This story made me think about my past pets, and the memories I keep of them. I have had a lot of pets in my life, but there are a notable few. Graves seemed to be very fond of his dog Blue, considering him his one good dog, "a cleancut fellow who obeyed a few selected commands, was loyal and gentle with his masters, and refrained conscientiously from 'bad' behavior" (123). After reading this, I immediately thought through my pets, and guiltily wondered if I considered any of my dogs a "nice dog." My family had a couple of dogs, all of which I loved. It only took me a couple of seconds to realize that yes, of course I had a "nice dog," and I felt horrible for even questioning her niceness. Rosy is technically my brother's dog, but we've had her since I was 7. I consider her mine.
Rosy has had her fare share of dramas and troubles, but she is nevertheless an amazing dog. As a small pup, she made a habit of sucking on my sister's pacifiers (my sister is now 13). Coincidentally, within a couple of weeks of being adopted, she had to have emergency surgery to remove a pacifier nub from her stomach (or intestines, I'm not sure) which she had chewed off and swallowed.
As a teenage dog, there were a couple of months where my family felt as though she was "cheating" on us. She is very smart, and no matter how much wire, bricks, wooden boards, stones, and anti-escape shock-lines we piled up around the fence yard, she always found a way to escape. Eventually we came to accept that she needed her free time. One day we got a call from some people in a nearby neighborhood saying that one of our dogs had been living with them. We finally realized that Rosy was actually living a double-life, spending days at the neighbors house. For my family, this memory of Rosy fits right along with memories of my sister, my dad, and everyone else. I like that they consider her as much a family member as I do.
In the end of "Blue and Some Other Dogs," Graves describes emptiness that "people foolish enough to give an animal space in their lives"(135) feel when their pet dies. Once again, I asked myself a question that made me feel guilty. I wondered if I had ever had a pet that died and left me feeling empty. No, I have not experienced that feeling, but I do have that pet. I feel guilty because I have had two other animal companions that should have made me feel that way when they 'died', but they both ran away (most likely to die). When pets run away, I don't feel empty because I never have to deal with the finality of them leaving. I always hope that one day I will see them again, and thus I never have to deal with the sorrow of their death. It has been five years since my cat, Nala, disappeared. She was old and sick, and most certainly died. Like Rosy, she was one of the main pets. But I never felt that pain when she left, and I feel horrible about that.
I know though, that when Rosy dies, it's going to feel like the end of the world, at least for a little while. The vet recently told us that she had only about a year left, and I felt this horrible chest pain that I only get when I'm trying not to cry. For me, Rosy is that dog like Blue. She is mischievous and independent, but she is a great dog. She would attempt to take the place of my parents when they left us alone as children (taking the parent's seat in the car when they left for a few minutes), coming and sitting near us when we cry, and leading my newer, younger dogs into the greenbelt and beyond, teaching them how to evade our traps intended keep them at home. When she leaves us, I don't really know how I'll cope with it. She will be one of the dogs to leave that huge empty space. But she is still here and for now, I should enjoy the time I still have, and not prematurely worry about her death.
Rosy, playing in the greenbelt on an "ice day."
