After a very long and full life, Chief died this morning.
I adopted Chief when he was about 9 months old, almost 20 years ago. When I moved out to California, he came with me. He was my roommate, my companion, my little co-pilot.
He followed me wherever I went, sat outside the door until it opened, and laid on the ottoman next to my desk while I worked. He was always right there, wherever I was.
Especially when Chief was younger, he would always demand whatever food I was eating, and through the course of our life together, he developed a taste for salami and cheese, just like me. I could never seem to justify depriving him of the opportunity to enjoy small amounts of these things whenever I was.
Chief traveled across the country—and back—and eventually out of it completely when we moved to Japan together. He met all new friends, caught up with old ones, and laid in the sun as much as possible.
Before he turned 20, he had a seizure and lost the ability to walk with his hind legs. And almost every week, sometimes twice a week, we’d walk over to the animal hospital to give him the medical care he needed.
This week was harder than usual, and he stopped eating. He stopped walking around. And while we sat together last night, I broke off a small piece of gouda for him, hoping he might eat something. And, of course, he ate it. I gave him another couple pieces. I’m really glad I did.
And then this morning, while giving him a bath, he just stopped moving in my arms. There is no good way to go, only bad ways. But I can’t think of a situation I would have preferred to being there right with him, talking with him, and looking at each other.
I love you, Chief. I miss you so much, but I’m so happy we got to spend so much time together.

Chief’s Photo Memorial

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