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Let's get the insignificant stuff out of the way first: I've been busy - REALLY busy - rebuilding the top 5' or so of a couple brick walls on the side of the house.
The top couple feet of this particular wall were trash, the way the roof membrane tied into (covered, really) the top of the parapet was trash, and it all got torn out and redone. I'm happy with the results and have moved on to an adjacent wall but like I said...big picture, it's not real significant right now. Almost a month ago, on September 22nd, after a long, valiant fight against a foe no living thing has ever bested - time - Roscoe passed away. I've written and rewritten this about 28 times. It's not necessarily a eulogy, but I have a whole new respect for people who have to write those things; condensing Roscoe's life and importance to me into a few sentences or paragraphs is pretty much impossible. BUT...I have thousands of pictures of Roscoe, and if a picture is worth a thousand words...maybe I can succinctly tell a little bit of Roscoe's story with a few pics. I got Roscoe, erroneously billed as a lab/rott mix, in early 2009 when he was about 8 weeks old. His original name was "Harper" and he was a typical puppy: cute, clumsy, and interested in everything. (Apologies for the quality of the older pics...phone cameras weren't real great 14 years ago.)
Roscoe spent his first couple years living with me in a 6th floor loft downtown. There was no yard for him to run around in, but we had a balcony and Roscoe spent a lot of time out there observing the world around him. This was an early indication that Roscoe was going to be a very curious, inquisitive dog.
For anybody that's ever had a puppy, this will come as no surprise: Roscoe's favorite puppy activity was chewing on things. I didn't have a kennel for him at first, and when I was gone Roscoe would chew on the baseboards, the couches, the tv stand, pretty much anything and everything. My mom got Roscoe his first kennel, a portable/travel setup, and Roscoe wasted no time trying to chew his way to freedom one day while I was at work. I couldn't help but laugh when I walked in the door and caught him in the act. Eventually, I resorted to just giving Roscoe old socks to chew on and every day when I got home from work, said sock would be shredded. Socks were cheaper to replace than furniture, so it was a deal I was willing to make.
Starting when Roscoe was about 6 months old, Lafayette Park became our home away from home. I learned a lot about Roscoe - and myself - over the course of our hundreds of trips there.  I think Lafayette Park was Roscoe's favorite park and no matter how much our roster of parks and trails expanded over the years, we always carved out a little time every now and then for return visits. Although in his later years we didn't frequent that park as often as we did when he was young, I never forgot which patches of grass Roscoe'd stop to roll in or which trees he'd stop to sniff.  Once the loft days had run their course, we wound up living on South Grand, right across from Reservoir Park. We'd go there every day after work; it's where Roscoe became an expert on going anywhere and everywhere without needing a leash.  Around the time Roscoe was 3 or 4, I had to move to Cape Girardeau for work and without our usual stable of parks to go to, I had to find other options for outdoor excursions with Roscoe.  That's when I learned that for all of Roscoe's park prowess, going out on hikes was where he really excelled and was what he really loved doing.  Over the course of the next 10+ years we visited every trail, river, and conservation area we could, in every type of weather and over every type of terrain. I'm glad Roscoe got to see and experience so much, and I know he loved getting out to explore all the places the little puppy that used to lay on the balcony downtown, watching cars, never knew existed.      Truth be told, about 95% of the time on our hikes the only part of Roscoe I saw was his butt. He always wanted to walk out in front and because his pace was a little faster than mine, he'd get WAY out in front. Every now and then he'd stop and wait for me, but he always seemed intent on leading the way and making sure whatever lie ahead was safe for the people behind him.      Roscoe was a total water dog, which was weird because he did NOT swim (to his credit, he did try a few times once he saw Freckles do it). But he loved walking through water, laying in water, and trying to drink entire lakes and rivers every chance he got. I never cared about him getting the 1st F150, or the FJ, or the 2nd F150 wet or muddy; park trips and hikes were always Roscoe's time to do whatever he wanted and if getting wet and and muddy was it, so be it.         Roscoe loved snow even more than he loved water. This started at a very early age, when I'd bring snow in from the loft's balcony so he could eat it.  Roscoe wasn't much of a runner...unless there was snow on the ground. I don't know why, but he LOVED running in snow. The picture below, when he was 4 or 5 years old and we were at Francis Park with the place to ourselves, is my all time favorite picture of him; it's max Roscoe happiness.  Even in his later years, Roscoe could still be counted on to have a little hop in his step when there was snow on the ground. If running was Roscoe's favorite snow activity, making snow angels was a close second.  When Roscoe was about 10, I had to go to Sheboygan, WI for 3 months for work. I agreed to go as long as Roscoe could go with me, and my employer had no issues with that. Every Saturday we'd get up at, like, 3am, and drive 2-3 hours west or north to go hiking at WI state parks and conservation areas.  Our trip to Devil's Lake State Park - sort of WI's version of MO's Elephant Rocks State Park - was the most memorable. We hiked a couple trails there but the crowning achievement was going up Balanced Rock Trail, a .4-mile trail with 500 feet of elevation gain at a 69% slope, to get to the top of the granite bluff overlooking Devil's Lake. It's basically a crazy steep climb up a mountain of small granite boulders, with the "trail" boulders looking the exact same as all the other boulders. Because of this I led the way, and Roscoe steadfastly followed behind me, no leash, no hesitation, no struggle. He hopped from 1 boulder to the next, just as I did, and enjoyed the view from the top.  When Roscoe turned 13, we did his birthday hike at a place called Sandy Creek Natural Tunnel Conservation Area way up in Lincoln County, MO. The hike started out pretty rough for a variety of reasons, but it wound up being one of my favorites and one I'll aways remember.  On that day, many obstacles were overcome. Freckles was still pretty young and extra spazzy. Roscoe was suffering through Cushing Syndrome (hair loss, messed up insides) and he didn't have the speed or stamina he once did. It was stupid cold, everything was covered in ice, and the trail was almost entirely unmarked. After trying a couple different routes to get to the tunnel, we finally found its roof -- but we had to climb down ice-covered rocks to actually get to its mouth.
I tried getting Freckles to go first since she has no aversion to all manner of daredevil shenanigans, but she didn't want any part of it. I didn't think Roscoe had it in him to make the descent, so I started climbing down just to see if it was even possible. Without hesitation and without me giving any directives, Roscoe immediately followed me down the rocks. My ol' hikin' buddy, with deteriorating legs, cloudy eyes, and missing clumps of hair, without knowing where we were going or what we were going to find, just wanted to go on another adventure with me. If you know, you know; it was a super cool moment.  Long story short, we all got to see the tunnel. Roscoe's health issues really picked up steam in the coming months and he didn't go on many legit hikes after the Sandy Creek Tunnel outing. I'd always ask him if he wanted to go but more often than not, he declined. He'd been everywhere and seen everything, and his old body just wasn't up for the rigors of walking mile after mile anymore. Instead, I'd convince him to join Freckles and I on trips to Forest Park every now and then. His back legs had shriveled up, his energy was zero, and it wasn't at all like outings back in his prime, but it was always good to see him try to relive his glory days in the little pond in Kennedy Forest.  Roscoe's final hike, or the final hike where he could still kind of walk under his own power, was, fittingly, the hike we went on to celebrate his 14th birthday. We went out to the trails we'd been to more than any others and gave it a go. Roscoe moved slowly, dragging his failing back legs at times, and when he really started to struggle I'd pick him up and carry him for a while. No matter what I had to do or how long it took, I was determined to carry out that hike just like we had all the times before. We WERE going to make it to the Meramec River so Roscoe could lay in the water, and if he wanted to - he always did, even when his legs started to fail him - we WERE going to walk an extra lap around the field we walked to begin every hike there. I probably don't need to tell you this, but we DID make it to the river, and we DID walk that extra lap.  In the back of my head, especially after carrying Roscoe 2/3 of the time, I sort of knew that would be the final hike. When Roscoe was young, he NEVER wanted to leave the parks. We'd walk and walk and walk - mile after mile after mile - and eventually I had to call it quits and convince Roscoe that it was time to head home. I'd tell him, as sort of a consolation, " we can always come back". On that 14th birthday hike, after watching Roscoe really struggle, realizing that those words were no longer true hit me pretty hard. But that's life, and I was plenty aware of the reality of the situation. I made sure to get a few pics of the dogs doing their thing and I forced them to pose for a few pics. That wasn't easy; Roscoe's back knees didn't bend anymore so he couldn't sit and he was too wiped out by that point in the hike to stand up without immediately crumbling to the ground, and Freckles doesn't like to sit still for more than about a quarter of a second. In spite of that, I kinda love the picture.  I will always remember puppy Roscoe. I will always remember struggling, old man Roscoe. I will always remember Roscoe in his prime, when no trail was too long or too difficult. But if I was only allowed to have 1 image in my head of Roscoe forever, it'd be the one below: big, strong, healthy Roscoe, by my side, hiking a trail.  I recently got Roscoe's ashes. It's been weirdly comforting to have them here at the house, like even though Roscoe is obviously no longer alive, he's back here with Freckles and I, where he belongs. I'll bury some of them in the yard and stick a labrador statue (unless somebody knows where I can get a lab/border collie/chow/doberman/cattle dog/shepherd statue) over them as a grave marker of sorts. The rest will be scattered at the two locations Roscoe loved going to the most, and he'll forever be a part of those places.
I was way beyond lucky to have crossed paths with Roscoe back in 2009. He was a one-in-a-billion dog, the best friend, and a great brother to Freckles. He will be missed forever. Rest easy, little man, and thanks for everything. I love ya. |
