Roxy: A Lesson in Love (from a dog)

The house behind my grandparent's house (the house I grew up in) was a rental.  It was owned by a bails bondsman and you never really knew who was going to move into it.  The year I turned 12 a very mean man moved in.  He had a fluffy, black chow chow.  He tied one end of a rope around her neck and he tied the other end to a post in the yard.  He never bothered to pay her any attention.  Sometimes he forgot to feed her. My grandpa started sneaking her food when her owner wasn't around. One morning this mean, awful man got mad.  I don't know what he was mad about, but he beat her.  He beat this beautiful dog.  I didn't know what to do, so I ran inside and told my grandpa. 

That day when I arrived home from school an unexpected sight met my eyes:  there at the top of the hill in our back yard set a dog house and next to that dog house set the beautiful black chow.  I dropped my book bag on the kitchen floor and yelled for my grandma.  All she said was the dog was our's now and her name was Roxy.  She was just shy of two years old.  I still have no idea how my grandpa did it, but I always knew he was responsible for this gift. I asked my grandma if I could play with her and she told me I could but warned me that I would have to earn Roxy's trust first. 

I grew up in a house of animal lovers.  I had been raised surrounded by fluffy creatures, and I knew the drill.  I walked slowly up the path toward my new dog and her doghouse.  I chose a spot several feet away from her and I sat down cross legged, careful not to stare at her.  She growled low in her throat, her hackles raised.  She was scared.

I spoke softly, gently, "It's okay girl. I won't hurt you."  I didn't say another word for hours.  I just sat there, silently, staring into the space beside the frightened dog and remaining very, very still. 

The sky turned orange as the the sun began its descent and finally as the last light of day sank into the earth the beautiful, frightened animal came ever so cautiously to my side and sniffed my hand. 

By the end of the week Roxy and I were inseparable.  We were the best of friends.  I loved her immensely.  She was wounded, and I knew something of what it meant to be wounded.  I think she sensed that. 

The day she died I was a grad student working in the dean's office.  I walked into work with tears in my eyes.  I was devastated and my heartbreak was written all over my face.  My boss (the Dean) asked me what was wrong and I told her.  I sobbed and sobbed.  She sent me home.  She said she knew what it was like to lose a beloved pet and she thought Roxy deserved my day of grief.  So I went home and I cried all day.

I wrote this blog that day.  It was the day I lost my best friend.  I still miss her and occasionally I still cry.  This wounded, abused animal taught me more about love and life than most people I know.  Roxy had been horribly mistreated at the hands of humans.  She could have decided to hate all humans, but she didn't. She could have chosen to bite me or attack me that bright day in May all those years ago, but she didn't. She is a dog many would have deemed unsaveable, but my grandpa thought we could save her. In reality though I think she is the one who saved us.  At the very least, she saved me.