Riley would have loved a side car.His motoring career was limited to a Chevy S-10, an Oldsmobile Intrigue, and most recently, a quad cab Nissan Frontier. The back seat was all his and he had two windows to stick his head out of. As much as he loved the wind in his ears, I do believe he would have been in dog heaven with a pair of doggles on his eyes and his tongue flapping in the breeze, riding alongside a motorcycle.
He came home with me when he was eight weeks old and weighed 10 pounds. The sign on his cage said he was a Shepherd Mix (aren't they all?) and would grow to about 60 pounds. His coloring and conformation were handsome, like that of a Rhodesian Ridgeback, and his temperament was very laid back. I saw him on a lunch break from work, whi
le perusing the local pound, and it clicked. I'd been stopping by every couple of weeks, when I was ready to get back into the dog owning world, and that lunch stop was on a whim. They couldn't "hold" him longer than 30 minutes, so I kept calling back every 30 minutes to renew the hold until I could drive back there after work and pick him up.Driving back to work with him to show him off, I held him in my lap, and he was very content to nestle there. I remember someone in the lane next to me who looked into the cab and saw him there, and he smiled. There were many more over the years that Riley would make smile, most recently, a lady who was so taken by him as he had his head out the window, she was oblivious to the line of cars in front of her that had all gone through a protected turn signal.
He was a happy dog. Happy to meet new people. Happy to go for a ride in the truck. Happy to go on a walk. Happy to cruise the aisles at Home Depot. And especially happy to roll in the mud at the edge of a spring
fed lake. He grew to the predicted 60 pounds by 10 months old. And kept growing. His ideal weight topped out around 110 pounds, though he did go through a portly stage and got up to 124. That came back down, and over the last couple of years was between 105 and 115. Strong as an ox, with a chest that was massive. When he sat proud and erect, he looked like a king.When I got him, I'd been without a dog for four months. My last dog died a tragic death, and it was a while before I could consider another. However, I'd grown up with a dog since I was 8 years old, and not having one during those four months was not easy, even as I was grieving the loss of my old companion. When
Riley came along, he was a clean slate. It had been 15 years since I'd trained a puppy, and never one for the inside. I read a lot and implemented a lot. I'd never had a dog sleep on the bed with me, and I was sure I wasn't about to start that. Until it was easier to keep an eye on him than letting him wander the house. And then it was kind of nice to have the company.He was such a snuggle bug, too. If there was a foot or an arm handy, his head would be draped across it. He liked to walk up next to me on the bed and semi collapse against me, having full body contact when he drifted off to sleep. He snored. He hogged the covers. Talked in his sleep. He hogged the bed. Passed gas. Looked at me with this expression of, "What?" if I complained. Wanted attention. Sighed with contentment. He was patient.
On the Saturdays I didn't get up at normal time, he would wait until I was ready to get up before he would get off the bed to go outside. His only nudge might be a single tail thump to let me know that daylight was wasting. When I hurt my back and was laid up for a few days, he was a trooper, beside me on the bed for 20 hours a day, never complaining and never encroaching.
People who don't know dogs would always ask if he would bite. People who know dogs would go up to him fearlessly, seeing him for the sweetheart he was. More than once, I've come back to the truck when a stranger would be patting his head which was outthrust from the passenger or rear window, whispering sweet doggie nothings to him. Riley never discouraged any attention he could get.
He didn't bark much, but when he did, there was a
touch of a bay in it, and it was deep and throaty, as his chest size would indicate. He speeds were usually two: on and off. He could run around the yard in circles (usually after a bath), and he could sleep all day long. Back in December, he had a comic interlude with an empty two liter bottle, and he could be most content with removing packing tape from boxes, prior to destroying said boxes. The cheap toys were always the best.When the ambulance or fire truck sirens went by, he did like to sing. There's nothing like being awakened in bed at 3 a.m. by a howling 100 pound dog laying next to you. Nothing in the world. When he was one an
d a half years old, we started what would become an annual tradition of taking Christmas pictures together and sending out cards. The first year was a lark...we were having church directory pictures taken, and I saw someone else bring in her cat. I asked if they would do one with me and my dog, since he was out in the truck waiting, and they said, "Sure!" I ordered 25 cards, and wished I had a few more. For seven of the next eight years we sent cards to a growing number of people, to family, to folks at church, and to folks from work. He's gotten pretty famous, and all kinds of people will ask about him. Which is another reason to write this.Just over two weeks ago, he suddenly started having problems walking, and stopped eating. We went to the doctor and had x-rays and blood work done, but there was nothing that was an, 'aha!' so it was kind of wait and see. Once home, his appetite picked back up over the next week, and he got milk mixed in with his chow, an egg added here or there, and any treat to perk his appetite back up. He had been losing weight prior to this, but only had just become really noticeable. In February, he was down to 90 pounds, and when we went, 16 days ago, he was down to 84 pounds. However, he started walking better, and even ventured down to the end of the street a couple of days. Last Saturday seemed pretty good, but then he lost interest in his food again. He did eat a couple of carrots, though (although we got into a bit of an argument over the third carrot). Drank and drank his water, but bypassed his food.
Easter Sunday, after church, I took him to my mom's, where a group of family was having lunch, and he couldn't make it up into the truck without assistance, either going there or coming home. He came back in and slept. And drank. And slept. On Monday, he ate some roast beef I'd cooked for him, but not a large amount. On Tuesday, he had a few more scraps of it. Wednesday morning, he ate a couple of pieces of jerky I'd made, but in the evening it didn't even interest him. When he stood, he would stagger as he walked, so he didn't walk much. A few nights, I made a bedroll and slept next to him on the floor in the living room, missing his company on the bed. The slide seemed so irreversible, but I thought I'd try for one more doctor's visit. He'd have moments where he would perk up and seem almost his old self, though tired. And then there were times he wouldn't even lift his head off the pillow when I walked in the back door.
This morning, when I left him, I told him I would be home around noon, but if he needed to go before that, it was ok, because he was getting so weak. I got home before 1 p.m. And he was gone.
For nine and a half years, he's been my constant companion, hiking in the mountains
, taking road trips to the beach, going to visit Biltmore, sleeping, eating and walking. He'll be buried tomorrow, to sleep in the flower bed he liked to lay in. And I am left with an empty house and grieving heart.Miss you, babe.
