The Story of Chester – The Dog Behind Chester Drawers
Chester came into my life as my 40th birthday present. He was supposed to be a Boxer. I was told his dad was a Boxer but his mum wasn't registered, which was apparently why he didn't have any papers. At the time, none of that really mattered to me. I'd already fallen in love with him. It started with a photograph. There was this gorgeous little puppy sitting on a sofa, looking straight at the camera. I saw that photograph and thought, that's my dog.
We collected him from Middlesbrough on our way home from a holiday up north. By the time we arrived, most of the litter had already gone and there were only two or three puppies left. Chester was the biggest. The people selling the puppies had nicknamed him Biggie, because he had the biggest paws of the litter. I loved him instantly. He was absolutely gorgeous.
He might not have been a pedigree Boxer – but he was perfect to me
As Chester grew, I started to realise that he probably wasn't a pedigree Boxer after all. His nose was too long and there were other little differences. I came to believe he was probably a Boxer crossed with a Bullmastiff. But do you know what? I couldn't have cared less. To me, he was the most beautiful creature on Earth. If anything, I think the Bullmastiff in him calmed some of the madness of the Boxer. Whatever combination had created Chester, it produced a dog with the most wonderful temperament. He was smart, intelligent, loving, loyal and incredibly funny. He was my mate. We were partners in crime.
Chester's daft half hour
Like a lot of Boxers, Chester occasionally had what I can only describe as his daft half hour. For absolutely no reason whatsoever, he'd suddenly start sprinting around the garden at about a million miles an hour. He'd tear around, stop and look at me as though he'd just done the cleverest thing imaginable. Then he'd set off and do it all over again. Those are the little things you don't realise you're going to remember. It's not necessarily the big occasions. It's the stupid little things they did that made you laugh. And writing this now, those memories are coming back. There is sadness there, of course. But there's also a bloody great smile on my face.
My travelling companion
I used to take Chester everywhere. At the time I was repping for work and travelling around different parts of the country. Chester would come with me. The back of the car was basically Chester's mobile home. He had his own fans, his water, his food and everything else he needed. Between appointments I'd stop, let him out and we'd go for a walk. Because my job took me all over the place, Chester and I walked all over the country together. He travelled brilliantly. He was never any bother. Where I went, Chester went. And I wouldn't have had it any other way.
A proper dog
One of the things I loved about Chester was something plenty of other people probably wouldn't have appreciated quite so much. He slobbered. And I loved it. Those big drooly jaws. Those huge soft lips. That great wet nose. A man's dog. A dog-dog. There was nothing delicate about him. He was a big 36kg lump of love, slobber and personality. And I loved absolutely everything about him.
Even Chester went on holiday
When we started going abroad as a family, there was obviously one member of the family who couldn't come. Chester. And I wasn't prepared to leave him just anywhere. We searched for kennels where I genuinely felt he'd be looked after rather than simply locked away until we returned. We eventually found somewhere fantastic. The dogs had their own play areas, toys and beds. The people running it interacted with them and regularly put photographs on Facebook, so while we were away we could actually see Chester enjoying himself. But the biggest recommendation came from Chester himself. Eventually, he learnt what was happening. When we were going on holiday, Chester knew he was going on his holiday too. He'd get excited. When we arrived at the kennels, his tail would be going and he'd be delighted to see the people looking after him. For me, that's one of the best signs you can possibly have. Your dog can't leave you a Google review. But he'll certainly tell you whether he's happy to go back.
Ten years of an incredibly healthy dog
I was incredibly fortunate with Chester. For virtually his entire life he was fit and healthy. He had his vaccinations, worming and flea treatments and, apart from the occasional scare, we hardly had any problems. There was one Sunday when Chester suddenly seemed completely wiped out. Naturally, I panicked. £200-odd later, after an emergency trip to the vet and various checks, I received the highly technical diagnosis that... Chester was knackered. He'd been running around so much that he'd simply exhausted himself. Expensive lesson.
There were other little scares over the years too. As a puppy he once ran into a tree stump and injured his leg. In typical Chester fashion he seemed to just carry on as though nothing had happened, although that leg occasionally bothered him as he got older. On one occasion, when he was clearly uncomfortable, I made the mistake of giving him human painkillers without first getting veterinary advice. Afterwards he became extremely sleepy and I panicked, convinced I'd hurt him. I immediately contacted the vet and thankfully Chester was okay. It's something I wouldn't do again, and human medication should never be given to a dog unless a vet has specifically advised it.
But what I remember most about that night wasn't the panic. It was Chester. He always slept at the bottom of my bed. Some people don't agree with dogs sleeping on beds. I didn't care. Chester was family. That particular night he was too sleepy to follow me upstairs. When I went to bed, he started whining because I wasn't there. So I came back downstairs and once he had settles i went back up. Two minutes later he was whining again. this went on two or three times until I decided, I will sleep on the settee next to him all night long. The following morning I woke up to a tongue licking my face and those big slobbery chops all over me. Chester was back. And I can't describe the relief.
The ball obsession
If Chester had one true obsession in life – possibly apart from me – it was his ball. He loved his ball. Pick one up and Chester immediately knew it was walk time. He'd carry it everywhere himself. Throw it across a field, along a beach or through a park and he'd chase it for as long as you were prepared to keep throwing it. There was only one problem. Once he'd fetched it... he wouldn't bloody give it back. So I learnt to take two. The only reliable way of getting Chester to drop one ball was to convince him that the other ball was suddenly far more interesting. I must have bought dozens over the years. Although, in fairness to Chester, quite a few weren't his fault. I'd throw them into hedges, rivers or somewhere else completely inaccessible so I couldn't really blame him for losing those balls.
The day everything changed
As Chester got older, something had started playing on my mind. I'd always heard that Boxers often lived for around ten years. Then Chester reached ten. And he was still incredibly fit. Still running. Still playing. Still carrying that bloody ball. I remember looking at him and feeling genuinely grateful. I thought: I'm getting more than ten years with my buddy. He's going to be here for a long, long time yet. Only a couple of weeks later, everything changed.
We'd been to our local park. We'd been doing exactly what we'd done countless times before. Playing ball. Chester had been running around normally. There had been nothing to suggest anything was wrong. Eventually I said: "Come on, Chester. It's time to go." I put his lead on and we started walking back towards the car. Then Chester collapsed against my leg.
I turned around and said something along the lines of: "What are you doing, you silly bugger?" He stumbled. He looked at me. And he fell over. I managed to get him onto the path and lay him down. That became Chester's final resting place in the world while he was still with me. My beautiful, fit, healthy mate who had been chasing his ball only moments earlier never got back up.
I had a choice to make
What happened afterwards is difficult to describe. There was panic. There were tears. There was disbelief. And there was an enormous amount of pain. But somewhere amongst all of that, I remember making a very conscious decision. I could focus entirely on what I'd lost. Or I could focus on what Chester had given me.
Would Chester have wanted me sitting there devastated because he'd gone? Absolutely not. Would he have wanted me remembering the walks, the travelling, the daft half hours, the balls, the slobbery kisses and more than ten years of unconditional love? Absolutely. That didn't make losing him hurt any less. But it changed where I chose to put that hurt.
And that is where Chester Drawers began
I realised something else too. I wasn't the only person who had ever felt like this. Every day, somebody somewhere loses an animal who wasn't simply their pet. They've lost their companion. Their routine. Their walking buddy. Their confidant. Their best friend. Their family.
And I started thinking that perhaps I could take something from the love I had for Chester and use it to help somebody else remember theirs. Not to take away their grief. I couldn't possibly do that. But perhaps I could create something that, when they looked at it, gave them one moment of warmth amongst the sadness. Something that brought back a memory. Something that made them smile. And if Chester could be the inspiration behind that, then something beautiful could come from one of the most painful days of my life. That was the birth of Chester Drawers.
So why "Chester Drawers"?
The name actually existed long before the business did. I always called Chester Chezzy Bear. Years ago, we were away camping with friends and somebody – I think it may have been my friend Sarah – started calling him Chester Drawers. It stuck. At the time it was simply another silly nickname for my dog. I had absolutely no idea that years later his nickname would become a business. More importantly, I never imagined it would become his legacy.
I've always loved woodworking. I've always loved animals. And through Chester, those two things finally came together. Today, when I make something to remember somebody else's much-loved pet, there's a little bit of Chester behind the reason I'm doing it. Because I know what that animal meant to them. I've been there.
Crafted by hand, inspired by love
Chester Drawers isn't about trying to replace what somebody has lost. Nothing can do that. It's about remembering what they had. Every memorial I make is made by hand. Every piece of wood is different. Every animal is different. And every story behind them is different too. That's why I don't want Chester Drawers to become a factory producing identical memorials. I want the things I make to feel personal, because the animal they're remembering was personal.
Chester will always be the reason I started this. He was my dog, my companion and my best mate. And although I'd give anything to have him back, I'm incredibly grateful for the years I had with him. If something I make can help another person remember their own best mate with a smile, even for a moment, then Chester is still doing something good. And I think he'd quite like that.
