We got Rosie from a shelter. She'd only been there a week or so, but was shaky and nervous. I picked her out myself, from the crowd of needy, doggies because she has really pretty eyes, even for a dog (don't they all just have amazing eyes?) and because she wasn't enormous and wasn't teensy either. About 30 pounds, which works great for us.
When we met, she was prone to putting her tail between her legs and her head down. Her name was "Okie Dokey" (which had to go!) because the family who had owned her before had "Dokey" as a surname. No comment; not their fault. But to name a dog "Okie Dokey..." not good. Rosie was a close enough sound match, and she has a reddish-brown and white coat that I fantastically thought of as pinkish. But I digress...
At the time, we lived in a townhouse that didn't allow dogs. Oops. We weren't planning on moving, but the townhouses didn't allow cats either and one of our neighbors had 2 of them, so we were prepared to push the envelope with it. Our landlord wasn't too pleased, but there you go. He didn't throw us out for it, but he did tag on a hefty pet deposit the next time we renewed our lease. A small price to pay for a member of our family. The reason we were willing to run the gambit with our landlord in this admittedly anarchistic way was because we needed a dog. Needed. A lot. My husband was going through a bout of depression and he just needed - really needed - something else to focus on besides his worries. He needed a reason to get out and walk and he needed to laugh and smile at something (someone) who wasn't asking anything from him. It's what dogs do, isn't it? We needed her.
She needed us too, which was a real bonus. Her previous family had apparently been one of those with multiple dogs, outside most of the time. Rosie didn't have that kind of temperament, and she didn't do well. They noted on the referral card that she wasn't good around small children. At the time, we had a 7-year old, so that wasn't especially great news. They said she "couldn't" be house trained. Never good. They also said that she didn't do well with other pets. We had a cat then, and have added another one since, so... not exactly a resounding report card. Her previous owners also said she was unruly and bad-mannered, but looking at her little alert self when we took her out on the leash and she took her tail out from between her legs, these things were hard to believe. We took a chance...
We were lucky to be able to help her past these issues. I come from a family of dog trainers where no meant no and dogs were never fed table scraps. My husband is from a family of dog breeders (dalmatians) but not the most disciplined of trainers (the table scrap rule was instantly abolished in our house, to my chagrin and the detriment of Rosie's diet). We aren't the most consistent of owners but eventually Rosie cared enough about being in our good graces (and therefore, in our laps, which isn't the most convenient thing when you have a 30-pound dog) to be motivated to stay out of trouble. It's how dogs are. They're not bad, they just have trouble knowing what bad is. And whether or not it's worth it to steer clear of it.
Now our "little boy" is 16 and Rosie, who was 2 1/2 when we invited her to come and live with us is almost 12. That's not that old for a dog her size - she doesn't act creaky at all and I wouldn't be surprised if we didn't have another 6 years or more with her, but I can't help wishing dogs could live a little longer. We all do.
She has two special abilities which we love in her: she is adorably playful and frisky, loves to run (FAST!!!) and chase balls, and the other, better thing is that she is a world-class comforter. When someone is sick, she stays at their side continually, cuddling up to warm them while never presuming to be any kind of burden. When no one is sick, she still wants to cuddle up, and it's amazingly wonderful to have a dog curled up between your legs on a footstool or in the crook of your knees when you're on the couch. She excels at this in an unspeakable way.
When we first brought her home someone bounced a tennis ball across the kitchen for her and she immediately turned into a puppy, pouncing and leaping at the ball, batting it for herself and catching it over and over again. She sucks at fetch of any kind (total mutt, don't you know, but clearly NO retriever in her. My husband - who has some pretensions on the subject of our dog's "breed" - says she's part basenji and therefore a "sight hound." Whatever. ) but it's enormously amusing to watch her chase down and bat her own ball. You can throw it out for her if you want to, but you're never getting it back. She's also pretty good at catching a ball (or a baby carrot, or any kind of food for that matter) in the air. I taught her that. Not frisbies though. Why would you even want to catch a frisby, she seems to be asking. Frisbies, you see, don't bounce or provide any chasing opportunities after they've been captured. So what's the point? That's how she thinks of it anyway. If you ask me...
She's hugely motivated by food and there are very few types of people food that she won't eat. Lettuce is about the only thing I can think of right now, and if it has salad dressing, she'll make an exception for that. When we first got her it was Christmas time and we had a bowl of Hershey's Kisses on our dining room table. You'll remember that I had a 7-year-old boy at the time, so he was the one who got blamed for the foil wrappers that began to show up, one at a time, under the table. He said he didn't do it, but it was pretty hard to believe until the day I had to come back into the house for a sweater when we were on the way to the store. There was Rosie, standing - STANDING! - on my dining room table, and rooting delicately through the kisses. Apparently, unwrapping chocolate was no trouble for her. One at a time though. I like that kind of restraint. (Yes, I know chocolate is extremely toxic for dogs. We don't give it to her, and of course I moved the bowl of kisses. There have been other episodes though, and one time she ate one of those giant candy bars that my husband bought me as a surprise. She lives on; the dog must have an iron digestive system.)
I am convinced that she would eat until she burst. I really am. My husband says no, but I have never - ever! - seen that dog voluntarily stop eating. It's incredible. A marvel.
Rosie can leap like nobody's business. When we first brought her home I mistakenly thought our beds would be too high for a mid-sized dog like her. Not so! She didn't hesitate a moment before leaping gracefully on top of my son's bed; a captain's-style twin bed that has two rows of drawers beneath it. There have been very few things she could leap up on or over since then. It's amazing to see her do it. She is a ballerina.
But her face... I just love her face. I've put a few pictures in this post so you can see what I mean, but believe me, unless she is looking at you with that face, you'll never understand what I mean.
Still and all, she is primarily my husband's dog; she always has been, and it's not because we trained her that way. Most dogs prefer a child, especially if they aren't very rowdy, but Rosie loves her man. My husband had a traveling job when we first brought her home and Rosie was despondent when he left for his first 3-day business trip. When he amazingly reappeared at the end of it, she was so excited she climbed all the way up the front of him and ended up on his shoulders. Very funny! He's bought a silly contraption that connects her to his bike and the two of them have had some very fun adventures on the trail behind our house. She follows him around the house and pouts when he's away, brightening like a MIRACLE HAS HAPENED! when he returns. I have to be careful not to say "Daddy" while he's gone, because she'll go wait at the front door for him as soon as she hears it. She loves us all, but she breathes for daddy.
I don't know how we lived without Rosie, I really don't. She's the heart of our family and I can't imagine doing without her. Every family should have a dog. If you ask me...
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