11/11/2024
This past Saturday, we said our last goodbye to Roscoe. Roscoe was, from the moment we met him at the shelter, our “SCRUFFY” dog. We were never sure of what mix of breeds Roscoe was; with his messy gray hair coat and big attitude, it was his intrepid character that defined him best.
By the time Roscoe passed, he was diabetic, blind in both eyes, partially deaf, had two tumors of notable size and had survived two serious dog fight injuries, one of which that severed his jugular vein. He was gifted with “many lives” or so it seemed, as he survived many events and conditions that would have killed a lesser dog. He was a scrappy and tenacious dog, unfazed by life’s blunt traumas many of which came at his own initiation. He kept on living fully until his body shut down, quickly and completely.
The day we adopted Roscoe, he saw our other dogs and began running around the farm like a dog possessed. We really thought something was wrong with him, his level of ecstasy was unbelievable. He was the most jubilant happy puppy we ever had come to the farm. As Roscoe matured, so did his cheeky attitude and bravado and it was not unusual to see him initiate a squabble with another dog. He paid for his excess chutzpah dearly at times, but I don’t remember it affecting his long term demeanor. Roscoe simply didn’t have any desire to walk the path of least resistance.
He was, in his own way, extremely lovable. He would seek you out for a pat and a belly rub, and loved to be brushed. When happy and excited, he would strut around like a Westminster show dog, flipping his front legs out ahead of him like a prized show pet. And other than bouts of grumpiness, he was “just happy to be here” never minding the season or weather that came. He loved us all, despite our failing to measure up to his incredible sturdiness.
Roscoe was a VERY verbal dog (to a fault - with many responses of “ROSCOE…SHUT UP!!!) and loved to announce morning, dinner, goings and comings, clear moonlight nights, and any chance of a walkabout. A favorite activity was actively fanning the flames of chaos of our other ten dogs at any time with his relentless high pitched barking. Throughout his life, but especially in old age, Roscoe took serious offense at personal space infractions…yet he would endlessly lie in the middle of the floor directly in the path of travel, or up against a door that needed to be opened and closed. He flatly refused to change his ways, or to consider any other spot that would be more restful. Nope, and if you or another dog required him to move, there was hell to pay. The barking was angry and snarling. He was incensed.
In addition to barking, Roscoe loved nothing more than riding shotgun in the truck on John’s trips off the farm. This was his true joy, his happy place. Over time, we were convinced that Roscoe knew instantly when John’s plans would include a trip to get supplies, and he would lie in wait. As soon as John started the truck, Roscoe would leap into action and make a straight line to the passenger door. With a bit of help, he would climb up into the passenger seat and install himself there with his head on the console, in a state of bliss. The problem arose when the trip was over and one needed to get Roscoe OUT of the truck. The growling, snapping and anger that resulted from trying to lift him out was intense. Thus, most trips with Roscoe ended with the truck doors being left wide open, and with him deciding himself when truck time was over.
I hope somewhere, sometime in your life that you get to know a Roscoe. It will do you good to see that individual who refuses to go with the flow, who happily will get into a tiff for its own sake, and who bears up not only well, but better under criticism. I hope you smile at the bravado, look for the scars of a few battles, and hear spoken the heart of a fully lived life. For us, we will miss you Roscoe, and look forward to our next truck ride together.