Rocky

Rocky, Rockyrockyrocky, Rachmaninoff. My sweet Hufflepuff of a dog, true of heart, even of temper, focused on his objective. You will be missed. 

He came to me with heartworm disease, and spent 30 long days confined to his crate during treatment. But he beat it, and became my constant companion.

I believe dogs have a strong work ethic and need to know they have a job. Rocky actually found two jobs: being with me, and foraging for food. His misspent youth as a stray had apparently led to a vow of never going hungry again, and he had a very broad definition of what could be food. A full stomach was what he wanted, and his foraging led to not only constant attacks on my kitchen garbage, but several near-death experiences involving socks, his own food supply, a knit hat swallowed whole (retrieved by the vet the way it went in, and I still wear it), and a mango pit that wedged into his intestine, requiring surgical removal. I won't add up the cumulative cost of his medical bills, but it was not trivial. He was christened "The Very Hungry Labrador" by my girl, and he had his very own tumblr blog celebrating his exploits. As his adventures in eating became more and more life threatening, I found them less amusing and the blog tapered off.

Being my companion was also a very strong motivator. He didn't need constant attention, he just wanted to be within reach. Just in case I wanted to pet him, or maybe give him a treat. When he could get on the couch, we would snuggle and share the space. Whatever room I was in, he wanted to be there, following and getting as close as he could. But for the last year, he couldn't manage the hop off the floor to the couch. 

In the garbage

He also loved walks together, so he could forage in the wild while keeping me company. After several incidents involving socks and dishcloths (how do those end up on the road?) I bought a cage muzzle for him, to save him from himself. I said to all the neighbors, "he's not vicious, he's voracious!". When the pandemic hit, I realized he was a pioneer in outdoor mask wearing, and he was cited as an example for several children.

The pandemic was good for Rocky. He loved having me around all the time. But over the last year, walks got shorter and shorter, and for the last three months, he didn't leave the yard. Rocky lost eyesight, hearing, and control over his back legs. He had a syndrome that affects old Labradors, that led to respiratory distress. Still, last month, I left the kitchen gate open and he was in the garbage in minutes. But when I got back from vacation this week, he was gasping. I quickly decided it was time.

I had gotten contact information for a couple of at-home veterinary services (that do euthanasia) a few months ago, when I saw the writing on the wall. They had a very quick response - they would have come the same day I called, but instead I scheduled it for the following (Friday) morning. I invited my girl and BIL to join me, and they came over early in the morning to be with us. In fact, my BIL made a special trip over the last evening to have more time to say goodbye. I was touched. 

We assembled on the dog bed outside in the back patio, site of many a long nap. Bixby, the little drama queen, was confined to his crate at the far end of the house because Bixby thinks everything is about him. Rocky's last meal was watermelon, peanut butter, and a can of cat food my girl brought him. He was hugged and petted as he went to sleep. My tears mostly waited until I was alone. That afternoon I had to explain to the eye doctor why my eyes were so red.

I'm so glad I have Bixby, because the house seems almost empty without my good big boy. They were not friends, but they tolerated each other and were company for each other. Now Bixby gets to follow me from room to room, and get pets with both hands, instead of one hand for each dog.

I miss him and I loved him. But there is an element of relief in what I feel now, and guilt for feeling the relief. He had lost control of his sphincter muscle and I've been cleaning dog poop constantly. (Big dogs, big poops, even when they start to lose appetite.) I have gates everywhere, and each trash basket is behind a fortress to protect it. The walls will start to come down. I've taken the huge crate out of my TV room, cleaned the rug, and rearranged the furniture. And, for the first time in years, I've put toilet paper in my bathroom on the spindle in the holder, rather than up and out of his reach. He loved to eat the paper like it was corn on the cob off the roll. So I had to hide it from him. The things we do for our beloved animals!

I'm sad, but I have no doubts I did the right thing.