A Girl and Her Dog

The Lacow home has had another hit from sad-ville. We had to say goodbye to our sweet boy Chance the dog. He really was the best dog I have ever had and I am proud to admit that I was his human. You know, the one the dog follows to every room, including the bathroom. Yeah, that kind of special bond. The bathroom bond. Anyway, I want to take this opportunity to tell you about Chance.

When we moved to Boise, we naturally knew our house wouldn't be complete without a dog. Well, Jeremy knew that and although I agreed to it, I really wasn't whole hearted on board. Jer was thinking "cute and lovable companion" and I was thinking "food, dog hair and unpredictable". It was through the magic of Craig's List we found an ad for Chance. Jeremy was in charge of this shopping rendezvous and called me up to head over to the Win Co parking lot and check out this dog. He let me know right away that he wasn't sure this was "the dog" because the dog looked a little intimidating. You see, Chance was a rotten lab - as in half rottweiler, half lab. He looked mostly rottweiler with a gigantic meat chunk head and a stocky body. Poor guy. They even docked his tail into this nub thing. It is with great speculation that I gave Chance the once over and knew this was our dog. I could see through that rottweiler stature right into those eyes that told me he was a lovin' dog. My instincts were dead on, thank you very much.

Now, I'm a realist when it came to bringing the dog home and into our lives. The ground rule was that if he ever snapped or bit one of us, it was off to the meat grinder. OK, maybe just back to the pound or his foster family, but I was fierce in the ground rules because Natalia was only three at the time. Over the years Jeremy had tried to entice Chance to bite him (I know, boys. Whatever), but Chance would always just belly up in the end. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. His name even evolved over the years and he would come to us when we called him "Poop". It started as Chance, to Chancy-poop, then just got shortened to Poop. It seemed perfectly normal at the time to call our dog another name for excrement. 

Somewhere along the line that dog figured out I was the alpha female to win over and he became "my dog". Chance would follow me everywhere in the house. If I had to poop, he was there at my feet. Vacuuming? Yep, propped up in the middle of the floor to make sure that vacuum wasn't going to kill us all. Heaven forbid I close him out of whatever room I was in. Crying would ensue. He drove me crazy, but I secretly loved it. He would even make a special appearance during the Natalia bedtime routine, just to make sure everything was status quo. He was totally into our family and loved us very much.

Even though he was "my dog", he had a job to do. He was very "papa bear" about Natalia and even ended up being the school bus stop mascot. All the kids knew Chance and made a point to come over, get slobbered on, and add a slathering of dog hair to their daily outfit. I mean, what kid stays clean and neat for more than 20 minutes anyway. Every school day at 4:00pm, Chance would get antsy near the front door because he knew it was time for Natalia to get off the bus, come bustling in and add chaos to the house. He would get so excited that he would practically knock her over while he paced back and forth to let us all know she was home - even though we were all in the same room. Then he would bark. Annoyingly bark until we were all adding to the noise by yelling at the dog to quit barking. I guess to him we were probably just barking right along with him. He was so happy.

What would set Chance into a pickle would be the mom vs. child job. He wanted to be with me, but Natalia was afraid to be in her playroom alone and would corral him into the land of Barbies and Littlest Pet Shops. Like I said, he had a job to do around here. There was often trickery involved by her luring him in by means of rawhide, but after a couple years, the gig was up. Yes, there was a bit of a learning curve with Chance. Natalia never felt alone at home as long as Chance was with her. That is her biggest concern right now. How is she going to be alone in a room without Chance? We don't know the answer to that yet. I get what she means though because the house is so still now that he isn't here.

Chance was always such a patient playmate to Natalia. He would lay still while being poked and prodded during "Natalia, master Veterinarian" play. She even had play electric beaters that she used on him and he would still just lay there, happy to have her as company. Then there were the times we would dress him up for whatever family play we were putting on. Chance has been a fairy with wings, a dragon with a wig, a doctor during a Jump Rope for Heart cardiac resuscitation, and even sported some doggles (sunglasses for dogs - yes, roll your eyes at Jeremy) during a convertible trip to the ice cream place. All of this and he took it like a true dog. Endured it, loved it, never complained - except the wig. He didn't like the wig.


There isn't a single adult or child who met Chance and didn't like him. Some of my friends he REALLY liked and would "love up" on them. This was a little awkward when we were trying to paint Natalia's room and he would jump on Heather's back and get all freaky-like. He loved him some Heather. Even though he had a rather fierce build, it was obvious he was a lover, not a fighter. Now, it took a little convincing for the mailman when Chance darted out the door towards the mail truck, jumped in the back, then sat down. Jeremy and I knew Chance was bored and wanted a car ride. The mail lady's version was more of a "fear of God while this beast is running towards me". Ah, tomato/tomah-to. He did hate the Federal Express guy, but that guy said all dog's hate him and he's been bitten numerous times. I trust Chance. The guy is obviously a serial killer or something on his down time. Obviously.

We knew it was time to let Chance go when he started to get skinny. You don't understand this dog and food. He was an eater. He ate half my pancakes every morning and at least three nachos every work night. A couple of times the lid was off the food bin in the pantry and we would find him helping himself to second dinner. It was hard to scold him because 1, he already knew it was wrong and 2, it was Chance. He couldn't resist. Some of his more memorable meals were the entire Christmas gingerbread house and a box of 64 crayons. The crayons were a bit much for his sensitive palate and ended up in regurgitated piles in the house. Yes, multiple piles while he followed me around the house being sick. I could practically read his thoughts that day... "Mom, I feel..... " bleeeeeck, "Wait! Mom, I feel ....." bleeeeck. That is why we have a carpet cleaner on hand and ready to go. Gross. The crayon eating was a doggy tantrum because he had to stay home one day when he was SURE we were going somewhere he should be going too. Yep. Trotted right into that Barbie play land room, grabbed the box of crayons and brought them to the living room to show us who was upset and feeling dejected. I guess it backfired on him once the vomiting started.

It was doggy cancer that finally tore him up. After a surgical intervention, two rounds of chemo and a lot of prayers we realized Chance was just not going to pull through this one. His hip would pop and he'd limp around, I already mentioned the weight loss and worst of all, the tumors. Multiple tumors all over his head and neck that made it uncomfortable to have us pet him. Sometimes they would bleed. Poor Chance. We just couldn't control the tumors anymore. I called the vet to ask when I would know it was time to let Chance go. He told me about his own experience and that he was certain it was the right time when his dog would no longer eat a Whopper - as in Burger King. I told that to Jeremy and got a really skeptical look. Jeremy said "Hon, I think Chance could be on his death bed and still rally enough to eat a Whopper. I don't think that is the best test for him." I was certain this was going to be the test. It wasn't. Chance spent the evening crying behind the couch over the past weekend. His appetite never wavered. 

We had a Lacow Family Meeting and set the date with the vet. The day came and I fed Chance extra pancakes, dog cookies and gave him super lovin'. We were all in tears and slept together in the same room the night before. True to form, Chance tore through three cups of treats at the vet's office before his time was finished. The first shot made him sleepy and his last voluntary movement was to stick his tongue out as far as he could to try and get that last treat. He loved to eat. Since he could no longer swallow, I took the treat, rubbed it on his tongue, then put his tongue back in his mouth where it belonged. Silly dog. 

Chance left this world that day with all three of us on the floor with him holding him and telling him what a good boy he was. We let him know that our family was going to be okay and that we loved him. We all took turns whispering in his ears that he was the best dog ever and gave him tons of kisses on his big meat chunk head. We took time between the tears to tell a couple funny "Chance stories", and held each other while Dr. Baker gave Chance his final injection. When we left the little room after we held him and said more goodbyes, Chance looked totally peaceful. He was all curled up and snuggled on that comfy rug on the floor where we all spent our last hugs with him. 

A week ago I was tearful because when I was growing up my mom told me that animals do not have souls. I mentioned this concern to Natalia and she was quick to laugh in a "my poor mentally challenged mom" kind of way and that of course Chance had a soul. Specifically she said "Mom, don't be silly. All living things have a soul and we'll see Chance again in Paradise" (that's what she calls heaven). Today I was reminded that energy cannot be created nor destroyed. That means Chance is still present, just not in his busted up body. Just like Natalia's book "Dog Heaven", Chance is eating ice cream sandwich dog biscuits and playing with Heaven's children. He is running after balls (which he never retrieves) and enjoying heavenly car rides. Most of all, he is waiting. Patiently waiting for us to come home too, just like a good dog should.