The dog who smiled

Fourteen years ago, the Colorado Rockies were playing amazing baseball and not only in the playoffs but CRUSHING them.  Rockies fever was everywhere.  So when an e-mail from a animal rescue and shelter outside Fort Collins told me I could “Meet Helton!” I opened it.

Turns out, I’d fallen for a clever bit of advertising.  The shelter had a new litter of puppies they’d named after the Colorado Rockies players at the time, and they were hoping to adopt out “Todd Helton.”

So I went to meet Helton, Matsui, Holliday and Tulo.  I wanted another dog to keep my Hoops dog company, and I was a for sucker blue heeler mixes.  

But on my way to the Animal House’s puppy room, one older puppy caught my eye.

Actually, she smiled at me.  The little yellow dog with ears too big for her face curled back her lips and smiled at me.  And that was all it took.  I fell in love.  Helton was forgotten and I asked ot meet “Chrissy” the six-month old yellow lab mix.

Two nights later, the goofy dog came home with me.  I named her Roxy, in honor of the blazing hot Rox and their world series run.

She was a sweet, kind dog who loved to be petted and have her butt scratched.  Roxy was a terror as a puppy, chewing everything that wasn’t nailed down when left unattended.  She ate a CD that I left out in the car and I had to reimburse the library for it’s cost.  At my sister’s house our first Christmas together, she would pull off the decorative ribbons tied to the Christmas tree and proudly drop them in the lap of the nearest person.

Once, she very triumphantly dropped a frozen poop log into my sister’s hand that she’d drug in from outside.

But despite her penchant for terrorizing any tissue not properly secured in a box or trash can, she grew into a pretty darn good dog.  She was always happy.  Roxy loved it when I got married and we moved to Ten Sleep.  She loved hiking and exploring, sometimes too much.  She was the dog that found turtles buried in the mud, got bit by a snake (twice) and got sprayed by a skunk.  

I even maned to make her something of a hunting dog.  I like to tell hunters that complain about not getting birds on Springer that if the slow white lady and her white dog can bag birds every year, I’m not sure what their problem is.

Roxy’s “smile” was one of my family’s favorite things about her.  She continued to smile at people when she was really happy, or really sorry for killing another tissue. You could say “Roxy show me your teeth!” and she’d happily grin at you.

She also loved our daughter.  When Emily was a baby, Roxy would lay outside her door.  If Emily cried, Roxy would run to her.  I always knew Em was up from a nap because Roxy would stand at the nursery door, wagging her tail happily.  Roxy would patiently sit for makeovers, dressup, or just loves.  The loud thumping of her tail and sweet little girl giggles were music to my heart as they played in the living room.

When Ziggy took over the job as Emily’s partner in crime, sweet Roxy never complained.  She loved going for shorter walks with Emily and was content to lay in the shade while the two youngsters zipped around the bird farm.

Today, I said goodbye to that smiling, poop eating dog.  We had to euthanize her unexpectedly today and my heart is still breaking.  She couldn’t stand, suddenly, and I could tell she was in paid and hurting.  But despite knowing it was the last best kindness I could offer her, I hurt. 

We joked that she was the Methusela of dogs and would live to be 20 just to annoy Ben.  I guess had sort of started to believe it.  Having to say goodbye today with no real warning has gutted me.

My heart will heal.  I’ll see her collar without crying, think of her without my throat closing up.  But for now, I just feel terribly, terribly sad.  The house is suddenly too big and quiet without her farting or toenails clicking on the wooden floor.

As Ben carried her into the vet’s office, she wagged her tail.  I like to believe she was saying thank you.  Eventually, she laid on my lap and I said goodbye.  I told her I loved her, that I hoped I’d given her a good life.  I thanked her for being so loving and sweet to Emily.  And I told her that I sure was glad she smiled at me 14 years ago so I could have the chance to love her.

Be well, my sweet white dog.  You were loved.