Of Roan

(Editor’s Note: For those who might be new to this blog, and/or just forgot, I occasionally mention “Steve”. Steve refers to a stroke that I experienced about 3 years ago. The reader, you, probably won’t even notice “Steve” unless your notice any egregious grammar mistakes.)

Several weeks ago I had to put you down. I was fortunate to be your person for 15 of your 19 years. Up to the day before I had to take you to the hospital, you were happy, loyal, and above all is sweet. You were always down for a walk or car ride. In fact, even if I just motioned toward the pantry were I kept you leash you’d bark you head off! Didn’t help that the pantry opens into a closet and the garage door!

“Sorry, buddy, I’m just getting a sweatshirt.” Psych!

While you did enjoy your adventures you much preferred, or equally preferred, you post adventure ritual.

Post walk ritual part 2.

Initially, when I had become your person, I noticed you were very comfortable with car rides, and you were allergic to your leash. Oh sure, you understood leashes and knew what they were for but you went berserk jumping around and barking when you saw other dogs during walks; even dogs in the neighbors houses! I wasn’t sure what I was in for.

To be fair, your previous owner mentioned that you occasionally demonstrated some aggression toward other male dogs, also you were a Healer and y’all can be a little protective; can’t help it, that’s what you’re for. Anyway with some time you learned how to play nice, and I knew you liked other dogs thought you did play aggressively.

One of the many characteristics you had that drove me bonkers, uh, I mean was endearing, was that you had to know where I was at all times, which was occasionally creepy.

Ok, these shots are mostly just cute and do not convey the depth of your soul piercing stare. Many of you have experienced and lived to tell the tale.

When you were confident that I was near you allowed yourself to stare into the middle distance and ponder what was passing your window.

I feel like your 3 favorite things were 1. Me, 2. Food/Snacks, and 3. Sleeping.

Whenever I came home after work or from coming from anywhere you barked incessantly until I opened the car door, or the garage then you’d snuffle and snort and run to the lawn and roll in the class. Every day, like clockwork when you ‘sensed’ I was home.

Speaking of clockwork, I never forgot to feed you, you wouldn’t let me. Around 4:30 in the afternoon you’d startle me with a short clipped, “ARF!”, which meant, “HEY! DINNER TIME, CHUMP!” I’m pretty sure you never said chump, but you were definitely hangry. While you were eating I’d prepare my meal then you’d stare at me while I eat then wait permission to lick my plate. Once you had cleaned the plate you’d proceed to “complain” that you hadn’t received enough food, or your access to the cat food was cut off. Whatever it was, your whining was…endearing.

Miss you Roan.