My Chesterberry

This dog.

The first one that was ever mine (if you don't count the stray Sheltie I convinced my parents to adopt who promptly chewed up everything made of wood in the garage in appreciation for a roof over his head and a warm cozy bed...).

I was never really a "dog person". Not like most people are. I preferred the moodiness of cats. Their independence, and lack of smell (we were oft admired for our saavy catpan-odor-masking prowess), drool, and noise. I didn't particularly enjoy being licked in the face (or feet), and jumped on while being begged for attention. I didn't like the neediness of always having to let a dog out to potty (*cough* 5:00am *cough*), or having to get sitters when we traveled. 

But somehow, that all changed when we met our first Bichon Frise. His name was Spencer, and he was the perfect mixture of refined snobbery and fun carefree playfulness - i.e. a dog/cat hybrid. My husband and I were both instantly smitten.

Fast forward a year or so, and we found ourselves traveling to Maryland to meet a Bichon puppy who had been found abandoned along the side of the road with his sister. His hair was all knotted, overgrown, and full of briers, but his eyes were full of sweet trusting love and the longing for a forever home. 

We fell for that sweet little boy, and brought him back to live with us on a cold February day. We named him Chester Spring Alabaster Dunker III - Chester, Chesterly, Chesterberry, Ches, Chester von Schauzer, Chesterberizniah, etc., etc., for short. He was so typically Bichon: incredibly smart, incredibly stubborn, a bit moody, extremely silly, unendingly affectionate, very intuitive, and the world's best cuddler. 

Somehow we survived the long road of housebreaking a Bichon (many, many say it can't be done, but I promise you, it CAN - it's just not a task for the faint of heart!), obedience training, crate training, and adding so many tricks to his arsenal that he adored both learning and performing. He understands complete sentences, loves to make us laugh, adores travel and adventure, and has a personality the size of Texas.

Along with all of this though, came some dark storm clouds in the form of unusual health issues, likely through the inbreeding of puppy mills (though we are  unable to be sure of his past). Chester was always that 1 in 1 million who got every strange ailment, had every bad side effect from every medicine, dealt with anxiety and allergies, has disordered eating habits, and has stumped so many veterinarians throughout the years...

Only recently have we discovered that underlying many of his issues is a shunted liver...a birth defect that affects his bodies ability to process nearly everything. Including medication. Which ties our hands conventionally in most every difficulty he faces.

But he is worth this bumpy road. He has brought so much joy to our life. So many smiles. So much laughter. So much comfort. So much fun.

Having him as a part of our family has been harder than I ever imagined owning a dog could possibly be. And finding him a new place to live has been on the table multiple times, when we didn't think we could handle the load and strain any longer. His medical bills have been astronomical. The lack of sleep has taken a toll on our marriage and our general pleasantness to be around by spells. Being stuck at home to care for him and having to miss out on events, date nights, and even just getting everyday errands done has been really, really tough. But we always come back to the fact that WE were the ones chosen to care for him. We were the lucky recipients of his abundant love, loyalty, and affection. He needed people who wouldn't give up on him just because his body was "broken". Who would hold his paw all the way to his finish line. Who would still love and care for him, even though he could be a pill sometimes. I know not everybody would've stuck it out this far. And many of you probably think we're crazy for the commitment we have to this dog. But he is ours, and we want to care for him well, and make him feel safe and at peace until the end.

The end. I hate even typing those words. We don't know when it will be for him. Some days it seems much closer than others. He continues to struggle, but somehow, seems to still love life through it all. On days he can barely stand for his seizures, inbetween them he is happy and chasing his sister Cherry, whining for his next meal, or cuddling up on my shoulder. And as long as he is happy and not in pain, we will do whatever we can to ease his burden.

Not exactly what I thought the road of dog ownership would be like, no, not by a long shot. But who are we to question? It is ours to live. To love. To do the best we can with what we've been given.

And I'm so glad we've been given you, Chesterly.