12 years ago my wife thought it would be a great idea to get one of those rescue dogs. At first I was on board. I mean I can see myself with a majestic shepherd or a loyal lab. But when she came home with this 12 pound lil chihuahua, well I was out. I told her that it was "her" dog. After all, you can't expect a manly man to walk around holding a purse that poops! I mean yeah it would sit on my lap every so often. And of course I would feed it bits of my ham sammiches. That didn't mean I liked it. And so what if I sometime took the lil SOB to PetSmart to buy it a toy or two. That doesn't mean anything. I spent the last 12 years telling myself that Chewy was her dog. That it was just in my way, that's why I would hold him, cause he was always under my feet. When he started getting old sure I bought him a doggy carriage to push him around in. Doesn't mean a damn thing. Until tonight. When we found him snuggled under his favorite blanket, not moving. Not breathing. Not being that lil pain in my ass. Everything changed. Somehow I lost my dog, somehow I lost my buddy. My wife is devastated. I drove all night to our Michigan house to bury Chewy in the back yard. I'm not sure how it happens. How this stupid little dog that I really didn't want, how it ended up snuggled in my heart. I don't cry much, but tonight I had a good one. That stupid little dog is going to be missed. RIP Chewy.