a love letter to Rose dog

Oh Rose,
Oh Rosie,
Oh Rose dog,

Eleven years of your sweet self in this life on earth: a tiny red puppy yapping at an indifferent Cocuyo, and you became a beautiful girl who walked with a waddle and wriggle up and down hills with Sandy and, for a short while, fended off an insane Sadie when she came blasting out of the Subaru like a Tasmanian Devil.

You were always solid, Rose, in every single way — body, character, spirit. You had three enormous passions in this life: food, your family, and any kind of water you could get yourself into. What a mess. It took you days (long, moldy-smelling hours) to dry out your thick red fur. But how you loved water! You would emerge, always smiling, sometimes like a hippo and at others like a plus-sized swimsuit model. Absolutely perfect.

Oh Rose, all those walks up and down the mountain as your mom and I healed, slowly, from the outside in. Even if your poor sore paws were bothering you, you were always right there with us. You would get so excited when you'd see me and then frantic and finally a bit disappointed if Sandy wasn't with me. "Sorry, Rose," I'd say. "Next time, I promise."

How many times did you bulldoze your nose right into the crotch of an unsuspecting person? How many times did you barf up trash, dove carcasses, the neighbor's cat, dog, and bird food or their Thanksgiving leftovers?

You were always perfect.

Me, the bona fide owner of multiple very strange combinations of rescue dogs, you convinced me that labs (but only ones exactly like you) were the way to go.

And your love for your family! You had the saddest sad-face when, infrequently, you were left behind because it was too hot for you to come along. Amazingly, with all your beautiful bulk, you could leap into the bed of the truck, much like an Orca but without the buoyancy of the water.  Your people – Blu, Cash, Darren, Misty – you had pure love for all of them.

At the end, I know you waited. You knew, as dogs do, when your time was almost up. And you waited for your mom to bring you home so you could slip away into your next life safely in her stoic care. How she loved you, Rosie, how we all did, and we always will.