For the Love of Chloe

By Bob Decker

(A version of this story was first presented in The Citizen newspaper in September of 2002 as part of a full page of photos featuring a rabies clinic in Denville, N.J. The last of our three rescue puppies had just passed away and this one hit my wife the hardest of all. Five-six months ago a friend asked me for a copy because his wife’s dog had just passed. In the next couple of months, I got two more requests for copies. Maybe this will help others, too.)

        This is for Chloe.

        My wife Mary Ann found Chloe about nine years ago during one of her walks around the lake near our home.

        The medium-sized female dog had longish black-gray hair caked with dirt, wore a collar with no tags and was tied to a tree with a rope, the frayed end proclaiming the dog’s escape from whomever had been neglecting to care for her properly. A passing motorist had taken the time to tie the dog to the tree after almost hitting her with his car.

        The animal control warden who later picked up the dog told Mary Ann that the dog’s description would be advertised in the newspaper for a week and, if nobody put in a claim, she would be put up for adoption. And if no one wanted to adopt the dog? The animal control warden just shook her head.

        One week later, we had adopted our third dog, breaking the “No more dogs” edict of Mary Ann after Pudgy and Nick – our two previous rescues – had passed away.

        “We’re calling her Chloe,” said my wife, sitting with her in the back seat of our car as we brought Chloe to her new home.

        Mary Ann fed Chloe (“Not too much at first,” warned the animal control officer) and watched her eagerly and noisily lap up her first bowl of cool water at her new eating station in our kitchen.

        Chloe cleaned up well and seemed to enjoy the good bath and brushing. She had the face of a bearded collie (we looked it up), but the rest of the dog was hard to describe. The long legs didn’t quite fit the body. Funny looking dog, I thought, but didn’t dare say it in front of Mary Ann or Chloe.

        “Half bearded collie and half giraffe,” I’d tell people.

        Chloe settled in very nicely and it didn’t take long to establish herself as the princess of the household, a position she held with a certain amount of dignity for the next eight years.

        Unlike our other two dogs, Chloe didn’t really have a “favorite spot” in our home … wherever she was suited her just fine.

        She would park herself in front of our storm door and survey the street or curl up at the back door and watch the birds and other little animals scurry about. Chloe would plop down in front of a heat vent during the winter or sprawl out on the cool kitchen tiles in the summer months.

        A game on TV at night might find her downstairs with me … a late-night writing session in my home office would find her curled up on my feet under my desk or stretched out behind me, lounging in the doorway.

        She also liked our back porch and – in her later years – it didn’t take long for her to get used to the freedom of our newly fenced-in backyard.

        Chloe was great with our kids and grandkids, always pushing ahead of us when they visited so she could be the first to greet them. Chloe got along with the neighborhood kids and they would often come knocking at the door asking if they could “… come in and play with Chloe?”

        Chloe didn’t like visiting the vet and refused to get up on the examination table, choosing instead to sit on the floor by the door. She figured if the vet really wanted to see her, he’d get down on the floor with her … which is exactly what he did.

        She had no trouble hopping up on Karina’s grooming table, though. Chloe loved visiting Karina and George, Karina’s cat. At the sound of the grooming clippers being turned on, Chloe would offer first one front paw and then the next. She loved the entire grooming routine. She also loved the attention she got when she came home with another one of Karina’s bows in her hair.

        Chloe know what the word “walk” meant and we finally had to spell it out when Mary Ann said she was going to take out Chloe. Mary Ann couldn’t even put her sneakers on in front of Chloe without having one very excited dog on her hands.

        Chloe was a great tail-wagger. Enter a room in which she was resting and the tail would wag slowly back and forth. Chloe wouldn’t move … but her tail would.

        But it was a different story when Mary Ann came home from work in the early evening. Chloe was at the front door almost as soon as Mary Ann’s jeep pulled onto our street. The tail-wagging started in earnest when Mary Ann pulled into the driveway and Chloe turned it up another notch when Mary Ann started up the front walk.

        Yes, Chloe was Mary Ann’s dog.

        Today, almost two weeks after a sudden and very painful illness took Chloe from us much, much earlier than we had expected, her leash and collar still hang on a peg on the coat rack in the hall and her food and water bowls sit empty in their places in the kitchen. Mary Ann will decide when they will be put away.

        We still can’t help but look for her when we pass one of her spots and I swear I can hear her shake her head and make that floppy sound with her ears late at night when I’m working.

        Chloe, a princess of a dog, is gone. She feels no more pain.

        We’re still working on ours.

(Bob Decker can be reached at deckbob@optonline.net)