Chubs.

Chubs.

That’s not this legend’s real name. It wasn’t even her first nickname. But we will get to those details eventually. Just keep on reading, and be my reader for the next 10 minutes of your life.

This short memoir is dedicated to my special best friend and loving family member…. who became somewhat of a celebrity thru my life’s activities.

Where does this awesome life-story begin?

It all began on August 27, 2012. Two days after our prior baby, Nika, had tragically passed away.

I don’t know what compelled my dad to have the nerve and want another dog so soon thereafter. But this now being our third rodeo, and my first time to make the difficult decision, I now understand why he did that and wanted to do that.

Dogs help us recover immediately and push forward in life. Kaya did just that for the next 10.5 years. Pushing us forward through good times and bad. And I’m sure she would insist on the same with the next one.

By grace of Google search, my dad found her profile page online at the Preble County, OH humane society. Up for adoption was this 7-week old baby. I will never forget that face.

How did she end up there?

Kaya was born in a barn, somewhere in rural Ohio on July 12, 2012. She was a rescue. Found by someone inside of a barn, and taken to someplace for temporary shelter. Zero is known of her family history, parents, or whereabouts of litter mates. We don’t even know what other breed she was in addition to Black Labrador. Chubs and I often asked ourselves about it all, and wondered. I wish we knew.

And how did we end up there?

The following day after Labor Day, 2012, it was off to the middle of nowhere in Ohio. Just dad and I. What a fun day, I remember.  

At first sight, she was precious. I remember cradling her for the first time. The first picture I ever posted of us seemed like it was just yesterday. The ladies of Facebook absolutely loved it.

The road trip home was full of adventure. I remember our pitstops and potty-breaks, and her laying calmly in the crate the entire 250-mile ride home, curious of what was to be of the life we’d all give her.

When she entered her new home, she wanted to promptly hide behind the refrigerator.

And then the entire family struggled naming her.

For a few days, her name was Sophie. I think we had a tag made out to Sofie. Unfortunately, grandparents and other family elders shot that name down, thinking it was disrespect of our long deceased great grandmother, Sofija.

Temporarily, the next name on our list was Gooshnaug. Little cousin Krista, whom you see nowadays dancing like a pro on TV during CBS Sports and ESPN broadcasts of Loyola Basketball games, oddly came up with that one.

And then my sister came up with Kaya. An OK name I didn’t approve of at first, but was accepted on the assumption others could pronounce and spell it correctly. (Kye-yuh)

She was the family’s dog at first.

Puppy life was an adventure. Her first nickname was “2.0”. For being a carbon-copy of our prior dog, and our gift from her.

As a young pup, dad (mostly) and I (sometimes) got a lot of headaches from her. There was a phase I couldn’t handle her myself, and a time my dad booted her from the house for terrible misbehaving only to be forgiven and reaccepted inside by mom. She was left outside, off the leash, and sat outside of the door for several minutes without ever running away. Mama Rasa was the one who insisted of us being more patient with this one. It soon paid off.

I was in charge of all the obedience classes, while dad enforced the boot-camps. She was the youngest in the class, by more than a half year. I thought she was going to flunk and get us kicked out for barking so much at other dogs. Somehow, we passed.

As those early years proceeded, she became wiser. She was an intelligent pup. As further years proceeded into a mature age, I felt as if she was a human in disguise as a dog.

She went from being an asshole menace to a sweetheart rather quickly. 

She was the life of the party when we had family gatherings and holidays, backyard bonfires, visits with friends and next-door neighbors, and when in the presence of young children too. She also loved being a huge part of my sister’s wedding up north, when the entire party bus came to the cabin.

Kaya had an appreciation for all people, connecting with everyone deeply through feelings and emotions, and socially too. She never wanted to be left out or left home alone, always running over to the front window to stick her snout through the curtains to watch as you’d drive away. She almost never cried or was in pain either, or had mood-swings, but growled ferociously and snarled every time she saw someone who was suspicious and shady looking. She was a great security system for home, and bodyguard to me and my sister. Kaya could care less of socializing with other dogs (except for fellow family dogs), but strived to be social with every human she’d approve of.

For example, the first time I brought my (at the time) girlfriend Amanda home to meet the parents in spring of 2015, Kaya extended out her paw to Amanda. Amanda knelt down on the floor. They shook and held hands.

I reflect on that heartwarming moment very often. I type this and I cry. Kaya approved of my wife-to-be, 4 years later.

Kaya’s role was to accompany, to comfort, to please, to give affection, and to give love. She was a sweetheart and a professional in this capacity. Up until 2018, she was a hugger – propping herself up on both hind legs to hug me every time I’d come home from a trip or a night out. She was also a hand-holder, often wanting to hold hands with others whom she loved the most (my mama getting majority of them). And she loved high-fives, and pat-a-cakes.

What I always strived to do daily with her, was to hug, give a kiss on the forehead, and show my affection and appreciation back in return. I did this at least a few times per day. It’s important to show that same reciprocation back in return to loved ones like this when they give it to you first and more often. That’s why this loss hurts so much, personally. I also talked to her lots. Even when it seemed weird or awkward to talk aloud to my dog, alone, I did it every day. We even discussed over fishing strategies while in the boat and vehicle together. Dogs aren’t as dumb as you might think they are. I know for certain she understood most things, and understood me. We could also communicate and read one another without ever having to say something. The connection was extraordinary.

Walks were a favorite. So too were rope toys, balls, and frisbees. Many stuffed animals were destroyed. Blowing late-night farts beneath the coffee table was another pastime and source of humor. She also did this butt-dance – anytime you’d pet and massage her back-side she’d start dancing and bouncing on her hind legs. This went on until her final week of life.

Kaya was very photogenic – smiling often. She was also protective of her scarves and collar. Tomatoes, bananas, pizza crusts, salmon skins, cooked fish fillets and pasta noodles were the favorite people foods.  

During the age of 3 to 4, Kaya was actually chubby and pudgy for her size due to a poorer diet and lack of daily exercise. Henceforth, our nickname of CHUBS came about. She responded to it. As she grew older, the rolls went away. But everyone still called her Chubs, and continued to respond to it. I wish I could do the same myself now at age-36.

Our relationship didn’t really take-off until I acquired my current Ranger fishing boat in spring of 2015. Later that year, fishing trips and many days on the water and boat landing visits became the norm for she and I.

She became MY dog next.

The special bond between a boy and his dog only really began then.

She was the best fishing partner I ever had.

As a puppy, I made it a priority to get her into my boat early and often unlike our two prior dogs who regretfully never experienced any of this with me until too late in their lives. Even while working on something in the garage, or tinkering with gear, I’d place her inside of the boat to explore the confines of her space and the decks while it was parked in the garage. This practice made her learn how to avoid stepping on rods and over sharp hooks. I don’t know how this training idea came about, but it was the best training I ever thought of to get her boat and water-ready so rapidly at a young age. Not once in 10.5 years was there a rod break, or hook injury. My clumsy human guests on the other hand, they’re good for 2 or 3 of them per year. Whenever a big fish was caught, or chaos ensued, she was always chill. There will never be another dog like it.

Kaya was a pro angler. In the 7 years of being my deckhand and first mate, our fishing trips and travel buddies become a weekly and daily ritual for she and I. When I set up my fishing guide service gig in time for the 2016-year, Kaya became a fixture and poster-girl of my little operation, joining us often and most days of the week late in life. She never wanted me leaving her behind back in IL, or in the cabin. It was hard going to places without her. And if I did, she’d let me know of it.

She absolutely lived for accompanying me in the car and in the boat. I wished I had that same excitement she had on most early mornings. She left her mark at every boat landing we visited – hundreds of them – the thousands of boat landing poops as we came and went.

She also loved begging for food and swiping sandwiches out of young unsuspecting children’s hands, and from my customers hands.

I believe the training I did, and unique lifestyle of mine, made her into Kaya the wonder-dog that she was. She loved living, enjoyed my same excitement and adventure, and this great wondrous life that I gave her.

The Northwoods was her sanctuary, like it is mine. At the end of every trip, we’d never return south without first saying goodbye to our previous dog Nika at her lakeside burial site. I always reminded Kaya she will someday be there too, her favorite place in the world, when her time came.

The words she identified with the most were “walk”, “bass”, “muskie”, “Wisconsin”, “boat”, and “Ranger”. Whenever I said any of them, her eyes opened widely and ears would perk up. Whispering into her ears, she did that before taking her final breaths.

She was insanely wise. We even got her to understand basic Lithuanian language and all other commands too.

She loved every single fishing customer and friend whom I hosted. A lot of people wanted to hire me simply on the condition Kaya came aboard with. The pinnacle of her life, I believe, was when Midwest Outdoors TV came aboard for a day this past October. They requested Chubs join us. That entire morning, she was the star of the show. The bass seemed secondary. Those segments will air sometime in 2023. Filming what we did and showcase from that trip, I will cry when I watch on TV. I guarantee you will too.

As Kaya aged, it felt and seemed as if she greatly appreciated and was grateful of everything provided and experienced in life. From adventures to snacks and table scraps, and mine and Amanda’s spacious backyard to lollygag and sun-bathe at. She experienced more events and adventure in a dog’s life than most ever get to experience. If you think 10 years for a human fly fast, 10 years for a dog is mach-10 and magnified. Don’t take a single day and hour with a dog for granted. They want to live a same exciting life, and go to the same places, their hopefully awesome and good owners do.

When Amanda and I married, and we bought our home, Kaya was my inheritance, moving in with us full-time in the fall of 2020. Working from home all the time, it only made sense for me to become her full-time dog daddy. I loved the day-to-day responsibilities of it, as her presence gave me a well-structured and less boring life as a trophy husband. I loved our vet appointments, long nightly walks, medications, backyard clean-up duty, and all other responsibilities that came with it.

Recent years flew by too quickly. So too did age, as she grayed a lot from ages-7 to 9 (2019 – 2021). Father time caught up. Over Labor Day weekend, we knew something was wrong with Kaya. After we returned home from vacation, she had begun coughing. A visit at the vet and x-ray later confirmed a tumor was brewing in her air wave.

She continued living life, not giving a shit of the diagnosis or worrying like we all did.

^ photo from our last day up north for the year, October 28, 2022

Those first few months, you wouldn’t have ever known that she was sick with something internally. I thought there’d be no reason she couldn’t live another year or two. I was wrong. As recently as mid-December, things began to change. By mid-January, it got even worse with other ailments arising. Last Sunday afternoon the final journey began, and it went on to Tuesday 1/31/23. She was telling us it was her time.

The other evening, my mom shared a quote that summarized our loss. It read, “No time on earth is long enough to spend with our dogs/ pets we love… or to prepare our hearts for when the time comes to say goodbye.”

Unlike most dog owners, I am truly blessed to have had nearly 6-months to cope and prepare myself for a final day, though not knowing when it would be. We were able to squeeze in two more months of fishing together. What a blessing and closure to have that. Most times, a dog’s passing is unexpectedly unannounced, more tragic, and traumatizing. While I prepared myself for the day mentally and logistically, I did not emotionally. Hopefully after reading this, you understand this special bond, and my family’s loss, and that the quote my mama found also resonates with you.   

People who don’t have dogs will never get it or my grieving, or understand why I spent the last few hours writing this. Meanwhile, people who have dogs and who’ve been through this before get it and will connect with me and heed some of the advice I’ve shared.

The loss of a best friend is extraordinarily painful. Kaya was the best friend I ever had, and I don’t say this lightly. She was the only entity that never judged me of who I am and what I do. She helped put a smile on my face on the good days and bad. She taught our family and friends so much about unconditional love, and was loved immensely by all family members and relatives in return.

I take pride and have happiness in knowing that I was the best dog daddy I could be and gave her the life that I gave. And that my quick-thinking on January 31^st expedited her completing the journey that she began 2 days prior.

I am grateful for the last 10.5 years. I can’t help but imagine life would have been boring otherwise. If only our fur babies could live far longer.

After the final breath, I wondered if her spirit would linger around. I was seeking a sign. The next morning, hours after her passing, I heard the sound of a dog collar with tags clanging downstairs on the lower level. And glancing outside of my office later that morning to the backyard patio below, I saw the shape and indentation of Kaya laying out in the sun on the patio. I believe in ghosts, in spirits, and in the afterlife. I couldn’t believe what I saw. She confirmed things will be okay.

I feel much better receiving these spiritual signs, though recent mornings and nights have been the most brutal. My house is eerily quiet now. It’s depressing. The pain will linger for a while longer and might never disappear altogether. She’s now in my heart and soul for the rest of my life, for as long as I’ll be alive.

We were both so lucky to have each other.

I take solace in knowing that someday, when my time comes to an end, Kaya will be waiting for me and I will get to be with my special friend again.

I’ll love you always and forever like you did to me.