Rosie
We lost our sweet girl just a few weeks before Christmas. She collapsed after a morning walk and couldn't rise. At the vet, they found a massive tumor the size of her heart and adjacent to it that had ruptured. She had to be put down.
Rosie was a foster we tried to get adopted out. We made an Instagram account after we lost my dog Asbjørn in hopes of helping other dogs find new homes in his memory. We went to the shelter in hopes of fostering a small dog we had seen on the West LA shelter's Instagram account. We met the dog, but they mentioned they were looking for a foster that could help with the large medical bills this dog would have for medical issues it had. We toured the rest of the shelter and looked at all the dogs. At the end, we went to the front desk and asked them which dog needed out the most. They pointed us to Rosie - known at that time as "Peppermint" - who'd been at the shelter for over a year.
Continued below...
I didn't immediately find her particularly interesting. Maybe that's because it's hard for any dog to show their full colors while in a cage surrounded by so many other dogs howling and crying. She was a quiet one who would approach the gate and give your finger a lick, but not much more. After getting her to our apartment, she immediately lavished us both in kisses and hugs. She was so happy to be out of there and to be with people. After months of trying to find people to adopt her, all the while with her showing us how smart and sweet she was and a pandemic locking down the world, we adopted her.
She loved people so much. She had so many friends. She made friends out of people who have never liked dogs. She didn't ask much. She loved to lay in the sun. She loved to cuddle. She just wanted to be near her people. She got used to our one bedroom apartments, so when we finally got a house where we could have our own offices outside of our living room, she was upset that she couldn't keep an eye on everyone in the same room and routinely would pull her bed out into the hallway to try and keep an eye on both our escape routes through our offices.
She got bursts of energy in the mornings and post baths - zoomies, as we called them - that resulted in her sprinting through the house from end to end, throwing caution to the wind and flinging her body into walls and parkouring off of them. Our walls will forever carry her little paw stains from those sessions. I loved them. She was such a calm dog, so it was always so funny to see her express any energy at all, and it was always for the briefest amounts of time. You could wind her up by giving her a crazy look and shaking her butt and you'd get about 30 seconds of chaos before she'd fling herself into one of her beds sprinkled around the house and lie there panting and done with the excitement. Coming home after an assignment, she'd be waiting at our magnetic screen door to greet me before sprinting off to her mom's office to tell her dad was home. It was the best greeting that made coming home so sweet.
She hated water, but would accept being in it if you were holding her. She was not a camping girl, but did love bedtime and having us all stuck inside a small tent. She wasn't a barker, which was a real relief coming from my last dog Asbjørn, who had separation anxiety and howled his poor soul out anytime he was left. Instead of barking to show her displeasure when left alone, Rosie would take a pee on your couch, which you might only discover once you sat in it. We worked through that after a few years. Trade-offs.
She loved to go on car rides, boat rides, and to kiss people - on the lips specifically. She loved to lean into cuddles with her head. Those were my favorite. She loved a good pillow and dog beds that were too small for her. She was annoyed any time she caught you taking photos of her. She was the queen of sunbathing. Her best dog friend was a corgi named Huckleberry who taught her how to play. An orange neighborhood cat loved to try and sneak up on her during our morning walks and attack, only to flop on its back and welcome pets and a couple cautious sniffs from Rosie.
She was a neighborhood staple. Children constantly chased us down the streets during the summer, calling out Rosie's name so they could pet her, maybe hold her leash for part of the walk down the block, and get a couple kisses from her. She loved them all so much. The neighbor kids on our street routinely came knocking on our front door to come say high to Rosie for a moment.
Continued below...
She was so tough. She never cried or complained unless the situation was truly serious. She survived her first battle with cancer the same year we adopted her, a lump growing on her leg that doctors were thankfully able to remove without taking her leg. We dragged her around our neighborhood in a cart to limit her movement while she healed and she had no complaints. She was a little queen being rolled around by her people. She blew out her poor little paw pads during a rocky hike during our wedding and the only way we found out was she stopped walking. She was then thrown over multiple shoulders and carried down the mountain - her preferred way of travel anyway.
If you needed a nap, you could pull her up on top of you and she'd gladly join you in slumber. She was the only dog I've owned that liked belly rubs, and she asked for them very politely. She also had some beautiful, chubby rolls I loved to run my fingers through and some belly flaps we teased her about while giving her the belly rubs she desired. She also had one fat roll at the base of her tail - a true beauty mark. She had golden eyes, fat lips, crooked teeth, springy ears, and a sweet, wrinkly smile she flashed every time we invited her onto the couch or to bed with us.
I could go on for far too long, and already have, about the ways I loved her and how great she was. As the fur around her face started to turn white, I started to take daily moments to squish her face, kiss her, and tell her how much I love her. I loved her so much and feel so broken by her death. She was my baby girl and I really thought we'd get more time together. I'll always hold her in my heart, the chunky ball of snoring fur that gave me so much love and joy. My stubby, bat-eared, needy little queen.
Miss you, Rosie.
