Letter to Chili the dog

Dear Chili,

I remember when we got you. We drove to the local Ikea store and waited in the parking lot for you to arrive. Daddy and I were so excited. I really wanted to hold you for the 5 minute drive home, but I let Daddy hold you since he seemed like he would be devastated if he wasn't able to. Looking back, I wasn't sure who I was more concerned about having an "accident" in the car.

I remember how small you were. You were so curious about everything -- and such a happy puppy. You were a handful, and in some ways still are.

I remember chasing you around our Virginia neighborhood in a business suit and 4 inch heels... You were having so much fun. I, on the other hand, was not... Such a playful puppy.

I remember how worried I was when I had to go to work, and how concerned I was when the DC traffic was so bad that I had left you alone for 10 hours. I am so sorry about that.

I remember taking you on long walks everyday. The walks in Virginia were fun and adventurous. We spent so much time together exploring the nature parks. We had fun.

I remember how worried I was every time we moved, but you always did just fine. You didn't complain once when we had to keep you in the kennel so long, and loved the hotel room - even though the hike up and down 5 flights of stairs to take you out was a pain - you never minded.

I remember how good you were when we brought Mason home. You had moved across several states, lived in a hotel room (again), moved into a new place, and met Mason all within a month - and you were fine. Thank you.

Now that "mommyhood" has taken over I tend to forget about you sometimes. Our long walks in Virginia are now short spurts in the park to burn off some of your energy(just so you don't drive us crazy later). Sometimes I forget to fill your bowl until I hear you whining to remind me. Sometimes I spend more of the day "shush"-ing you rather than petting you. Sometimes I forget about you all together until the evening when you snuggle at my feet. You used to be the king of the house, and now - you are slowly becoming the low man on the totem pole.

I'm so sorry. We still love you. You will always be our first baby. And if you weren't at my feet every night, I would miss you - a lot.

You're a good dog, Chili - And I don't tell you enough.

Love,
Mommy