Dear Tate

Dear Tate,

Back in 2014, I saw you. You were this scared, skinny pup on this big huge dog bed in a big huge kennel.

We went for a walk outside the shelter. You obliged, albeit a bit unsure of who this woman was taking you for a walk. No one knew your story, but I could tell you needed love.

There were other dogs there, sure. The shelter even tried to tell me about some little chihuahuas that were going to be available for adoption soon. But, something told me that you needed me. I loved being needed.

And, Chewey needed a buddy.

Or so I thought.

The two of you tolerated each other. He was top dog and made sure you knew it. You obliged because, well, you were so easy going, but every once in awhile…

You had a lot of love to give so you just loved. Even if you were scared, you still loved.

As Chewey grew older, you began to thrive. You were younger. You had the energy that he no longer had. And your personality began to blossom.

When he passed, you were there. My Tate. My sweet beautiful Tate who comforted me through loss. Your love saw me through it.

You enjoyed walks. You enjoyed following me around wherever I went. The slightest move by me at my desk, even if I was just changing position, you were at the ready. And, that face. Oh that precious face – so full of love. And, oh, how that face…loved to eat!

All of your little quirks helped us put the pieces together of your prior life. Neglected, unloved, probably abused, and we’re sure you weren’t fed very well. You always wanted more food. Even if we fed you well, you always wanted more.

Unless of course a piece of fruit happened to fall to the ground. For some reason, you weren’t too keen on fruit. That’s just as well. I didn’t like feeding you too much in the way of people food. I’ve seen what that can do to dogs and I didn’t want that for you.

Surgeries were a part of your life. Teeth removals, mass removals both inside and out. How you handled it all with love. So much so that everyone at the vet’s office loved Tate. It was genuine love.

Even when cancer was discovered and the big surgery took place, you loved. You didn’t fight it. You didn’t bark or whine. You loved. We prayed over you that the cancer wouldn’t spread and it didn’t.

During the next few years, you loved chasing those squirrels, walking, begging for MORE food, and always waiting for me to come home from the store or a trip. There was that one time early on, though…

I was yours. I couldn’t be out of your sight, if you could help it. Separation anxiety – another of the things we discovered about you – was a constant companion.

That look. That Tate look that said so many words. That beautiful Tate look. No one could ever say a thing against you.

There’s no replacing you, buddy. You were my Tate-Tate. You were my bud. You were a treasure. I found you that October 6 day in 2014. And you found me every day for the next almost nine years.

I used to say that Chewey rescued me and I rescued you. But, now that you’re gone, in a way, you rescued me in your own way. I came home this morning from an appointment and there was no wagging tail, doggie smile or pitter-patter of nails on the floor to greet me. Whenever I came home, you were there, Tate. You, in all of your sweetness, were there.

My sweet Tate.

No more pain.

Nor more pain cancer. No more heart murmur. No more hacking and coughing. No more anything.

I will miss you.

Thank you, Tate, for being mine.

Thank you, Lord, for my sweet, sweet Tate.

***

Knees Down, Prayers Up,

Sunny