Chelsea and me....
I loved Chelsea and she loved me. It’s as plain as that. Before we go any further, let me explain that while Chelsea was a family pet, she was my dog – or I was hers – the line between who owned who blurred between us a long time ago. Back then, I was a military wife and I first met Chelsea when our newest next door neighbors moved into our fourplex at Andrews Air Force Base. They walked outside to help their dog inspect the new yard just as I was watering my flowers. Since our homes were adjacent, I went over to the fence to say hello before I realized they had a dog with them. Chelsea trotted out at me with a loud “woo-woo-woof” and I flinched.
Then, I took stock of this dog, roughly 60 pounds of apricot and white fur – looking mostly like a husky mix of some kind and I said “now don’t do that or I won’t give you any treats.” She wagged her tail, sheepishly smiling (those who own dogs know what I’m describing) “Sorry,” she seemed to say. “Won’t happen again.” And it never did. In fact, that introduction began a two-year odyssey highlighted by treats across the fence and walking Chelsea to help the neighbors, who were new parents. During those years I considered adopting other dogs. Each time, it didn’t feel right.
Then one day the neighbors asked if I would adopt Chelsea. When she came to me, I needed her so much. Her love, exuberance and beautiful, bushy apricot and white wagging tail – I needed all of her and she gave her love joyfully. At the time, my husband was stationed in Central America for a year and I was flat out lonely.
Moving from D.C. to Seattle with a big dog proved a major ordeal. I gained not just a little confidence from caring for Chelsea and keeping her best interests at heart. And, she returned my love by sharing her joy and making me laugh. As soon as we ‘landed’ in Gig Harbor I found a house and embarked on a less-than-well-planned remodel (aren’t they always?). In the tenth week without a kitchen, we returned from yet another dinner out to find Chelsea sitting on the roof of our house! The guest bedroom window opens onto a low roof and there sat
, smiling and wagging her tail. We laughed for days and it lightened our load. Chelsea
When I became the executive director of our local Chamber of Commerce, Chelsea became our office mascot. I learned that Chelsea had a great memory for directions when, after her daily walks through town with our neighbor’s daughter, she decided to venture down on her own. I looked up from my desk to see Chelsea on the landing above my window, looking down at me, wagging her tail, and (I think) she said “see, I can find you.” After that, she joined me at the office on quiet days.
Our Chamber volunteers and staff laughed at Chelsea’s three ways of greeting folks. Most common “Welcome to the Chelsea Petting Place,” the slightly standoffish “State Your Purpose” and on two occasions, the “Be Gone Bad Spirit.”
was a great judge of character and she taught me to trust my instincts about people. Chelsea
Since she was now a public figure, keeping
pretty was a priority. It was then I met Nancy Wakefield, who at the time owned a business called Pet-To-The-Vet. She helped me keep those promises. Nancy took Chelsea to her monthly “spa days” of grooming at the Purdy Prison Pet Partnership Program. Doris, who now owns her own boarding and grooming business, Von Vinzant Kennels, managed the prison’s grooming program at the time. Doris and her team took such great care of Chelsea that on ‘spa days,’ she trotted out of the house without a backward glance. Chelsea
When I became pregnant,
knew long before I did. One night late, I woke to find her sniffing me from head to toe. Putting it together, I bought a pregnancy test, which of course was positive. Chelsea walked with me almost every morning for three years. Until my fifth month of pregnancy, we motored at a jog. After that, she politely slowed her pace and became very protective. Fellow joggers and dog walkers were greeted on Chelsea’s sliding scale, but mostly to “Be Gone Bad Spirit”. Chelsea
When Samuel was born he had to remain in the hospital for an extra week. Chelsea patiently waited it out until we were all settled in at home. For the first month, it was simply too perfect. Our new family took walks up and down the hills of
. The weather was unseasonably warm and sunny. We were getting to know Samuel and loving each other more and more each day. Gig Harbor
The nights were long and
, as always, followed me closely. This time, it was into the baby’s room for feeding, changing and to help our new one get off to sleep. She rested patiently, waiting for me to be awake enough each morning to feed her and let her out for a potty break. That’s why it surprised me so much when she pressed for my attention at the bedside. When I finally rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I saw that half her face was slack. Dr. Lisa Woods, my veterinarian, said that I shouldn’t use the “T” word (tumor). I hoped she was right. After a couple weeks, Chelsea seemed okay, albeit slower. She was herself, but just at ¾-time. Chelsea
The first week of January, it hit again. This time, she couldn’t keep her equilibrium. Then, she lost her peripheral vision. I met with Dr. Lisa and agreed it was probably a tumor – deadly. What was I going to do?
Lisa told me to make
comfortable. When it was “time” I would know. The words of Kahil Gibran stayed in my head, from his essay on Joy and Sorrow in his book, The Prophet. He wrote that our sorrow and joy are equal to one another; that our capacity for joy is equal to the sorrow we know in life. I experienced it in what I felt was a two-to-one ratio. For the immense joy she brought to my life, I felt double the sorrow at knowing she would soon be leaving me. Chelsea
As it turned out, we had three more weeks. Chelsea and I and the baby took our last walk together on a Sunday – her last good day. It was sunny and mild. On Monday, it rained and
woke up blind. After the baby’s three a.m. feedings, I coaxed Chelsea downstairs for water and a potty break. By Thursday, I knew it was “time”. Chelsea whimpered quietly and laid her head in my lap as if asking me to take the pain away. It was more than I could bear. Chelsea
It was on a Saturday morning and Nancy came to the house early to help wait out the inevitable. I fed the baby at noon, and then, he went blissfully off to sleep for nearly three hours.
I lay a throw on the floor and sat on it with my back resting against the sofa. Next, I asked
to come sit by my side. After pacing all morning, she surprised me by settling in beside me. When Dr. Lisa arrived, she quickly set up and injected Chelsea with the anesthetic. Chelsea helped me through so much in our three years together; it was my turn -- to help her die, as comfortably as possible, with dignity, without fear. “Meet me in my dreams and we’ll play again, like we used to,” I said. She died with her head in my lap and with me looking into her eyes. Dr. Lisa helped me snip a bit of her fur and we loaded Chelsea into her car. Then, she was gone from my life. Chelsea
It was terrible loss for me. Yet, it was a wonderful gift to give this dog that gave so much to my life.
Three days later, in my early morning sleep, I heard panting at my bedside again. It startled me so much I called out “Chelsea, Chelsea, Chelsea!” She leapt in one motion on top of the bed with grace and muscle. She pranced around and tussled the sheets. We embraced. My hands ran through her long fur and I breathed in her clean, fresh scent. She was Super Chelsea, with flecks of gold on the tips of her fur. I love you. I love you back. Joy, joy, joy, joy. Wiggle, squirm, laugh, smile, pant…then, I woke up.
I hope to see you again in my dreams
. Thank you for showing me you are well, safe and happy. I miss you every day. It was too perfect between us. Chelsea
I thank you for reading my tribute to this wonderful dog. Some people would say “Geez, she was just a dog.” But, I suspect you understand my grief and the need to tell you how much I loved her. Maybe you had a pet that you loved especially, or whom you are enjoying every day right now. Please write me and tell me about it. I know it would be a great story to share.