I've long called Chalmers the Lottery Dog because he got so lucky that day 11 years ago when Rachel nearly hit him with a car in Detroit at the Chalmers Avenue freeway exit. Being lured off the streets and into her car with a bunch of ribs was a precursor of the good life he'd get--turkey handouts, trips to the beach, off-leash romping in the mountains. Sadly, he died Friday, probably about 13 years old.
He was Rachel's companion for several years before I entered the picture in 2000. I met him on a ski trip to Squaw Valley near Lake Tahoe. I walked him around the bushes as Rachel bought breakfast, and I though to myself, "If this thing with Rachel works out, this could be my dog, too." Well, it did, and he was. I grew to enjoy walking him most mornings and many evenings. I realized what a good fit canines are with humans during our camping trips, when Chalmers would check in on all the members of the party as we hiked, set up a perimeter when we made camp, then curl up in a little nest to sleep.
The arrival of Levi reinforced Chalmers' role in the family. Levi thinks riding around in a backpack twice a day for half an hour is quite ordinary, and he loves to hold Chalmers' leash and walk the dog himself. He greeted Chalmers when we got home and asked about Chalmers if we left the house without the dog. Clearly he was a big part of Levi's life.
But Chalmers died quite suddenly and painlessly after a good romp at a dog park Friday with Rachel. He died in her arms as she was headed to the vet. Nothing will make his death easy, but it's comforting to know he died at the park, his favorite location, accompanied by the person he loved most and who loved him the most. We'll miss him.
