Rose 2007- October 20, 2019

 

If Rose were here she would be touching me with as much of her body as she could and sucking away the grief. Where she put people’s pain and grief and fear I am not sure, but I think she made it spontaneously combust, because every place she went felt lighter with her presence. She always found joy.

 

Grief makes you cold. And I am cold today.

 

A few weeks ago, we were in the Physical Therapy room at Cheshire Medical where Rose did her weekly therapy visits. One of Rose’s staff friends was working with a patient who declared that she didn’t like dogs. Rose went to say a quick hello to the staff person and suddenly the woman was petting Rose, all the while telling me that she didn’t like dogs, well maybe little dogs were okay, but that she didn’t like pets. This, as she caressed Rose’s soft ears and looked into her eyes. Rose caught even the staunchest dog dislikers off guard. It took great effort for people to convince themselves of their dislike in her presence. It was hard to not like Rose.

Rose was a master puppy teacher. Even the shyest or concerned puppy would come around. If the puppy was worried or wasn’t sure how to play, Rose would ignore it and let it takes it time to approach her. 15 minutes later, she would be gently play bowing and the pup would be totally engaged, as if the pup had never had a concern. If she encountered a rambunctious pup she was equally as engaged and played with wild abandon. She matched herself to the dog. It was hard not to like Rose. 

 

Even with dogs that were rude she didn’t hold a grudge but made it clear she wouldn’t tolerate it. 🙂

 

When Rose walked down the hall at the hospital, people would smile at her.

 That was her cue to smile back. She was pretty, joyful, social, soft, well behaved, wise in the ways of human emotions. She had an open spirit that drew people to her. Generous with her spirit and attention but not clingy or demanding it was easy to like her, even for those who had worries or concerns. It was not hard to like Rose.

In fact, it was easy to be loved by and love Rose. She made it simple. She was drawn to humans and so very accepting of them in whatever state they came. She loved dogs, tried to make friends with cats, thought that sheep should be allowed to do what they pleased. Her only hatred was Corvids. Squawky, annoying  blue jays, crows, ravens triggered a stream of what I imagine were loud barking invectives.

 

Ten years ago July, Rose came into our lives. She came from Glen Highland, a Border Collie rescue in NY. She had been a stray, about 1.5 years old,  who was adopted from an animal control facility by a woman who thought she would be a good agility prospect. Six weeks later she arrived at Glen Highland. She was “too much” for her. Rose was cheerful, smart, social and relatively unscathed by whatever her history was. To boot, she seemed interested in herding and had been evaluated and seemed to have potential. At the rescue she had been named Rosie. Since I had considered Rose as a name for my next dog, it seemed like it was meant t.o be.

So, Rose came home. We got sheep. We tried to train. She was so sweet and friendly but I couldn’t get a lie down on her to save my, her or the sheep’s life. Not that the sheep were in danger. She was very kind to her sheep. She was interested but not really interested in controlling them. And she spent all 10 of her years with us thinking that a recall was entirely optional. 

She didn’t mind sheep but she HATED agility. The first time I put her near equipment she flattened herself on the dog walk. Something clearly had happened before I got her. We have had a tunnel in our backyard for all of her 10 years with us. All of the other dogs happily go through the tunnel for treats. Never once did she go through. I decided that I wasn’t going to push that idea on her. 

Frustrated with this lovely creature who really didn’t think working for someone else was in her DNA, I went to a behaviorist who pointed out the obvious – that she was a perfectly wonderful dog who was mismatched to her job. But I was unsure what that job might be. And I was extremely disappointed that I owned sheep without a sheep dog.

What was becoming clear was that Rose had other ideas for her career. She loved visiting Al’s job and schmoozing people. She was a cocktail party girl – flitting from person to person and enjoying every moment.  But sometimes she would find the person in the room most in pain and sidle up to them. More than once she caused people to burst into tears as she touched their grief.  

She was by my side through some difficult times. But we never really owned her. She was a dog of the people and while she turned to me for some things, her energy has always been directed to others. There is a picture of Rose next to the definition of extrovert in the dictionary.

After we moved to Spofford, we took a class for therapy dogs. At about 6 years old she had settled enough that she was a calm and engaged therapy dog. I had learned to listen to her better. And when we did one of our observations to become a therapy dog team at the hospital she practically spoke the words “This is where I want to work.”

And so my role with her became chauffeur, elevator operator and the person at the other end of the leash that was required by company policy. Occasionally I also acted as her rescuer when she found a situation uncomfortable. I am pretty introverted by nature and hospitals are not my favorite place. If you had told me that I would ever be a part of a therapy dog team, that I would willingly walk around a hospital an hour a week chatting with sick, grief stricken people, I would have thought you were delusional. But Rose’s will was stronger and the clarity of her intentions brighter than my misgivings.

Her certainty about her role has allowed me to witness, almost as a fly on the wall, things about people I would never have seen without her. Her openness to them and their pain, her lack of judgement in the face of their many and various disabilities and disadvantages has made me more compassionate. And the way she pried open hearts, motivated people to try harder, gave staff people the hug they needed to carry on when things got hard was a gift.

At home, she was a benevolent leader. Except for Magic who she liked to harass, she led the way to being friendlier and more confident than they otherwise might have been. Quinn and Jura both drew strength and confidence around people by her example.When Breton arrived I am pretty sure that Rose was thinking “oohh they got me a puppy!!!! Whee!!! My very own puppy” Breton was guardy and a little defensive. Rose showed by example that you can be a strong independent woman and speak with a quiet authority. There is no need to growl unless the first suggestion is not taken.

 

Poe arrived and was a bit on guard. He had lived with some bitchy bitches in his time. From day one he recognized in Rose a fun-loving benevolent leader. Recently they had been having daily face fights while I ate my breakfast.

Rose was beginning to get more achy from arthritis. And I had begun warning people at the hospital that she probably wouldn’t be therapy dogging much longer. Though she perked up the instant I grabbed her bag of therapy dog things, she was tired at the end of her shift. I had begun to plan a retirement party for her in my head. She had so many friends at the hospital. “The best thing about Mondays is Rose.” was an oft heard refrain.

On Friday morning Rose and Poe had their daily face fight. Friday evening guests arrived. And Rose was a little less pushy about greeting them than usual, leaving it to the other dogs to mush on the guests. I thought she was just achy from the spondylosis she had been developing. Saturday she was still a bit subdued but still friendly and cheerful.

Sunday morning it was clear that something was seriously wrong. And when a look at her gums indicated severe anemia we flew to the emergency vet. I have been down this road before. Dakota the livestock guardian dog was fine one day and the next day a growth on his heart burst and I had to put him down.

Yes, hemangio sarcoma. She had bled out from a mass on her spleen so much that surgery that might prolong her life at best by 6 months was extremely risky. And those 6 months, if we bought them, would have been filled with anxiety and risk. And so Al and I said our good-byes.

The hole in the house is enormous. The other dogs sensed something wrong on Saturday. Of that I am sure. They were subdued all day yesterday. And it is hard not to count to 4 when checking to make sure everyone is present.

Unlike many dogs who bring great pleasure to their family and a few other people, Rose was truly a dog of the people. So many people have told me how she touched their lives. She was a bright light in dark times for so many. She knew it too. She understood her job. And she loved it. 

She is going to live on in so many ways. There are puppies who are better dogs for their play time with her. Jura and Breton and Poe are better dogs for her presence. Many people have told me the difference she made and there are many, if not more, people who haven’t. She was an ambassador for dogs. She was an ambassador for Border Collies. I was able to explain that a true working dog is calm and sensitive to the species around them. When Rose was working, she was the epitome of calm and focused on her job.

If on my deathbed I have to choose one of my dogs as my “heart” dog, it will probably be Rose. She was never really mine but I admired her gifts and am glad I was able to facilitate her sharing them so freely in her dream job. All of my dogs have taught me that dogs are far more than we give them credit for. Rose actually taught many others that lesson as well.

This very moment as I write this,  Rose and I should be wandering the halls of the hospital bringing smiles to faces and enjoying her day. She knew how to make people love her. And she basked in the love with a glow.

Rose leaned into pain and could suck grief away. She isn’t here to do that for me today.  I know many people who will grieve with me. She would have us all celebrate life. She would offer a smile, a play bow, a hug. She would look deep into our eyes with her steady gaze and tell us it is all bearable. I love that she will live on in so many lives.

And anyway, I never wanted to be a therapy dog handler. Rose made me do it.

 

If there is a tribute to be paid to Rose, I encourage people who loved her or were touched by her to leave a comment here on the page – anonymous or not. None who were touched by her will be surprised that she touched others. I will moderate the comments (because internet spam)  so they will be slow to show up but they will be here eventually.