Dear Chocolate

Dear Chocolate,

I remember the day my sister first met you at the SPCA. I was stuck at home, doing homework. My mother told us that unless I finished my homework, we couldn't even think of adopting you. Being a defiant brat who did not want to do her homework, I refused to finish on time. But you were just too lovely to not adopt. So you came home to us on January 1st.

You were not our first choice. Your brother had a much better temperament, but he had been adopted out already. To be honest, I was not looking forward to another dog at all—since our last dog had passed a few years back, I had no idea how to love a new dog. But you came home and I saw why you had stolen everyone's heart.

You were a destructive, barrelling force. You were vindictive—once, when your penguin toy stopped squeaking, you dropped it on your newspapers so you could turn around and urinate on it. I don't think I ever saw any creature, dog or otherwise, hold a grudge like you did.

You probably aren't the cleverest dog we had (that role will probably go to Tazzy, your reincarnation). But you matched cleverness with restraint and self control. Tazzy certainly steals money and important documents with no abandon, but he doesn't discern between what's important and what's not before tearing it up. You, on the other hand, would choose only crisp thousand dollar notes and refuse to tear them up, holding them so gently that they remained unharmed as long as we didn't try to grab it from your mouth. Hundred dollar notes wouldn't do—you only wanted the thousand dollar bills.

You spent much of your childhood and adolescence away from us, wrecking our tiny apartment until you could fly up to join us. You spent your days spoiled rotten and demanding walks at 3 am because any other time of day was just too hot for your luxurious soul. And you claimed my father's chair, enjoying cartoons, especially Daffy Duck, from your perch. I think perhaps you taught all our subsequent dogs that dogs sleep on the couch, not the floor.

You grew up to be the most elegant dog. You sat with your legs crossed and looked upon the smaller dogs contemptuously as they played. You were polite and unlike those unrefined children. Whilst you enjoyed a steady diet of fruit, cut into small pieces and hand-fed to you, you nibbled carefully and never bit our fingers. Elegance.

You were also easily the most dramatic dog I had ever met. You liked to stare us down and walk away with a humph if we displeased you. You would sit under the Christmas tree, as if to say, "kids, I am your present. I am your most beautiful decoration." And you were. You had this long, beautiful coat that was kept well conditioned thanks to my mother consistently using my conditioner for your coat. Nothing but the best for our handsome, dramatic boy.

Once, we bought you a snow jacket so we could walk you in the snow. You took one sit in the snow before springing back up and deciding that no, the snow was not for you, thank you very much.

I miss you a lot, Chocolate. I miss that I never got to spend much time with you, to really know you before you left us. I wish we had more time together, after I had learnt to love another dog again. When we were children, we had three dogs. I was just 8 when the third died, just old enough to begin to understand the finality of death. It took me over a decade to fully process the pain I felt, to feel the paralysis that comes with realising that this is the end of the road. But after you passed, it took me only a week.

I will never not regret the way you left us. I had had a hard term at university, and wanted to extend my holiday elsewhere so that I could go to a fair. The night we went to the fair, you were sick. Maybe if I hadn't extended my holiday, my mum would have been with you. Maybe she could have found another vet to look after you. Or maybe she would have just stayed with you as you took your final breaths, so you wouldn't be alone. But I wanted to go to a fair, and so you died alone on December 31, to complete that final lap around the sun.

I wouldn't expect any less from the most dramatic dog ever.

This is the first instalment in a five part series about my five pets. It is followed by Lady of the House, The Cat Who Wished He Was a Dog, A Dog named Doggo, and Tales of a Tasmanian Devil.