1. Chelsea came to us – well, to Jenn, really – via someone Jenn knew (or was it someone who knew someone Jenn knew?), who couldn’t keep a dog in his apartment. This was in 1993; Chelsea was already four or five years old by then, according to a vet who looked at her. Before moving in with us, Chelsea stayed in her former owner’s truck, where she learned to recognize the golden arches and the word “cheeseburger.”
2. For years afterwards, we had to avoid saying the word “cheeseburger” in front of the dog, since we didn’t want to disappoint her. We started saying “heart murmur” instead, but eventually Chelsea cracked our clever code.
3. I remember a bunch of us hanging out in the yard and kicking Chelsea a volleyball – too big for her to control with her mouth and feet. But she had a wonderful time trying, getting happily hysterical in her attempts to make the ball stand still.
4. When we chained her in the front yard, she’d dig herself beds of cool dirt to sleep in, which I thought was very industrious of her.
5. Irish Setter, if you’re wondering.
6. When we (Sarah, Charles, Brad, Jenn, Kip, and myself) moved from Massachusetts to Oregon, we took the scenic route (badlands, Yellowstone, WalDrug, etc), and so were driving all day, camping out by night for two weeks. I think that was probably the best two weeks of Chelsea’s life; she was with her whole pack all day long, and even better she got to be in a car all day, every day. She even slept in the car – she refused to sleep outside and there wasn’t room for her in any of the tents. She was greatly disappointed when we arrived at our new house, because by that time she had decided that we were going to be nomads forever.
7. Chelsea was never the smartest dog in the pack. I was once watching a video of the Stephen Sondheim musical Into the Woods, and when the actor playing the Wolf howled – a very stagy, fake-sounding howl – Chelsea woke up from a sound sleep and started barking back.
8. When we got the kittens, Mosley – that’s Mosley, napping with Chelsea, in the photo – became convinced that Chelsea was his mother. Sometimes Radcliffe would concur with Mosley, and the two tiny kittens would crawl all over Chelsea, certain that somewhere on this enormous furry thing they’d find the milk dispenser. They’d find a bump (any bump, like a shoulderblade) and start nursing.
Poor Chelsea was too polite to defend herself against this kitten onslaught, so she’d just stare imploringly at any human in the room, her expression saying “save me from these horrible tiny creatures!” And we did (but only after looking for a camera).
9. Another kittens/Chelsea story: When we fed Chelsea, we’d have to chase the kittens away from her bowl; otherwise they’d duck in under her chin and eat her food, while she watched helplessly. One day, Chelsea – who almost never barked, except at the mailman – let out a single calm, firm “woof!” when the kittens were eating her food. It worked – the kittens ran away, and let her eat in peace after that.
10. Despite weighing 40 or 50 pounds, Chelsea was convinced she was a lap dog, and both Kip and I indulged her in this conviction.
11. Chelsea wasn’t an especially graceful dog, except while jumping over branches. Then she’d tuck her legs tightly under her while doing an adorable show-dog jump.
12. Chelsea had terrible dog manners; she hated having her butt sniffed, and never cared to sniff other dogs’ rear ends. Which was odd, since any other disgusting thing in the universe she’d be glad to not only sniff but roll in.
13. Before Chelsea got too old, she loved chasing cats and squirrels in the park (although she never chased our cats; only stranger cats). The one and only time she caught a cat, she was utterly bewildered. When I caught up (she had taken off to chase the cat), she had the cat cornered and looked up at me with a totally innocent expression: What on earth do I do now?
14. Chelsea was something of an escape artist, finding gaps in fences or digging her way under them. She never felt guilty about this; she’d wander off on her own business for an hour or two and then return cheerfully to our front door.
15. Chelsea learned only one doggie trick. Once, on a lark, Emily Care and I taught Chelsea to shake hands, praising her enormously when she got it right. We taught her in a day, and were quite pleased with ourselves. But it turned out to be a “careful what you wish for” sort of deal; for months and months afterwards Chelsea would annoy everyone by constantly wanting to shake hands.
16. Although Chelsea liked her vet Rebecca Scott quite a lot (the only vet Chelsea ever liked, really), she still hated visiting the vet’s office, which she did fairly often in the last two years. During one of of her most recent visits, she tried to make a “great escape” – but the office had too many doors, and Chelsea got confused. So first she fled to the door to the operating room (which was even worse), next to the door to the closet. Rebecca found this adorable (and it was).
* * *
We’ve been worried about Chelsea for years; her ability to walk (among other functions) has been steadily degrading. This week Chelsea’s condition finally reached the “there is no other choice” level. I emailed Jenn and Kip to let them know, and they came over the night before to pet Chelsea goodbye. Our old friend Phil (my college roommate in 1987) also happens to be visiting this week, and although I was worried that would be too weird it turned out to feel right having him here.
So I indulged myself in spoiling Chelsea (her last meal was a half-pound burger and then two hot dogs) and spent yesterday hanging out with Chelsea on her favorite sofa. Our vet – the aforementioned Rebecca Scott, who genuinely liked Chelsea – is so incredibly nice that she came to our house, rather than making us come into her office.
(Larry, the very nice man from the body removal service, also came to the house. When I was calling services to have Chelsea’s body cremated, the choice came down to either “Dignified Pet Services” or – I swear this is true – “Critter Gitters.” I still can’t say “Critter Gitters” without giggling.) (By the way, Larry from Critter Gitters was perfectly nice; and they actually do a lot of good rescue work of live animals, so the name makes sense.)
So Chelsea was lying on her favorite sofa, partly on my lap, with the rest of us (Sarah, Charles, Bean and Phil) around her and petting her (which she found a bit odd, but didn’t mind) when Rebecca carefully injected the anesthetic into Chelsea’s thigh muscle. Abut ten minutes later, when Chelsea was totally asleep, Rebecca put a second injection into her vein, which stopped Chelsea’s heart in less than a minute. It was as nice as it could have been.
It was a long, bewildering journey for Chelsea, and now it’s ended. I miss her, but I’m sure we did the right thing for her, and that’s a comfort.
I know that some of Chelsea’s other friends sometimes read this blog; I’d love it if you’d leave any thoughts or Chelsea anecdotes in the comments (if you want to – don’t feel obligated).
[There were many lovely comments left at the time, which made me feel quite a bit better at the time. Unfortunately, all the comments from this period were lost at some point. :-( –Amp].
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