Ode to a Pest

     'Pest' is one of the many many nicknames we have for our golden retriever, Chester. Over the (two) years we have had him, he has experienced a wide variety of confusion-inducing monikers. Chester Pants. Pants-a-tron. Flufflehead. Woofle. Woofleblaster. Wooflecopter. Cheester. Cheesebot. Cheddar Baby. Pester. Mr. Chester Pester Pants   (aka Mr. Pants). Chestington. Choncy. Choncinator.  Rooster. Roo Baby. Roo Poo Poo. Big Stink. Big Rooster Stink... you get the idea. 
        
      I grew up on a hobby farm where we always had at least two dogs in the house, and usually a slew of hunting dogs in the barn, among various other animals. Needless to say, there would be a large void in my life now if I didn't have any dogs. Josh, not particularly being a 'dog person', was well aware of this before we were married, and knew he would have to give in to us owning a dog once we lived together. He compromised and said we could get a dog provided he got to choose the breed. His choice was a golden retriever - the only dog he thought he would be able to 'tolerate'. Whatever that meant. I sullenly agreed. I had so many more exciting breeds of dog in mind that I wanted to own, but I would take what I could get. So, as soon as we were settled down, I promptly went and picked out an adorable, fluffy golden retriever puppy.

(He required a bath immediately upon
being brought home from the farm.)

He was the sweetest thing. Such a good, obedient boy. Never wrecked anything. Caught on to house-training really quickly. Was so snuggly and cuddly.     I was in heaven. 
When I miscarried a few weeks after we got him, he was my consolation, laying his head on my lap when I cried. He was seriously the perfect puppy. 
       
     Well, a few months went by, and despite my extreme fondness of Chester, my hankering for a "more interesting" dog didn't go away. So I began pestering Josh that we needed to get another one. What kind did I want?  My response of 'a great dane' was not well received. I started researching the breed more carefully, and decided I wanted a blue one. I looked around for breeders. The one I found that I liked sold puppies for  $1700 + tax. Yikes. (That works out to about $320/ pound.) There was no way I would be able to convince Josh of that. So, I kept looking. I did mention it, though, just so he would have the proper frame of reference for when I found the breeder who sold non-show-quality blue danes for $500. YAY! The hitch was the breeder was in Quebec. An over-eight-hour trip from our place. Damn. Josh hates traveling. There was no way that was going to happen. Well, conveniently enough, my sister and her fiancée, who happened to be coming back from a road trip to the Maritimes when the puppies were ready to go, agreed to pick up a puppy for us on their way through. YES!! Now there was no way he could refuse! He finally caved. And so began our life with two giant dogs.

      One day I had a friend over, and in our polite conversation it came up as to whether Josh and I each "had a dog". I immediately responded that no, I loved them both equally, while Josh simultaneously piped up that we did, in fact, have favourites. I was surprised, and asked him which dog was "his".    He said Willow.  
!!!!!!. 
I couldn't believe it; the dog he was so adamant against getting, was now his favourite! I really wish he had never pointed out that we had favourites, because after he did, I realized he was right. Chester, the dog that I was so blasé about getting, is my favourite. And then I became riddled with guilt. Okay, maybe not riddled, but I did feel guilty. I really hope no one ever asks us if we have favourite children. 
      Chester is such a soulful creature, I can't help but love him more. He is so emotionally attached to me, whereas Willow seems fairly indifferent. They both have their own spunky personalities that I love, but Chester is a dog after my own heart. He loves cuddling and being petted (which, granted, can sometimes get annoying, hence the nickname 'Pest'), but he is just so sweet and all he wants is my love and food. 
I think my love for him is also rooted in the fact that he was one of the only joys I had in a very dark year of my life. I don't think it will be possible for me to ever love another dog as much as I love him.
                                                  So, here's to you, my boy! 

(I guess this wasn't much of an 'ode' after all, at least, not in the traditional sense.)