Rosie 1995-2011

Folks, I was planning a video blog on 2x12 combinations with the new Invader and Liberator models for this week.  I promise that will be posted soon ... it’s already "in the can", so to speak.  But today I write with a heavy heart.  My best pal of the last 16 or so years, Rosie, is gone.  As much as I love speakers, guitar tone, and all that jazz, my poor little heart just ain’t in it right now; I miss Rosie too much.  She was a really good dog, and a great friend.  Humor me if you will and read on as I tell Rosie’s story.

I found Rosie in a busy intersection near the Radio Station where I was working at the time.  She was tiny, scared to death, and terribly lonely looking.  I coaxed her out of the road and into my arms, then I took her home; what else could I do?  My daughter Ashley was just a tiny little gal then (she’s 19 now).  Ashley named the little pup Rose Bud.  When I took little Rose Bud to the vet the next day, he informed me that she was very young, too young to be weaned, and possibly too young to survive.  But she not only survived, she thrived!

Rosie was an amazing athlete as a young dog.   She excelled at Frisbee and tennis ball catching.  She liked to show off and would leap into the air, catch the Frisbee upside down, and continue to rotate until she landed perfectly back on terra firma on all fours.   She especially liked to perform this little stunt when there were new people around that she was trying to impress.  It was a real crowd pleaser.

Her stamina was insane.  You would throw your arm out long before Rosie tired of catching and returning balls and Frisbees.  When I went out on my dirt bike, she would chase beside me.  She could maintain a constant 30-35 mph.

Rosie was the textbook definition of a true friend.  Even when I was a total selfish jerk, she loved me and stuck by me.  My wife may put up with me when I’m a jerk, but Rosie loved me.  And I loved Rosie.  Still do.

At many years beyond the life expectancy for her breed, Rosie’s heart was still beating strong, and her eyes were still bright this morning, but over the last several years she had slowly lost the ability to digest food.  Her coat was still luxurious with hardly a hint of grey, but Rosie had withered to just skin and bones.  She was starving to death.  It had been long and cruel.  Today I stepped into God’s shoes, and I gotta tell you that I hope to never have to make another life and death decision for as long as I live.  The x-rays told the story very plainly:  an esophagus so enlarged that it engulfed her entire throat and half her stomach.  There is no treatment, just more decline and eventual death from starvation and/or pneumonia.  So I did the right thing, or so I’m told. 

I buried Rosie in the back yard with a tennis ball; I hope she’s chasing it somewhere right now.

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