Dearly beloved, friends, family members, people who could give a flying f" />
Dearly beloved, friends, family members, people who could give a flying fuck, tonight we meet in our own internet way to mourn the passing of the coolest dog that ever lived: Chills.
Now, I could go on for pages and pages telling cool Chills stories, and maybe one day I will. But not today. Today, we are here to pay homage to a dog that was more of a roommate to me than a pet. Today we are here to pay respect to a canine who was an afterthought to every party invitation I ever received in college.
“Hey Nate,” someone would say. “We're throwing a bash Friday. You should come. Oh, and bring Chills.”
The first few times this happened, I figured that the parties were dog-lover parties, but that wasn't the case. People just wanted to make sure that Chills got the invite. He made parties better.
Few people in life can honestly say that they shared space with a dog that made people jealous. Cries of “Man, I wish I had a dog like that” echoed off the grimy stucco walls of my shitty college apartment complex.
In addition to being cool and well-liked, the Chill Dog was also a very compassionate and caring animal. One time, my friend Tyler came to visit me at college and ended up with appendicitis. As a result of his condition, Tyler was stuck on my couch for a week. Chills never left his side until he was gone. And when he left, Tyler said goodbye to all of us, and that included Chills. And Tyler thanked all of us, and again, that included Chills.
Chills loved his music like no dog I ever met. He had favorite bands and even a favorite song (Mrs. Robinson by Simon and Garfunkle). He hated death metal and Little Richard the most. He would howl the melodies and bark the beats of his favorite songs. Sometimes, while half asleep.
Like all dogs, he wasn't always good. But unlike most dogs, even when he wasn't good, he was always cool. As a puppy, he loved stealing the underwear of the women who spent the night at our place. We couldn't blame him for that one. As an adult, he loved waiting until we were about to eat, distracting us with either a bark or a well-placed shit, then stealing our food as we went to investigate his diversion. Dog was slick.
He guarded us only against those few people who entered our apartment whom he had never met. Other than that, he was pretty much friends with everybody.
Later in life, Chills would move back to New Jersey with Doug, Chills' owner (though I think “benefactor” would have been a better term than owner but whatever). Chills then became a part of a happy young family, when Doug's daughter moved in.
And then, one August night, he left us. Family and friends mourn his passing, but we all know that if there is a heaven, and they do allow dogs, somewhere Chills is sitting on a warm rug next to Jimi Hendrix or Janis Joplin or that dude from Blind Melon, barking his favorite beats and howling his favorite melodies.
It was nice knowing you, old friend.
Rest in peace and thanks for showing up.
I can say to you, Chills, the ultimate compliment that one person can give another: You made my life better.
And for that, I thank you.
Goodbye old friend. You are missed.