[Dailydrool] Roscoe P. Hunter ATB

[Saba2R at aol.com]

It's my turn to say this is the hardest thing I've ever had to write.
 
On Saturday, September 27, my sweet bagle boy left us.
 
He lived a well loved life for 14 years.  Please visit his Dogster  page 

_http://www.dogster.com/dogs/600703_ (http://www.dogster.com/dogs/600703) 

He does have more photos on the photobook second page.
 
Also, he is on the 2008 DD calendar April 10, and will be July 28,  2009.
 
The P in his name stands for puppy poop.  Self explanatory.   Maw-Maw 
suggested Hunter as a name, but we all liked Roscoe, so he became  Roscoe P Hunter.
 
Some of the newer Drool members may not know much about him, because we  have 
been pretty quiet for the past year.  The ole guy slowed down a lot,  
snoozing mostly, and occasionally pausing during his short walks as if he forgot  
where he was and what he was doing.  I'm having wonderful memories of his  
earlier years, however.  My mother (Maw-Maw) gave me a cute Gund bear and,  in the 
impossible way that hounds have, Roscoe somehow got it off a shelf.   He loved 
that thing.  Once, I put him in the backyard on a nice day,  leaving the back 
door open.  (My neighbor told me I watched him more  closely than anyone 
watches a child). Suddenly I heard screams.  Nearly  killing myself getting out the 
door, I see two college girls taking a  walk.  One of them was screaming, 
"THAT IS THE CUTEST THING I'VE EVER  SEEN!"  Roscoe was carrying around his bear 
in his mouth, something he did  until there was nothing left of it literally.  
We could go nowhere without  it.  I'm not kidding.  He wouldn't budge for a 
walk without it.   Of course, several blocks later he would drop it, leaving me 
to carry the  slobbery thing home.
 
He would do inexplicable things, like stand with his head under the edge of  
the comforter hanging off the bed, looking for all the world like an old arab  
man in a Jesus movie.
 
For years he was afraid to go down the stairs to the lower level of the  
house.  The laundry room was down there, and my baby brother had a suite of  rooms 
there also.  When I would do laundry, Roscoe would stand at the head  of the 
stairs, peering down with his ears falling across his face.  Once  while 
engrossed with the dryer, I looked up to see Roscoe standing there.   With a 
Twizzler in his mouth.  I screamed, realizing he had gotten it from  Jon's room.  I 
raced in there, hoping the basset destruction was not  total.  It wasn't - he 
was only interested in the candy.  He was so  proud of himself.
 
I could go on and on.  But you all know how it is.  The funny  stories.  The 
craziness.
I keep realizing how much easier life will be now and already is.  No  one 
has to hear me yell, "WHERE IS HE?" or "WHAT IS HE DOING?".  I haven't  had a 
good night's sleep in 14 years.  If I wasn't making sure the  temperature of the 
room wasn't one degree off - that Roscoe wasn't too hot or  too cold - then 
it was the little piggy snoring in my ear and hogging the  "covies".  Angel, 
his mutt sister, will do whatever we do at whatever  time.  But not Roscoe.  You 
could set your clock by him.   Breakfast time.  Dinner time.  Walk time.  Bed 
time.  And he  would be indignant and irate if you veered from the schedule 
for any  reason.  Tornado....fire....didn't matter.  But I keep thinking of  
that old Marilyn McCoo song:
One less bell to answer
One less egg to fry
One less man to pick up after
No more laughter
No more love..............
 
I'd like to leave with this:
 
So this is where we part, my friend
and you'll run on, around the bend
gone from sight, but not from mind,
new pleasures there you'll surely find.
 
I will go on, I'll find the strength,
life measures quality, not its length.
One long embrace before you leave,
share one last look, before I grieve.
 
There are others, that much is true,
but they be they, and they aren't you.
And, I, fair, impartial, or so I thought,
will remember well all you've taught.
 
Your place I'll hold, you will be missed,
the fur I stroked, the nose I kissed.
And as you journey to your final rest,
take with you this....I loved you best.
(by Jim Willis)
 
 
Becca
Dadslave and mutt sis Angel
Roscoe P Hunter ATB
 
 
 



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