An Ode to Chloe.

It almost feels silly to be writing this over a dog.

I had subconsciously been preparing for this for months. Even years. She was 16 and I knew somewhere deep in my bones it would likely happen this year. 2025 has felt so long already and it was just looming in the back of my mind each day. Nevertheless I didn’t feel like it would happen so soon. But Chloe just wasn’t meant to live through a second Trump term so she tapped out a bit earlier than expected. And while I respect her decision, I am very, very sad.

It happened very quickly. Friday morning she was still okay but then from 8-11 am it was just a rapid decline. I had the option to go home Friday night but I was tired and didn’t feel like driving. My mom said she had more energy and was doing just fine. But then she called me at 7 the next morning, saying Chloe was “acting weird” and that it was “already 7” so I should “probably leave now.” I didn’t know it then but Chloe had died at that point, my mom just didn’t want to tell me before I drove. By the time I got home at 9:15, my parents had wrapped her in a blanket and put her by the fire so I was able to say bye. I laid with her for a bit while I assured her she was the best dog in the world. Just a (bleak) side note but rigor mortis is crazy.

We adopted Chloe on December 1, 2009. She was born at some point at the end of November in 2008 so I chose to celebrate on November 25. She arrived at the Michigan Humane Society on November 23, 2009. I emailed my dad at 1:30 am on November 30 (I can’t find the actual email itself but I did find my follow-up, where I told him to “call the humane society tomorrow otherwise she might get adopted”). My mom took me to the Humane Society after school that day and we paid an extra $20 to hold her for an extra night. On December 1, we took her home. She threw up in the lobby on the way out.

Chloe was the best. She was absolutely terrible at playing fetch and could barely sit on command. But she was just always there, waiting. When I came home on the weekends, she would wake up with my parents and then come to my room to sleep for a few more hours. I always put a pillow on the ground when I went to bed so she would have a spot to sleep the next morning. Sometimes she would scratch at my bedside to wake me up so I could carry her onto the bed (diva). Every night, Chloe would wait with the last person to come upstairs. Whenever I was last in the kitchen, she would quickly turn her head to make sure I was following her. If I wasn’t, she would come back and just wait for me. She always wanted to make sure we were with her.

When my parents took her to get cremated yesterday, they were able to choose three stones for her box. They picked red and green on a whim and white for the color of her fur. Turns out, red is the stone for November, her birthday. White is the stone for January, when she died. And green is the stone for December, her adoption month.

I am very thankful I was able to have these extra few years with her while I was at school. I am going to miss her terribly. It is just awfully quiet in the house now. I can’t hear the pitter-patter of her little footsteps across the wooden floors. I can’t hear her running up the stairs. Or scratching at the door to be let outside. She liked to whine when we were eating something she wanted. She growled at geese, squirrels, cats, and other dogs that she deemed worthy of her attention. And she always made sure to snore and sigh loud enough so I knew just how exhausted her lifestyle was.

I do take solace in the fact that I won’t be sad forever. But I am just very sad right now, so do forgive me.

Rest in peace, Chloe. You were the best dog in the world. Sixteen years and two months is a life well lived.

Also side note, I’m officially retiring the collegiate 1989 baby blue sweatshirt. I have worn it on both of the worst days in recent memory: Election Day and yesterday. It deserves to be burned at this point.