I have decided that it is time to write a little bit about my dog, Roosevelt. From the years of 1994 to 2005, Roosevelt was a highlight of my life. In 1994 my oldest brother Jim brought home a little furball from one of his many adventures. My mother said that it absolutely was NOT staying and that the 'thing' had to be gone the next day. The furball slept in Jim’s room that night before being taken away in the morning. Jim put him in a small kennel in his room until his eviction the next morning. Jim is a heavy sleeper. Heavy enough that he apparently didn’t hear the yelping of the furball that was audible throughout the 701 area code (The entire state of North Dakota). My mother could not sleep with this racket so she grabbed said furball to quiet it down. Needless to say, love was forged, the furball stayed, and the name Roosevelt was bestowed upon him in honor of Teddy Roosevelt, a famous former resident of North Dakota.
Floods of memories, very good memories, come pouring over my heart when I think back to the experiences Roosevelt and I had together. Jim bought him, but moved away to college a year later. My dad trained him, so he was Roosevelt's ‘master’. I think the family can agree that he was my dog, and I was his boy.
Roosevelt grew very large very quickly. I remember when he scared himself with his first deep bark. He never did find the big dog that barked at him. I remember when I dropped to my knees in the backyard and this 'puppy' jumped on me with such velocity that he pinned me on my back with my knees stuck under me. We also discovered Roosevelt's inherent love for little spheres that he could hold in his mouth. Baseballs, softballs, tennis balls, he'd try to chase them all, even if it was during a little league game of mine and he wasn't supposed to come on the field.
On road trips in our old family van I would sit in the back seat and Roosevelt would sit with his head next to my shoulder, sniffing the wind through the crack of the window, smearing slobber all over the glass. Or, if my mom had given me some pickled three-bean salad concoction to eat, Roosevelt was the gracious recipient of all of the kidney beans, and the van was the not-so-gracious recipient of, well.. you know. But seriously, why would you try to pickle kidney beans? It cannot be done.
My brother AT and I would sometimes throw pieces of angel food cake to Roosevelt. After conditioning him to catch the tasty treat, we would toss a crumpled napkin (looking deceptively like a piece of cake) his way. He never should have trusted me.
I have never seen a living thing more terrified of the doctor than Roosevelt. The vet wasn’t even in sight and his entire body would be trembling in the back of the van. I have also never seen a living thing display more love and affection that when I would pick him up from the vet or groomers, which were cruelly placed in the same building.
When Roosevelt was 7-8 years old some lumps were found on his leg. After removing some of the tumors, it was discovered that they were cancerous, and radiation therapy would need to be performed to stop the spread. For us, there was no question of what needed to be done, although this was not a time of great financial wealth in my family. Every couple weeks we would make the three-hour drive to Pontiac, MI to take Roosevelt for radiation treatments. The staff naturally fell in love with this gentle giant, and he was dearly missed when he returned home for the last time with no traces of cancer.
On May 21, 2005, I left my parents’ home to begin my journey to bootcamp in San Diego. My family prayed together and were hugging each other goodbye. I was headed off to become a lean, mean fighting machine (or so I thought), so crying was out of the question. Until I saw my dog. In a scene I will forever have etched in my memories, my family parted and I saw Roosevelt sitting at the base of the stairs, looking at me with the saddest, most faithfully loving eyes I may ever see. I cried. I kissed him on the the nose and said, “Goodbye, puppy. I love you.”
Bootcamp was a bustle of activity that now mostly remains in my memories as a very long, bad dream. In the final weeks we were granted one of our two phone calls of the three months. My parents were my call. My dad answered, and after realizing that it was me he said, “You must have received the letter.” I hadn’t received the letter he was referring to, and to this day I do not know how or why, but I immediately knew that Roosevelt had died. His cancer had returned aggressively, and with his age, little could be done. My dad brought him home from the vet and prayed that he wouldn’t have to take him in to put him to sleep. The next morning my dad found Roosevelt in one of his favorite spots in the house; he had died in his sleep. I found out in the phone call a few days later. I was initially devastated that I was not able to see Roosevelt to say goodbye, but I quickly realized that I was blessed to have the goodbye with him that I did, and that I was spared from some devastating final days with him.
Roosevelt’s death coincided with the beginning of a new chapter in my life; one that is now about to close. The innocence of a boy and his dog was about to depart, and I would be exposed to more harsh realities of a fallen world than I ever expected to witness in a lifetime.
Roosevelt was an excellent example of love. Unconditional love. There were the rare occasions when I would be furious with him, but even in my visible, sometimes unjustified anger, he would show me love. He never held a grudge. He never showed partiality (well.. there was that one salesman). He never lashed out in anger. He would lay prostrate on the garage floor sticking his nose under a crack we left for him in the garage door, waiting for his family to return. His whole body would wag when I would come home from school. On my first day to school in Michigan, Roosevelt rode with us to school. When my mom opened the back gate of the van after returning home, he didn't move. He stayed in the van all day until we came home. He would stay in the snow to play with me until his paws bled.
Roosevelt also taught me about persistence, faithfulness, and sincerity. He definitely couldn't tell a lie. His tail between his legs was his tell. He brought my family closer together, helping us to grow in our love for each other. In some challenging years for my family, he remained a stalwart beacon of fun and levity for our home life. I praise and thank God for the blessing and lessons and memories that I was able to draw from one of my closest friends.
Have I mentioned that Roosevelt was a Golden Retriever? That should explain a lot.
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