I did not grow up having a dog, so honestly I didn’t really know what to expect, but Chloe was so easy and so wonderful. She was never good with other dogs, but with people—she never met a stranger! She loved every person she met and thought that everyone should love her immediately. And everyone did, including my parents who are not dog people.
She never had accidents inside, never chewed up anything, never nipped or growled at anyone. She did have her quirks, of course, such as thinking that thunderstorms and three-ring binders were out to get her. But she was tolerant of my occasional urge to treat her like a human baby, dressing her up as an angel her first Halloween, or smothering her with hugs and kisses.
She constantly made me smile and laugh at the funny things she did, like sitting on an end table, or sprawling her tiny 18 pound body across an entire couch. I loved her mix of spunky energy and laziness. She could be content to just lie on the couch all day, but the moment it seemed like we might be going for a walk, she was running towards the door, barking excitedly. Everyone in our neighborhood knew her; she was just such a cute, happy bundle of fur that no one could resist.
She was my constant companion and I swear, every day she had a photo-worthy moment. It’s amazing how empty our house feels without her, how weird it feels to not be filling up her food bowl and letting her out. I used to say, “I can’t remember what life was like without Chloe, but I do remember what life was like without fur.” I’d take twenty times more fur if it meant she could still be here. She was taken from us way too soon, not quite 9 years old. She was just the best dog. I trusted her with my whole heart and I know she trusted us too. Thank you for some of the best years of my life.