A Tribute

By now anyone who reads this has also read my Facebook status and learned of the passing of Rosie, Momma Dog, Snowy Cinnamon Perfection, Roz, Rosalind, Miss Highland Village, Puppy Dog, Ros-a-Pose Williams. Rosie came into my life with a style all her own and left in much the same manner. She was a friend, a furbaby, an inspiration, a caregiver, and more. Rosie will always be missed and never forgotten.

Rosie first came into our lives on a fluke. We had just moved to Texas with our miniature Beagle/Basset hound mix, Emma, and our black Lab, Rebel. Emma was (and is) the princess of the family, and Rebel was (and is) my best friend, and we decided we were ready to add to our family. We called a local rescue home about a white lab they had listed on Petfinder.com, but that dog needed more help than we were able to give. As I was about to get on the phone, the woman asked me if I wanted to meet another dog instead. Rosie, she said, had introduced herself to the husband of the home when he was at the park one day five years earlier. Rosie had no collar or chip, and no amount of fliers or phone calls could find her original family. The couple agreed to keep Rosie along with their seventeen other foster dogs until someone chose to adopt her, and for no conceivable reason five years had passed without anyone realizing the amazing love available in this red-furred bundle of dog. We were somewhat skeptical, but we agreed to meet her just the same. A week later we ventured into PetSmart with our dogs, introduced ourselves to the foster mother, and watched as the furriest dog we had ever seen ambled past our dogs and promptly dropped all 113 pounds of fur directly onto my feet. We signed the papers almost immediately, and she came to live with us within the week.

Rosie was not an easy puppy dog to start. Five years of living with seventeen other dogs had taken its toll on her. She had been attacked by the other dogs so severely that she had to have surgery on her stomach and back legs, so she was more than a little skittish around strangers (including those of the four-legged persuasion). Still, she looked outwardly like the world's largest teddy bear, so it took some time to convince the people around us to proceed with caution where Rosie was concerned. On her third day in our home, she saw an opportunity and took off running as fast as her slightly gimpy legs would carry her. After four hours of searching, we only managed to rescue her for the second time when she fell into the pool of an open backyard a mere two blocks from our home. That was the first and last time Rosie ran away from us. In the years to come Rosie would see her brothers and sister take off when the appropriate opportunity arose, but Rosie stayed behind. By the third time she watched them run, those who knew Rosie personally could almost see the irritation and frustration she felt when any dog was so ignorant as to run from a perfectly good home.

It took Rosie almost a full year, but eventually she settled into our house as though she'd never lived anywhere else. She greeted strangers with typical Lab friendliness, and she treated us with a love and loyalty that could never be broken. When we brought Ellie home for the first time, each dog had their own reaction. Emma was jealous of this strange new pet and wanted to know when it was going back from whence it came. Rebel was anxious that the new pet made noises he could not identify. Rosie, however, was immediately relaxed. She would defend the baby if necessary, but she knew her place was safe. She did not need extra attention, nor did she need to assert her presence if we failed to notice when she entered the room (here's looking at you, Emma). Before Ellie and since Ellie, all Rosie ever wanted was a nice place to lay down, a bowl of food, and then after all was done, she would like a rub only if you had time. If you didn't, that was okay, too.

After Ellie turned one, we looked into adding to our family yet again. Within a few weeks we brought home Luke. To understand Rosie, you must also understand Luke. Luke was born on a puppy mill. When he and his sister were the last remaining puppies that did not sell, the farmer who owned the mill prepared to shoot them. A neighbor, learning of the farmer's intentions, purchased the puppies for himself. Although the neighbor had good intentions, he already had two dogs and did not want more. He tied Luke and his sister to a post outside and kept them there for nearly a year. He kept them fed and cleaned their area, but that was the extent of their care. Likewise, these two outcasts experienced daily visits from the family dogs who lived the privileged lives of beloved pets. When the man with good but misguided intentions decided to move, he turned Luke and his sister over to a rescue group. Luke stayed with the group for one night before we adopted him, again with good but misguided intentions. Whereas Rosie's adjustment period involved growling, antisocial responses from an unfamiliar dog, Luke was much more demonstrative with his fears. He stayed outside for hours when new people came into our home. When we left for the day, he gutted four couches and a chair (on five separate occasions) so much so that he pulled the springs out of the base of the couch. He ate three metal kennels, a wooden barrier, and more clothes and shoes than we could possibly list in one blog. We tried barriers, toys, punishments, rewards, and finally Prozac. In the end, the only thing that could help Luke was Rosie. Rosie, who presumably never had puppies of her own, took Luke in as her baby. She bathed him and comforted him when he was upset. She brought toys to him when he was too afraid or stubborn to come for them himself. She collected him when it was time for meals or bed, and she stayed with him when he seemed afraid of his own shadow. As much devotion and love Rosie had shown to us over the years, she showed even more to Luke. After two months of Rosie's love, Luke settled in as part of our family.

In the end, we believe Luke is the one who found Rosie. We will never know for sure. Across five years with us, Rosie had many illnesses. She had cancer in her rear leg. We had the tumor removed, but the vet said she had a high risk of the cancer returning. She developed arthritis and hypothyroidism, the latter of which caused her fur to stop growing long before she passed away. In her final months, Rosie developed partial laryngeal paralysis. The vet assured us she would be okay as long as she did not experience complete laryngeal paralysis, a complication that he said was highly unlikely. These complications brought about new restrictions on her lifestyle, but Rosie didn't take much convincing. Just as she knew instinctively what Luke needed in order to settle into our home, she also seemed to know what she needed to do to take care of her own ailing body.

In any case, Rosie seemed like the invincible dog. With every ailment and injury, Rosie bounced back. She bounced a little slower and a little lower each time, but she always recovered. On her final day, she didn't seem any different than she had the day before. She came around for dinner like always, and then she went on her merry way - like always. She often liked to lay out on the cooler floors on the kitchen, so we were not surprised when she didn't accompany us to the backroom. Three hours later, Tracey found her outside. She was right outside the doggy door, but she'd clearly been gone for a while. We have no way of knowing what happened. We had no way of saying good bye. She was simply gone.

We each responded in our own way. Luke, who seemed to know before we did, spread himself out in his bed and refused to move for hours. Eli, our newest addition, would not leave my side. Emma waited til the next day and then howled on and off for hours. Only Rebel seemed to accept this as a natural part of life. Tracey cried, but he kept himself together better than I did. I stayed with her that night, sleeping on the bed of Tracey's truck where we settled her on her favorite bed. It's a traditional Jewish practice to sit shiva, and although I'm not Jewish, I couldn't imagine leaving her alone. After that everything happened quickly. We took her to the vet the next morning, Friday, and by Saturday morning they had returned her ashes to us in a hard, unwelcoming wooden box. It's more than a little ironic to me today that when my grandfather passed in March I felt like the grieving period was being stretched across extra days with the delayed funeral. Then, when Rosie's body was cremated a mere thirty-six hours after she passed, I felt like it was all over too soon. I'm still processing.

Rosie had such an amazing personality that I couldn't possibly hope to capture it all here. She was friendly and loving, warm and patient, solicitous and easygoing, and so much more. Yet as much as this is a tribute to Rosie, I also know that I could not have survived these few weeks without the people who have grieved her with me in their own way. I couldn't mention all of them either, but I have a new appreciation now for what helps and what doesn't when a person is in pain. I still ache. I still want to cry, and I still resent having to get up each day and live my life in much the same way I lived it before, as though nothing has changed, when the fact of the matter is that nothing will ever be the same again. Still, I've had so many people reach out to me in different ways.

My husband is a given. My husband, who had previously only had a dog for six weeks and was thus a stranger to this kind of grief, kept himself together so that I could fall apart. My twin sister, who loves her own furbaby as much as I love mine, came to be with me that night. We had been fighting previously, but I called her anyway because I knew she would come, and she did. She is one of three people who could know exactly what I needed that night, and she did. I can't imagine going through that without her, but I don't have to because I know she'll be there for me. My aunt and my dad grieved with me, listened to me blather and cry, and they understood when I kept talking long after I'd lost any sense of logic. My coworker saw me the next morning and stayed with me without judgment when I fell apart in the Children's Chapel at our church because I didn't know where else to go. Two weeks before Rosie passed, my friend's mother shared the story of losing her own dogs. More than that, she shared with me how God reached out to her and told her to let her dog go so that he could be in Heaven with Him. I kept that story with me each time I cried, and I continue to think of that story now.

In the end, this is a tribute to several blessings I have experienced of late. I have had the blessings of many people who have reached out to me and prayed for me and my family, and I'm grateful for all of them. I have had the blessing of continuing to treasure the love and loyalty of my four other dogs, and I've had the blessing of listening to my baby's wisdom as she tells me, at only three years old, that Rosie is with Jesus now. She and my husband are my greatest blessings, but my biggest tribute at the moment is to Rosie. I am blessed to have had five incredible years with a dog who taught me so much about love, family, and motherhood.

RIP Rosie "Momma Dog" Williams, September 1, 1999 - July 28, 2011.