By June Mathews
Wintertime became a little colder at our house last week when we lost one of our beloved Chihuahuas to heart failure. Shug was 12 years old – not terribly old for a small dog like him – but getting on in years, nevertheless. He also had a bad back, likely caused by his stubborn insistence on jumping onto and off any bed or sofa he pleased – even though we’d placed doggie steps in strategic spots for his convenience. Knowing he’s no longer in pain goes a long way toward soothing ours.
Fortunately for our sake he went quickly, collapsing as he instinctively sought out his favorite hiding place in the den and dying a few minutes later. In his typical no-nonsense style, Shug saved us the heart-wrenching decision of whether or not euthanizing was the kinder course. We’ve been down that road before and were dreading the thought of having to travel it again.
One of the drawbacks of being dog parents is we know our canine companions won’t be with us for long as compared to a normal human life span. But when they come into our lives, steal our affections and make themselves at home wherever they darn well please, we become pleasantly accustomed to their steady presence, and losing them leaves dog-shaped holes in our hearts.
June Mathews
There was a time when under similar circumstances, Jimmie and I would rush out and find another dog to fill the vacancy created in our home. But neither of us is quite ready. Come spring, we’ll probably feel differently, but right now, the thought of house training a puppy in winter weather holds no appeal whatsoever. Nor are we finished mourning our feisty little Shug just yet.
Shug joined our household in late 2002. For some reason, I’d decided that Jimmie “needed” a white male Chihuahua for Christmas, so I scanned the classifieds until I found a breeder with puppies at a reasonable price. I called the number in the paper and sure enough, one of them was a white male.
So I excitedly put a hold on the little fellow, and the next day we drove up to Sand Mountain to check him out. It was love at first sight, and we couldn’t have left him behind if we’d tried.
We named him Shug after the legendary Auburn coach to give some balance to the cul-de-sac; the neighbors had a brown Chihuahua named Bear.
Shug was a tiny pup, able to perch comfortably on Jimmie’s shoulder. I knew they were meant for each other when one of the first things they did when we got home was fall asleep together in front of the TV. Since I worked at home, however, Shug and I bonded more closely. He became my furry baby, and I became his willing servant. By the time we got our second Chihuahua, Dobbie, almost two years later, I was the best-trained dog mama around.
If anyone misses Shug more than we do, Dobbie does. Several days later, he’s still waiting for Shug to trot down the hallway or appear in his customary spot on the sofa. The first time we left Dobbie alone for any length of time following Shug’s death was to go to church that Sunday and out to eat afterward. When we returned home, he met us at the door, whiny and panicked, evidently fearing we’d disappeared, too.
“It was just a dog,” I can imagine a non-dog lover saying as they read this tribute. “So what’s the big deal?”
But that would be wrong. Shug wasn’t just a dog, and I daresay most dog owners would say the same about their canine companions.
He was a unique little individual with his own personality, as well as a valued friend. He was also a much loved member of the family.
Yes, we’ll adopt another dog one day, but not as a replacement. You see, that would be impossible. Just as there will never be another you or me or Great-Aunt Frances or Uncle J.B., there’ll never be another Shug.
Rest in peace, little buddy. You are greatly missed.
Email June Mathews at jmathews120@charter.net.
