Should have named my yorkie Pinnochio

by Beverly DePasquale
(Steger, Il)

He just wanted to be a real boy. I didn’t know that when I named him Chewy.

He thought he was a real boy since the day I brought him home.

Housebreaking my yorkie was a nightmare because he would hold on till he had to go, then pee in front of me at the same time.

He never barked. Learning english was a passion and he did his best to pronouce squirrel (because he was the great grey hunter) and I love you.

He only learned one trick and that was to sit pretty, which was used frequently to entertain or get attention.

He would beg for people food then sniff at it like it was poison.

No one was allowed to clean. Of course the girls coached him on that one. Every broom, dust pan, vacuum, mop or dust rag was the enemy to be dealt with severly. “God forbid someone breaks in here and tries to clean”, my husband would say.

On the other hand, furniture was not allowed to be rearranged or the lid left off of the garbage can. I was reprimanded for that relentlessly until resolved.

He taught every person he met how to play the “bad game.” It starts harmlessly enough with Chewy playing fetch and dropping whatever toy at your feet.

Once you had the knack of that, he would cover the toy with his body and snarl like a wolverine if you tried to throw it again.

He never bit a soul. If you gave up on retrieving the coveted item, Chewy would cry, sit pretty and promise to play nice until you bent over to get it.

The snarling and air snapping resumed with a vengance. It was his favorite game and never tired of it.

Twelve years we saw only a puppy with his teasing and desire to control the house. H

e began to slow down, drink more water and shake. The vet said the blood tests were normal.

Then he couldn’t jump on the couch and spent more time in his little bed.

When he was frightened he would urinate wherever he was.

I couldn’t believe I was watching him die. He went to my sister’s for a visit with her while I went to work and she called me to come home.

He had a seizure and didn’t look like he was going to make it.

I walked in the door and he looked at me for the last time.

Sometimes at night, I still feel him walking around the foot of my bed looking for a better spot.

I still have his “mini me” toy that he loved so much.

He would have been 13 on July 31. He died on July 22nd.

There is a hole in my life that can never be filled.

He was a real boy to me.

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