Dear Lambeau,

I miss you. You were my baby-dog and possibly the kindest soul I have ever encountered. Despite being half walker hound, half rottweiler you insisted on being a lap dog and, though I fussed and made loud noises, I loved it. Most dogs your size live to be only 7 or 8. Some get to 9. Very few get to 10. You did. Not only did you get to 10, but you did so after kicking cancer in the testicles two years ago. I know that most everyone we knew thought the decision to amputate your tumor-laden leg and start you on canine chemo was a silly one, but your recovery from the event was nothing short of miraculous. I admit to being quite worried that a dog your size wouldn’t be able to get along with just three legs, but you proved me wrong every day for over two years. One of the proudest moments of my puppy-fatherhood came when, just three weeks after surgery to remove your front paw, you successfully managed to pull off a tripod leg hike to pee on the fire hydrant on the corner. I have viewed that as the penultimate statement of your resilience and strength. That statement, by the way, can be vocalized thus, “PISS ON CANCER! Check me out, I’m hiking my leg on this hydrant!” The day you bounded across the yard to wrassle with your best friend, Brownie, literally brought a tear to my eye. You were adamant in your ability to defeat your foe, despite the fact that he would often use underhanded tactics and would sweep your one good front leg out from underneath you (we watched The Karate Kid a lot when he was a puppy). I joked often, in those last two years we weren’t supposed to have, that losing that leg might have been the greatest thing that had ever happened to you as it only slowed you down slightly and gave everyone who came nearby an almost demanding invitation to rub your belly. “Look, no paw, easy access to this belly. Rub away.”

I am so sorry that the Universe didn’t make your lifespan as long as ours. It is unjust. When you consider that you and your brother have probably done more to enrich my life, and your momma’s, more than anything else we’ve experienced as adults it becomes almost criminal. But these are things I cannot change. I’ve never been much of a spiritual man, but I’ve seen enough MGM cartoons to know that All Dogs Go To Heaven. Let me tell you, Beau-Bo, you deserve it more than almost every other person I’ve ever met.

I miss you so much. The house seems empty without you. Rest in Peace, dear friend.

Love,

Elijah

Lambeau T-Bone Chandler

July 2002 – August 13th, 8:38 PM 2012

Below: Some of my favorite Lambeau shots