The first dog we adopted was probably Chich. She was a Silky Terrier who belonged to a friend of our aunt’s. The reason? They didn’t have the time anymore to take care of a dog and a young child. A reason that was oh so common, as I was soon to find out. She was 8 when she came to us and she stayed with us until about 14.
Looking through our photo albums from those years, Chich was always somewhere in the photos with us, usually held by me. Front and centre in front of the Christmas tree, among the gifts we were busy unwrapping, posing in a landscape of white as we relished the then-rare heavy snowfalls, New Years, birthdays, Chinese New Years, etc etc. She was a huge part of our life, going along for rides whenever we ran errands or were dropped off at various outings and extracurricular activities. She was always along for any day trips, bbq’ing and canoeing.
Chich was a spunky little dog, with high energy not uncommon of the breed and terriers, in general. She remained like this until her last day, though I was not present for that. Our connection was such that I knew, while overseas, that something was amiss.
I remember Chich with a deep fondness. She was my close friend, if not best friend, for many years. She was a fantastic companion, and a nice cuddle-bear during the cold Canadian winters.