Maybe He’d Like A Nice Millennium Falcon

My family acquired a big mutt mix of a dog; my mom’s coworker found him wandering the parking lot at work. The coworker couldn’t keep him, as it was big and clearly still a puppy, and he lived in an apartment. He did keep him long enough for the dog to chew up a table leg and forever earn the name Chewy!

But he knew my mom had kids, and we had a big backyard, so Chewy came to live with us.

Eventually (to my ADHD kid brain, it was a long time, but in reality, I think it was less than a year), it became clear that Chewy was too much for us. My siblings and I stopped going into the backyard because Chewy would jump on us and chase us around. He only wanted to play, but he was big to little seven-year-old me! We didn’t have the time or the money to get him trained, and without that, he was too unmanageable.

So, he went to live on a farm!

I’m not sure how my parents found them — I think it was early-days Craigslist — but a family replied. They lived on a farm and had recently lost one of their dogs. They had three boys who were all used to big dogs and knew how to train them.

They came and met Chewy, and he happily went home with his new family that same day.