From what I can piece together, Rosa was born on the mean streets of Montgomery, Alabama; initially raised by a cat mother; and faced hardships early in life, becoming a mom far too soon. What followed was a series of heartbreaks… and heartworms. I met her shortly after I moved to Alabama, volunteering at the shelter and not even trying to tell myself I wasn’t going to adopt. She had been at the shelter for a while, found a home, and then was returned twice. She had the eyes of a woman with a 1,000-year-old soul, and worms (the other kind this time). The poor girl was always ready to go for a walk, but sat patiently, with nary a butt shimmy, and the fourth time I showed up to do it, we marched right into the adoption room.
As she was wont to do, she collapsed on top of me in a fit of wiggles while we waited for the paperwork to clear. She was the first “person” to ride in the back of my new car, and she sat up smiling the whole way home. I bought her first toy, a stuffed frog, that she immediately took from my hand and ripped its eyeballs out. I knew I had a special girl.
Rosa loved to hike but hated a car ride. She would sit on my chest to calm me down during a football game but not hesitate to hightail it to safer ground if she sensed any danger (smoke detector alarming, thunderstorm brewing, German shepherd lingering, plastic bag… existing). A survivor to her core, she ditched me in a second if she thought it was in her best interests. I saw it time and again when I’d leave for trips and she’d immediately sidle up to her sitter.
And yet…
In the hardest days of my life, she didn’t leave my side, unless it was to comfort my mom, who was having even harder days. She hunted for the pride. She protected me from bobcats and coyotes and rattlesnakes. She moved with me five times in nine years, from sea level to altitude and back again twice. She visited 13 national parks, 20 states, and rode on a plane. When I was at a total loss as to what to do with my life, she drove back and forth from CO to TX with me at least six times over a couple-month period.
She had five bouts with cancer, mast cell tumors and lymphoma, and stoically still asked for a walk every day and buried her treats in the backyard like she had all the time in the world to dig them up. She spent far too many days in vets’ offices humoring me, and I’m grateful for every one of them.
But this strong, smart, sweet, sassy girl doesn’t have to fight anymore. My Roo Diggity lived an amazing nine lives, but now she’s crossed that rainbow bridge into a land filled with endless bunnies to hunt, unlimited prosciutto, and all my love.
(Don’t let Roxie’s snarl bother you, Rosa. She loves you too.)
