I Learned to Play Chess from an Airedale Named Grover.

Not the board game. Grover couldn't tell a rook from a rawhide.

But he taught me the actual thing — thinking three moves ahead, always knowing what came next.

He was the kind of dog who was larger than life, a little mischievous, and always, always ready for the party.

This is the dog who once ate a hole clean through the dining room wall. His sister Cherry came to me first, head down, ready to take the fall for him. And then in strolled Grover, grinning ear to ear, teeth still covered in paint flecks from the very wall he'd demolished. Guilty, delighted, and not sorry in the slightest.

He held court at the dog park and came home with a new best friend every time. He talked his way onto the kitchen staff at a hotel we lived in and came back from morning walks with bacon — enough, on some occasions, to bring some home for Halo and Cherry. He'd been to the Lincoln Memorial, New York City, Nashville, Memphis. He really was the life of the party.

Here's where the chess comes in.

Years ago, Grover got sick, and I started writing our story down — mostly because writing was the only thing that helped.

When I sketched the cover, the only image that made sense was a chessboard. Because that's what it feels like to love someone who's sick: you stop living move by move and start living three moves ahead. What's next, then what, then what after that.

What I learned — what he taught me — is that the point was never to win the match. The point was enjoying my time with the dog on the other side of the board.

These days I'm not playing chess anymore. The house is full again with Prayerie rolling her eyes, Hudson thinking he's cool, and the rest of the whole ridiculous crew.

Would Grover have joined the armadillo chase a few weeks ago? Hard to say. But he'd have been in charge of the after party without question.

I spend my time making things that celebrate the best friend on your side of the board. The one who's here right now. Grinning ear to ear. Probably a little guilty.

Go find yours and give them a good scratch. It's your move.

-Kim Opdyke

💗