By Jeremy Rose
Over the weekend, our family lost one of our dearest treasures.
Fifteen years and eleven months. That’s how long we had Chicken Nugget Sparkles Rose, and it still wasn’t enough.
When we got him, our son Talan was just a little fella, and Chicken was his dog from the start. Talan proudly named him himself — took one look at that yellow puppy and said “he looks like a Chicken Nugget.” If you knew how many Nuggets we’d bought from Ronald’s place over the years, you’d know Talan was something of an expert on that particular color scheme. The “Sparkles” part, I never did figure out. But it was Talan, in his finest hour, and I loved it.
Talan had wanted a yellow dog, and the Good Lord provided.
The two of them loved each other something fierce. Chicken loved my wife and me too, and when our Kelan came along, he loved him just the same. I’m a sentimental fool, and I’ve always been slow to attach — to people, to pets — because I worry about the hurt that waits at the end. I know that’s a little morbid. It’s just how I think, how I’m wired. But Chicken Nugget had a way of getting past all that. He’d listen when you needed some therapy. He’d let you cry without judgment. And when he did something goofy — which was often, because he was definitely goofy — he’d have you laughing right through it.
One thing about him that never stopped amazing me: he didn’t have reverse in his gearbox. No, he had to go forward. He refused to back up, for whatever reason, which led to him looking like Austin Powers trying to turn the cart around in Dr. Evil’s volcanic lair. I never got enough of that!
He also loved when we would have a family wiffleball game in the backyard. He wasn’t much for chasing the ball or running after us, instead, he was more interested in laying on home plate or between the mound and the batter, just daring us to ask him to move.
Chicken typically scared us at least a couple of times a month, with us thinking he had died on us in the yard. He could go into a sleep the rest of us could only dream of…I know, bad pun there…I’m a middle-aged dad at this point. He could get so still. When you walked up on him, he didn’t stand at attention like most dogs would do…so, when your heart dropped and you said “Chicken!”, he would open his eyes and give you the look of, “C’mon dude! What do you want?!?”
He was an old soul. Didn’t want anything flashy. Didn’t want his paws off the ground. No car rides, no fancy food — though he never turned down leftover pizza. Mostly, he just wanted to be outside with his people.
And his people were a short list. Eight, maybe ten folks made the cut with Chicken Nugget, and every single one of them, he’d defend without a second’s hesitation. Not mean about it — never mean. Just ready to take charge the moment it mattered.
In his last year, he got a little brother, Bader. They didn’t quite know what to make of each other at first. Bader drove him batty — eating his food, barking incessantly, chasing each other around the house and yard. But Chicken was protective of him all the same, right to the end. Today, Bader just looks lost. Same as the rest of us.
Chickey, you were the best dog we could have ever asked for. As my wife said, “He was perfect.” He certainly was.
We are blessed to have had him in our lives. We will always love you and think about you, Buddy Boy.
