Dear Chuck – A Letter to Our Best Friend

Dear Chuck,

It’s been a week you’ve been gone. I am aboard a ship slowly sailing away from you. On a journey I didn’t want to make – in rough seas. Under dark skies. Feeling dizzy and seasick from the sense of loss. I want to jump overboard and swim the impossible distance back to you. Even though you don’t share my love for words, I know you will hear me once more and give me that sweet gaze of understanding. You were always the best listener.

I’ll start with a confession. Our decision to adopt you in 2012 felt so right but I didn’t have the purest intentions. When your foster family dropped you off with your baby blanket, your name was Bennett. You were terrified of our cat LD and you peed on Bryan’s pillow in the first few minutes you were home. All of that was background noise as I was focused on forming our special bond. Bryan wasn’t home when you first arrived and I had you all to myself for the first hour. I carefully laid out your blue baby blanket – the one with the football patches sewn onto it – in your crate. I cradled you in my arms and I thought that if I had the first few moments with you then I would be #1 Dad. The fun one. Your adventure buddy.

Your foster name didn’t seem to fit so we all decided on Chuck! Better said with an exclamation point since it fit your mood so precisely. You were always ready for action. New people, new places and non-stop activity. You were the best running buddy I’ve ever had. You never complained about getting up at 4AM for those early morning workouts and you were always up for speed work at the track. I remember you waiting anxiously as I scaled the locked gates at Agnes Scott to let you in to our special quarter mile piece of heaven. Those dense and sticky mornings running with you in our little green space are some of my favorite memories.

You came at a busy time in our lives. Bryan and I were building our careers, developing deep friendships and caring for our sweet boy together. Things felt hectic at times – work travel, racing, renovating our home, living in Tokyo and fighting Atlanta traffic. Your first day care report card just reinforced what we already knew. Our baby was gifted for sure. Definitely not challenged at Barking Hound so we enrolled in training classes in Avondale Estates. We all went together and proudly watched you outshine everyone in the class. You were always such a quick learner – eager to engage with anyone and happy just to be out and about exploring the world. And boy did we explore together! You were equally at home on rough trails and fancy hotels. You were always so well behaved and at home no matter where we took you. You loved women and were so gentle with children. Two things you did not get enough of I’m afraid.

Do you remember that tough year when we went through your ACL surgeries? Your surgeon was a magician and you walked bravely out of both repairs – a tough boy that got back into action right away. You hated the wagon we tried together but you were a total ham at physical therapy – loving the underwater treadmill and flirting with the nurses that taught you the agility courses. In no time, you were back to your athletic self and we prepared for our journey of a lifetime on the Appalachian Trail.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier soul than you on the AT. You loved being outside all day, meeting all of the hikers and curling up in the tent with me at the end of the day. Your coat was shining, your eyes bright and your gait was bouncy. Like me – this is where we felt like we belonged. Out in nature, pushing our bodies and breathing all of that beautiful clean air. After scarfing down that Taco Bell taco in one of our hitch rides in Tennessee, you earned your trail name “Taco”. I desperately wanted you to continue on to Maine with me but the world had other plans. It was the right decision to send you home to Bryan in the midst of all of the COVID craziness. But, like a jealous lover – I was afraid to share you too much with him. I both missed you and feared that our bestie status was at risk.

You were the best thing for Bryan during that crazy time. He needed a friend. Those months apart were so hard for me but I knew you were doing your job. Replacing anxiety and fear with joy and love. This is what you always did best – your positive energy filled our home and our hearts. You pushed out so much darkness just being you. I loved watching you revel in our visits to see Mom and Gus. Remember that thick Florida grass and how brave you were out on the dock overlooking the river. Our time on that dock together even inspired that beautiful watercolor of us together in that special spot. Captured so well by a friend who could recognize love when she saw it.

We also discovered your inner City Dog when we moved to New York. You loved all of action and smells on the city streets. Dog Hill in Central Park was always so much fun. It was my favorite way to start the day watching you fuss at the other dogs that were playing rough. You didn’t want to get in the scuffle but felt obliged to be the referee. Appropriately dressed in your black and white uniform as you ran around the field calling fouls. “Sorry, he’s a talker” we would explain but secretly enjoyed watching you run the game so smoothly. So you earned your second nickname – the “Ref”. The city was fun but probably too many bacon treats from the doorman and you just didn’t take to wearing shoes like your other city friends.

We left New York together early that grey morning in our rental car. Alone again for four hard days of driving across the country. A chandelier in shotgun and you crammed in the backseat. Bryan was on a wild plane ride with LD and we made our way through South Bend, Minneapolis, Billings and finally on the ferry to our new home on Bainbridge Island. You quickly took to the cooler weather and clean trails. You became a celebrity along Winslow Way as you made friends in all of the dog friendly shops with treats. Mike the barber had those bacon strips, the bookstore had the biggest cookies and your old standby – Z Bones. Wherever we were on the Island you always knew how to point back to Z Bones.

You aged gracefully on our new island. You slowed down but never stopped. A lot more stubborn but I was always amazed at how tough you were – how hard you would push on those walks when your joints started to ache and those back legs stopped cooperating. You mellowed so sweetly – replacing chasing tennis balls with cooing from the couch. You hated baths so we stopped giving them and started calling you “Mr. Stinky.” You gamely let us brush your teeth, carry you up stairs, treat your tumors and carefully manage your medications. Your pillbox is still in the cupboard and your food bowl in the dining room. It’s too much to move these things yet. I know it doesn’t make sense to hold onto these things but our hearts won’t allow it yet.

I wasn’t #1 Dad. You wouldn’t let it be. You had too much love to give and Bryan treated you like a prince. He doted, fussed and cared for you so sweetly. You knew you had these two amazing men that loved you so much and you reveled in it. There couldn’t be a ranking here. It was just too good and that’s why this goodbye hurts so bad. Your job was always to make us at ease. You could sense our feelings and worked to soothe us. The three of us gave so much love and we are overwhelmed with gratitude. Lots of grief mixed with gratitude and a few chuckles about what a clown you could be. So, Bennett, Chuck, Taco, Ref, Mr. Stinky – there aren’t enough ways to thank you for everything you gave. Your positivity and joy wasn’t taken for granted and we will miss you forever. I know you are at peace. You left sweetly and quietly on your favorite blanket in our arms – just like you arrived.

Love,

#1 Dad and #2 Dad