Sad news coming a few days late. On Friday at 4pm, my wonderously smelly, evil but loveable bullterrier Roxy slipped quietly away from us, surrounded by her family and cuddled in blankets after a good long sun-bathing.
It's been two days, and it's hard to believe she's gone. Partially, since her decline has been coming for a good 6 weeks, I only saw her a few times a day anyway, the rest of the time she was sleeping, so it's almost like nothing has changed. Until I see her empty crate, or watch my poodle Hudson lying on the floor and sighing (he knows she's gone, he said goodbye to her the day before it happened).
Roxy is the second dog I've lost, the first being Phoebe, another bullterrier when I was 10. We lost my grandfather that same year. It's hard to say that Phoebe's death was far more traumatic, but it's true.
Our dogs are a part of our family. They slept on our beds, they kept us warm when we were sick, they barked and looked stupid and acted like clowns when we were sad. They loved us unconditionally no matter what. They loved us when we were angry, or sad, or insane. They loved us even when we hated ourselves. They knew what we needed from them before we did. Love, comfort, companionship, a good laugh and more entertainment than any of modern technologies can provide.
Roxy.....was all those things, and yet still managed to be the most evil dog ever. From the moment she burst out of her crate when she was brought to us from Halifax at 8 weeks old, like a psychotic Tasmanian devil, bowling full grown adults over like they were made of styrofoam, trying to bite tires and people and anything else she could get a hold of, we knew she'd be trouble. The image of my grandmother (who spent the first week of our life with Roxy with us), sitting with her feet up on a chair and her housecoat wrapped around her legs tight enough to mummify herself to keep it out of Roxy's clutches, will stick with me forever.
Within days she had earned the names Hoover and Jaws. Fighting her for dominance meant 40 mintues in the backyard holding her on her back with all the strength my 10 year old self could drum up while she shrieked and thrashed and gnawed at me like a rabid raccoon. When she was 12 weeks, she knocked over a chair made of hard maple, and scraped her teeth over it until she created a hollow of grooves probably a 1/4 inch deep.
She ate EVERYTHING, nearly killing herself when she was 2 and a bit when she swallowed something rubber that got stuck and required surgical intervention. I still find books with covers and page corners missing. She would cruise by a table, see something on it, and sometimes without even stopping, just roll her eyes over like a shark and take a bite out of it. She ate cardboard and paper and shoes and underwear and socks and chairs and door frames if she was frustrated enough. She could bite through a can of dog food in a single go. The big cans, like of Science Hill dog food. Tennis balls? Two bites and she would have popped them and started chewing the fuzz off them.
When she was three, we brought Hudson into her life, and prayed to God she wouldn't eat him. She did body slam him hard enough into the wall to punch a hole in it once, but they were the best of friends from that moment on.
One Christmas she found the headless carcass of a rabbit (the head taken away by a Great Horned Owl), and decided she was going to try and eat it anaconda style while my mom tried to pull it away from her (in vain). There was blood flying and scarfing sounds that can never be duplicated until mom and I combined finally won the battle. We kill ourselves laughing about it now.
Her nemesis was a friend of the family who decided early on that she was Trouble and wanted nothing to do with her. To a total hedonist like Roxy, that was not acceptable. So she toppled a large metal candle pillar with a big candle on it....onto his head while he was taking a nap on our couch.
Watching her try and steal food from the table was like watching Shark Week. In a heartbeat she'd jump up and throw her head back, mouth open, and just close it on anything she could reach. Hudson only helped facilitate this. He could pick up an entire pot of macaroni and set it down on the floor for the two of them to pig out on. She loves any and all food, though has a particular taste for lettuce and popcorn. She can hear it a mile away and wasn't shy about biting us on the butts to try and get a taste.
We have babygates on nearly every bedroom/bathroom in the house, just to protect all of the stuffed animals, garbage, clothes and books from her. She was the mighty hunter of the household, and we were her servants, catering to her pleasure or subject to her mighty wrath of impressive vocalization variety (always at maximum ear piercing volume).
The only time she cornered a cat face to face though, under our deck back when we lived in the city (she was about...2 probably), all she did was bark her fool head off while the cat clawed the living daylights out of her.
She was a drunken, hedonistic, rock-star, clownish toddler that required constant supervision and feeding. And she smelled. Look up smelly bullterriers. There are gas issues. Good lord are there gas issues.
But....she was widely loved but almost everyone who met her. She was endearing in ways unable to be explained in rational human words, adorable, mischievious and always smiling. She was the worst dog we've ever had, and our best friend in the world.
Her life will never be forgotten, and the hilarity of her antics will be recounted for years to come.
Roxanne, I love you. I know you're up there in your heaven now, eating everything, chasing bunnies, and frolicking with Phoebe and Barcley. 3 bullterriers in one place....whoever runs dog heaven must be cursing us right about now. :) I know you're at peace, you didn't suffer. So all I can say with my goodbye, is eat some couch stuffing for me, sunbathe every chance you get and know that you were loved here and always will be.
Goodbye puppy.
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