AND THEN THERE WERE EIGHT ...
CHEWY'S STORY
AnimalHouseCo.com
 We decided to call him Chewbacca, or Chewy for short, because he looked so much like the Star Wars character. Chewy was a happy, easygoing puppy who was dropped off at the Humane Society by a local pet store because he had a 'medical problem' ... But I'm getting ahead of myself - allow me start at the beginning ... Chewy's story starts on March 1998 when he was adopted by the Janes family from the West Shore branch of the Humane Society. I volunteered more then and when at the shelter, would make a habit of walking through the kennels to see who was there. Normally the puppy room had no influence on me but on this particular day, I saw the cutest, most adorable puppy I have ever seen sitting in a small kennel with another puppy of a different breed. I sat on that floor and played with him for what seemed like hours, trying to tell myself why I was unable to adopt him. All the reasons made perfect sense in my brain but my heart was winning the battle. I went home that day with a puppy. During his initial 'puppy' physical, it was discovered by Dr. Deb Buchanan, Willow Mill Veterinary Hospital, that he had a rather serious heart murmur. Dr. Buchanan arranged for Chewy to be seen by a Cardiologist at the University of Pennsylvania's School of Veterinary Medicine in Philadelphia, where a more complete diagnosis could be done. When the day came for our departure to Philadelphia, I remember how worried I was. Tina, my niece, friend, and partner, accompanied Chewy and I ... more for my sake than Chewy's. He was just your typical curious little guy who was happy to be going somewhere with Mommy and Aunt Tina. When we arrived at our destination, my fears were partially alleviated. Everyone we met was so kind ... everyone from the parking lot attendant to the receptionist to the doctors and students. "Ok Sharon, now calm down. Your little boy is going to be ok here." Then I went to the bathroom. I had left him in the waiting room with his Aunt Tina, whom he knew, and walked down the hall to the bathroom. The sound hit my ears then lodged in my heart ... I heard him screaming for his mommy. I quickly finished my duties and ran back to the waiting room. I had never seen such a display from him nor would I ever have guessed it. Oh boy, now I'm back to worrying again. How is he going to react when I have to leave him for his examination? When the young woman finally did come to retrieve him, I'm sure I sounded to her like every other 'mommy' who has to leave her little one behind. But he was my little one, and as far as I was concerned, I had that right to question ... and to worry. I told her I would be in the waiting room for a while just in case. Tina and I eventually wandered away from the hospital for several hours until the appointed time of our consultation. We tried to act nonchalant about our worried state but we knew ... we knew that each was worried sick, trying not to alarm the other. Eventually, that moment came when we could see Chewy again. We were led back a series of hallways past many doors and into an examination room. I expected to hear the screaming at any moment. Instead, I found Chewy sitting in the middle of a large hospital examining room, the entire class of students sitting on the floor around him ... playing. The elderly, white haired professor sitting on a stool watching the scene. Chewy never even came to greet me upon our entrance into the room ... he was having so much fun. I felt like crying, I was so relieved. Then came the diagnosis ... a grade V systolic heart murmur caused by congenital subaortic stenosis. Chewy had been born with a severe heart defect and his prognosis for a normal life span was poor. The doctor explained that he had seen dogs live a short life and he had seen dogs live a full life. It would be up to Chewy and God. He did give us some suggestions to help the situation: do not allow/expect Chewy to do anything where the action's result would be for Chewy to want to 'please' (i.e. no throwing ball, long walks, etc). Let him set the pace for his own activity. Also, we were to keep stress levels as low as possible.  Perhaps we took the doctors advise to the extreme ... and we did get teased that there was no dog more spoiled than Chewy. When anyone was introduced to Chewy (and many people can attest to this), they were immediately told that no one disciplines Chewy (in the conventional sense). Distraction techniques were perhaps used the most. If he were doing something naughty we would simply distract his attention to something more positive. When he became couch possessive, we would put a cover over his head until he would stop barking. When he would have an argument with another dog, we would direct his attention elsewhere. Living with Chewy was an adjustment but one we all gladly made. So life went on ... changed from yesterday but we all agreed, for the better. When a normal dog coughs, it's nothing ... but when Chewy coughed, everyone stopped to listen. When a normal dog has a bad day, it's just a bad day. When Chewy had a bad day, everyone watched. There were a few times when we would ask ourselves, "Is this it? Is this our end with Chewy?" But he would bounce back and it eventually became a joke that he would outlive us all. As one year turned into two, and then to three, we became less 'worried' about his condition and began to relax a little ... to actually enjoy Chewy and his special situation. He had frequent check-ups with his vet, Dr. Renee Richards, and became such a regular at Willow Mill, that everyone knew him by name. His prognosis was explained to us and we were given signs to watch for .... coughing, fainting, stumbling, his back legs giving out because of lack of blood flow. Other than Chewy's propensity to become fixated on someone, some thing or a situation, Chewy displayed no signs of a heart condition. In fact, I bet people thought we were exaggerating how serious his condition was. For all intense and purposes, he appeared to be a 'normal' dog. But to us, he was so much more than a normal dog. He was a gentle soul whose nickname was 'Nurse Chewy' because he immediately sensed when some one, either dog or human, was not feeling well. He would be attentive to their needs, no matter how wanted the attention. He did not play like a normal dog but preferred to stand on the sidelines and watch (as the one picture shows). His favorite watching place was from under a small round table on our patio ... and if there was a table cloth on it, so much the better. The best part of our day was 'cuddle time' in front of the TV at night. Everyone would assume their positions and Chewy's was next to Mommy on the couch. His days consisted of following me everywhere and going 'with' when he could. You know, after his death, I realized that Chewy and I had spent only one night apart. Please do not mistake my intension, I do not mean to sound corny or boastful ... it's just a fact. He and I were attached at the hip, so to speak.
One night 6 1/2 years after entering our lives, Chewy developed a cough ... a cough so severe that neither he nor I could sleep. It was the start of a long holiday weekend and the thought of taking him to a strange doctor did not sit well with us. We discovered that for some reason, when Chewy slept in the TV room, he was more comfortable and his cough was not as bad. So Mark, my husband, and I took turns sleeping with him ... Mark the first part of the evening and I the second part. This shift work continued for one more night, until finally the holiday weekend was over and it was business as usual for the world. Chewy's doctor was called and an appointment was set-up for 9:15 that morning. His coughing sounded terrible and it had developed a wheezing sound. He was examined by Dr. Richards at Gettysburg Road Animal Hospital. According to her, Chewy's heart had gotten so large that it had started to affect his breathing by pressing on his bronchial tubes (hence the cough). After a consultation with Dr. Richards and in keeping with our beliefs, the decision was made to end his life. We had prepared for this moment basically since adopting Chewy in March of 1998 ... I had even started a 'Memorial Page' on our web site (AnimalHouseCo.com), inspired by Chewy and Maggie, one of Tina's who was taken early due to kidney disease. But as I discovered, no amount of preparation can prepare one. Having to listen to the proverbial 'cough' for three nights, the final doctor appointment, the loss, the emptiness, the long established habits. Chewy and a few of his siblings had gone camping with us a few weeks before his death ... to the mountains of Northern Pennsylvania. He had an absolutely terrific time sleeping out under the stars and awaking each morning with the sun. No fences, no noise, no traffic, no rules ... he could play or sleep all day, as he preferred. He was surrounded by his family and friends ... those who knew him best, those who were special to him. He is now buried in the woods with others who have gone before him ... forever to chase bunnies, or sleep until that time when we all meet again. Chewy is survived by eight siblings: Baby (a Chihuahua mix), Boo (a black Standard Poodle), Juliet and Meesha (Dobermans), Mocha (a chocolate toy poodle), Noah (a tigered Greyhound mix), Shezie (a Dalmation/Lab mix), and Chewy's best friend, Wookie (a Lhasa mix). Chewy had a terrific dog life, in spite of how short it was and we are honored to have had known him. I keep reminding myself of the mantra, "Don't cry because it's over - smile because it happened." In spite of this, Chewy, you will be missed.
He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours , faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion.
It takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but an entire life to forget them.
Our lives are better left to chance, I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance. -- The Dance by Garth Brooks This was written to honor our baby boy, Chewy. Born October 19, 1997 Died July 6, 2004 Sharon A. Eckenrode Janes, Mommy President, Animal House & Co. Inc. |
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