 Rowdy--My Hero, My Friend
I'm biting back tears as I write this, simply clicking 'New Thread' was a challenge for me. This dog has gotten me through thick and thin all my life. He died two years ago of old age, fourteen years. I know it sounds crazy, but he was the father I never had. I was four when we got him twelve years ago. My biological father had been abusive, a drunk, and a drug addict (anything you name, he was on). He was in an accident when I was a month old, and the wires of his brain were scrambled and unplugged. Since then his reasoning skills are completely gone, lost to his idiotic choices. He's done horrible things to me and my family since then. I haven't been around him much since I was four. We moved to Tennessee to get away, and my mom fell for another terrible choice. He was just as cruel as the last, and we often had to hide away in our rooms while he threw all of our dishes, chairs, televisions and precious belongings into the yard and against the wall.
Guess who was always there for us.
Jeff never dared to touch any of us if Rowdy was in the room. The one person who made that mistake was my Uncle Chuck, when he tried to go for my mom. He was just one of those dogs you bonded with on an amazing level. I used to fall asleep with my head resting on his side, and he would curl into me protectively. I remember that I got a playdough doctor set, and he would lick my face while I stuck the 'syringe' full of the playdough into his fur. Mom wasn't too happy about it when she was cleaning it out, but I swear me and him shared a mischevious smile while she combed and brushed.
Our neighbors didn't like him much. He was big and intimidating, though he would never harm a fly. He cleaned our cats, for christ's sake. But when a feral dog started killing their sheep, they jumped on the opportunity. They peppered raw hamburger meat with a potent poison and tossed it into our yard for him. That was one of the worst days of my life. He collapsed in the yard after mom caught him with it, hacking and trembling. We didn't know what to do, so we ran to the neighbor to use her phone. Peroxide, that was the solution, and when he was safe and clear my mom snapped. One thing you never do to our family is mess with our dogs. She grabbed a shotgun and started shooting into his cow pasture, much to my horror.
I remember the biggest mistake Jeff ever made was being mean to Rowdy when he was about thirteen. He was old and frail, his muzzle flecked with gray. If he was standing in the hall or anywhere in the general vicinity of Jeff's path, he would kick him down. Being old, Rowdy would topple to the floor and be unable to get up for moments at a time. I think that was the most hatred I'd ever felt for a human being, or ever will feel.
He shared so much of our pain and grief. When he died, everything seemed to fall apart. I'm on depression medication now, and it's been two years.
Wow. [i]Two years?[i/] It's so hard to believe. I used to think that people were being dramatic when they said they felt their old companions next to them, or heard them softly bark. They weren't. I've woken up many times to feel him brush against me. In the cold, I've stood for hours in the dark--searching for the source of that signature bark. It was him, I know it. There hasn't been a day that I don't think of him. I still cry myself to sleep often. People say 'You'll get past your grief,' but I don't know if I want to. He's my hero, my friend, and my closest companion forever and ever.
To Rowdy: You'll always be loved and sorely missed.
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