Day 76 - Rocky

Okay, Rocky is not a person. Rocky was the dog I grew up with. My parents joke that when we moved to Houston and my brothers stayed in Colorado, Rocky became my brother.

We got Rocky as a puppy when I was eight. My brothers and I piled into our van with my mom to pick him up from his family. He had just crawled under a car in their garage and got an oil spot on the crown of his head. Logically, I voted for the name Spot; instead, Rocky became his name (something about the spot would wash off was involved in the decision). Rocky was a golden retriever and yellow lab mix. Both breeds can be very hyper, so we specifically asked for the calmest puppy of the litter. The precaution seemed pointless as Rocky was a crazy nut from the first moment we brought him home.

Despite his wild nature, Rocky was one of the smartest dogs I've known. He understood so many words and ideas. He would carry his food dish around like a poor, starving pauper, but forget where he left it by supper time. With a little persuading, "Rocky, find you dish," he would tear around the house on the search. If he came back empty-mouthed, you could suggest his next destination, "Rocky, maybe your dish is under Andrea's bed. Go look under Andrea's bed." Up the stairs he'd speed, and you'd hear him running to my room. A few seconds later, he'd be downstairs staring at you with his bowl at your feet. When my oldest brother first went to college it was an adjustment for all of us. I talked to Rocky about it and he'd just sit and listen to me. The first weekend Chris was coming home, I told Rocky and he ran to the door and sat down expectantly. It was amazing. I could spend hours sharing antidotes of Rocky's brains, or you could trust me. You want stories? comment and I'll add some.

The summer before my senior year, my family went on a two week vacation to New England per usual. Rocky stayed at the kennel I worked for. When I picked him up the day we got back, he was acting strange and looked weird. We chalked it up to the stress of staying at the kennel and thought a night at home would do him good. The following morning, Rocky was still acting strange, so strange I called my Vet in a panic. I took his pulse, reported on his dehydration and told Doc about all his symptoms. She wasn't sure what is was but we decided it could wait until the next day, when the clinic was open. After chest X-rays the next day, we found out Rocky had a tumor in his lung that had grown so large, it punctured his lung. He had been having trouble breathing and the cancer was far enough advanced that it was recommended that we put him to sleep.

My mom and I made the decision after a tearful call to my dad and said goodbye to our still-sedated dog. I've been blessed not to have had to experience a lot of death first hand, so other than a hamster I didn't care too much for, Rocky was my first death.