Eulogy

Chassard

January 2002 ~ April 2009

My first memory of Chassard was of a sad mopey little thing peeking round the toilet door at me. The fat pudgy puppy was all black except for his paws and had a typical ordinary mongrel look. I was totally unimpressed.

I didn't want to keep him, especially after he kept half the neighbourhood awake with his puppy howls. But by the time he had to be put down, I couldn't let go.

That was the story of his life. Despite his ordinary appearance, he was able to endear himself to the people around him. His reputation of a big black dog was enough to keep strangers at bay and new visitors to the house always asked for him to be chained up. But when they left, he had become a friend.

And Chassard never forgot a friend. People could come back a year later to be greeted by an enthusiastic dog, falling over himself to welcome them. As such, I often felt Chassard was more popular than me. One of the first comments upon meeting friends is "how's Chassard?" or "I miss your dog." The "how are you?" comes much later.

To friends, he was a lovable dog with kind eyes. He was such that people who were afraid of dogs liked him.

To family, he was loving, affectionate and playful. He poured out his heart to us, and received ours in return. In some way, I think he loved us so much, we couldn't help but love him back. He showed us what it meant to love unconditionally.

He would demand attention and readily accept it in whatever form. Because of that, he was my mom's favourite stress ball. She would scold him, pinch his fats and scratch his ears, and the gian dog would ask for more.

He was my bro's sleeping buddy. On the nights when he was so tired, he slept on the living room sofa. Chassard would snuggle into a corner and keep him company throughout the night.

He was my dad's fourth child that he spoilt absolutely rotten and both loved every minute of it.

For me, he was the light at the end of a long hard day. On days when I returned home to a dark house with all the occupants fast asleep, he would be the one, struggling to shake the sleep from his eyes to give me a proper welcome.

When the nurse at the vet's office asked if we wanted his ashes, we said no. Chassard's legacy doesn't lie in an ash-filled tin; it lies in our hearts and minds. Every time we see a fat black dog running free or hear a deep booming bark, we will think of him.

He's a hard one to forget, and I don't think we ever will.