My dog Rodeo passed away this week. He arrived into my life at 10 weeks old, 12 years ago. Though he came to grow over 100 lbs – he had a gentle, sweet disposition. Well-mannered, never barking and always excited to go somewhere new, Rodeo was my role model and consummate teammate as I transitioned from my twenties to my thirties.
Rodeo taught me a lot about responsibility. I had to be present whenever he needed to go outside our 2nd story apartment. His needs for exercise, play and exploration became my own. He came to define my regular routines which incorporated his visits to local parks and dog-friendly excursions with grocery shopping and other errands.
Rodeo loved to go for car rides — and was tall enough to sit up and watch the world go by. A day wasn’t complete until I had sufficiently exercised his super-computer nose in search of good smells. He was restlessly driven to smell everything — cataloguing and comparing anything or anyone alongside his vast, proprietary olfactory database. Once he came to know all the smells in a particular place he would need new smells from elsewhere. Smells after it rained were always the best — magnifying and uncovering hidden smells. I had to constantly remind him that our walks were for walking and not smelling, as otherwise they would take hours. In retrospect Rodeo was taking the time to smell the flowers while I was in a hurry to — walk?
Rodeo liked everyone, or I should say sniffed everyone. He would acknowledge a stranger by lifting his snout and taking two or three sniffs in their direction. I liked to say that he had a PhD in Sniffology. He was agnostic to other dogs – rarely acknowledging them unless forced to – but very interested in people. When we visited the dog park it was his custom to greet each person and pick one to generally stand alongside while watching other dogs play.
Rodeo was probably most at home on our family’s ranch in southern Wyoming. Here there were plenty of dead animals, dirt, plants and flowers making all sorts of smells all year long. He summered there with my father during the warm months – a sort of pseudo retirement mirroring Dad’s. He could be found in cold evenings and early mornings huddled alongside the living room wood-burning furnace, atop a saddle blanked, breathing deeply, asleep.
He liked to accompany me fishing during the hot summer days. He would wade into the shallow river and stand alongside me as I cast the line and intently watch it. He liked the cold water I think. He also liked when I caught fish — he would examine each and smell it intently when I pulled it out of the water to show him.
Once in front of my apartment Rodeo was hit hard by a car. It was my fault – he was off-leash and lagging behind as I crossed the street. After peeing on a tree he saw me on the opposite side of the road and sprinted to catch up, just as a van, accelerating out of a stop sign, had floored it. Rodeo was hit by the bumper directly on his left shoulder and sent rolling twice.
He was fortunate for being knocked to the side of the road — his momentum carrying him forward — instead of under the car or tire. Also fortunate for being solidly built. He took the bumper in the best place possible. I was sure he would be dead – but he was fine. Terrified, crying, confused he was shaken up and sore for a few days. Afterwards he kept looking back towards where it happened, trying to figure out something he couldn’t smell.
One time Rodeo really surprised me with an act of valor. During our neighborhood walks around north Denver, we would pass a pair of nasty, junkyard dogs chained up behind a fence. One was a Chow and the other was an (atypical) black lab. The pair would bark and attack the fence between us on every occasion we passed by with hateful tenacity. These dogs wanted to kill us – and Rodeo especially – the dog that wasn’t tied up behind a fence like they were.
One night Rodeo and I were returning from an evening stroll, and as we neared the entryway to our building, we encountered the two junkyard dogs unchained and walking towards us. I froze. These were the type of dogs that kill people’s children and eat old ladies. Rodeo snapped to alert before the two dogs noticed us. They stopped walking and raised their heads. Before I could think or do anything, mild-mannered Rodeo lept into action and headed straight for them snarling and growling like some kind of dog who was not Rodeo. The two dogs fled without putting up a fight. I was dumbfounded. He received a lot of praise for that and I’m not sure I was able to repay the favor. Or maybe he had been repaying me.
When he was a puppy I took him to the dog park to get used to being around other dogs. A young Weimaraner who was twice his size kept beating him down – rough playing but really beating him up – pushing him down whenever he got back up. After a little while I intervened and picked the other dog up and tossed him off a few feet. I got chewed out by the lady who owned him – but I didn’t care. Nobody likes bullies. Maybe Rodeo caught on.
In the city, Rodeo had two, different back yards. The first he came to know was the expansive roof surrounding our industrial apartment. Ours was the only unit with walk-out access to it and Rodeo would sprawl out there under the sun soaking up sunshine. He would climb towards the top for a view overlooking both downtown Denver and the western slope of the Rocky Mountains. Sometimes I would have a cigar, a glass of whisky or the music turned up from inside and we’d sit together in the dusk. It was those moments that may have otherwise felt a little bit lonesome that didn’t because Rodeo was there keeping me company.
When Rodeo moved to live with my father it became their habit to visit the sprawling cemetery across the street to get Rodeo properly exercised. Soon my father discovered Rodeo could receive better exercise in a faster time by simply leading him, off-leash while driving. Occasional treats reinforced the model and both were content with the arrangement. Rodeo could run for vast stretches while smelling anything he liked, unencumbered by a leash — Dad able to listen to the radio without actually walking, himself — stopping and exiting the car occasionally to give Rodeo a treat or pick up his poo.
One of the many times I joined the pair on their regular cemetery excursions, there was a faux pas. Rodeo lagged behind a ways and as I walked over to fetch him (he was off-leash, of course) a woman had stumbled upon him thinking he was a stray dog. Rodeo was peeing on a gravestone as I approached and explained “No he’s with us – he isn’t a stray.” The woman was horrified and offended — explaining that her daughter’s grave was in the cemetery and the idea of my dog urinating on it, or another, was unconscionable. I was formally embarrassed and apologetic as I took Rodeo by the collar back to the car, yet silently agreed with Rodeo — who cares lady?
The past year Rodeo began increasingly to show signs of his age. An x-ray showed two tumors – one in his neck obstructing his breathing from time to time, the other in his belly. He would have periods of frustrated fasting followed by days of rigorous hunger. He started pain killers this past autumn which helped. I hoped he would be waiting for me when I returned to Colorado this March. Unfortunately he couldn’t wait that long.
The past two times I saw Rodeo we spent great time together. I gave him a bath and spoiled him with attention and time. When I was leaving I hugged him and reminded him that I love and respect him. I told him I was proud of how he looked after my Dad. That he was a good boy. He acquiesced and added that I had done my best for him and also myself. He would be ready to go when the time came.
I’m going to miss Rodeo a lot; but I am also happy for the memories I have with him.
