rest of her life, she was let out on leash, much to her dismay.
When she slept, it was in the most ridiculous ways possible. She would not sleep on a dog bed, seeing those as beneath her, worthy of scorn and chewing. Instead, she would sleep on a chair, the couch, and if we weren’t looking, our bed. She slept with as much fervor as she did everything else.
She had four years as the only dependent. In March 2014, Ezra arrived, and while she wasn’t sure what to do with him at first, she loved him with her whole self. Hundreds, even thousands of kisses were administered as he learned to crawl, cruise, and walk around the first house. He was often overwhelmed by her, but she learned how to be calm, and he learned to snuggle with her as he got a little bigger. They were the best of friends.
Ezra’s arrival meant that Chloe and I also got even more time just one-on-one, as Krystal did all the amazing mothering things that new mothers do. That led to lots of walks for Chloe and I, and lots of sore arms and wrists, because no matter how hard we tried, she just never quite got the appeal of loose-leash walking.
Time went on, and even though she could make it a full 9 hours without needing to be let outside, I kept going home. It was more for me at that point, but she didn’t hesitate to jump in my lap for skritches and hugs. She was 55 pounds for most of her life, but in her mind, she was a lap dog, so a lap dog she remained.
2016 brought another kid, and Chloe had finally met her match. As soon as Emma was up and walking, she was coming to Chloe for attention. Perhaps most memorable was a series of incidents where a towel was placed over Chloe’s back and she walked around unaware or uncaring, while Emma made big belly laughs. As Chloe aged, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with Emma’s energy, so there was a lot of escaping to other rooms for rest.
With two kids came less time for Chloe, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was more than happy to snooze away the day unless a mailman, a squirrel, or even the occasional fox wandered by. Every meal brought a chance to jump for her food dish, a quivering chin, and a tiny tongue as she couldn’t contain herself waiting for those brown circles.
She loved every minute she was outside. Even though she was in a home where she knew she was loved, she couldn’t resist a good adventure now and again. If you left a door open for too long, she was liable to take off and start running at full speed, blissfully ignorant of her parents’ pleas to come home. She met all sorts of people in New Hope, Crystal, and even Keokuk, IA one year as she gallavanted around the world.
2020 marked her tenth year on Earth, and even though her spirit remained unbroken, her body started to feel the effects of a life lived at full speed. She developed issues with both back knees, and a once-dominant athlete had to spend a lot of time recuperating on a dog bed she begrudgingly came to appreciate. It was hard to watch, but even as she came to terms with slowing down, her affection for her family was undiminished. So many snuggles and kisses were given as we all went to her to cope with the effects of the pandemic. She didn’t know why we were all home all of the time, but she soaked it up.
We figured 2021 would just be more of the same — lots of time at home, lots of snuggles with Chloe, and for a while, it appeared that would be the case. But on Wednesday the 20th, something wasn’t the same. She was at the top of the stairs, but her head was bowed, and she didn’t want to go back down. I carried her down (with the knees, she would occasionally ask for help), put her collar on, and sent her out to go potty. She came back in, and I went to start coffee. I came back around the corner to check on her, and she was on her side, taking huge, labored breaths. By the time I got Krystal and we came down, it was clear Chloe was dying, and dying fast. We hugged her, gave her huge kisses, told her she was a good girl, and she slipped away.
We don’t know what happened, and it doesn’t matter. Tuesday, we had a dog. Wednesday, we didn’t. And I don’t know how we’re going to continue. The very being we would seek out for comfort in tough situations like this is gone. I can still feel her head pressed as hard as she could into my chest, looking for that hug. I can still see her hair everywhere around the house. I can still hear her snoring as she takes yet another nap and chases something in her dreams. But she’s not here. And that is just. not. fair.
Everybody says their dog is one-of-a-kind, but if you ever met her, you know that was actually the case with Chloe. She was hands down the goofiest, lovingest, strongest, smartest, loyal-est, fastest, snuggliest dog the world has ever seen. And things are a little dimmer without her around.
Rest easy, pumpkin.