On Rogue’s Legacy

Boys,

I’ve written about Rogue before, but this past Friday, we sent you two over to Nash’s house and we had someone come over and put Rogue down. It was one of the hardest things we’ve ever had to do and a decision that was nearly impossible to make. But his hips didn’t allow him to be the dog he wanted to be, and he was falling down daily it seemed like toward the end. So we thought it was in his best interest to give him some peace and put him down.

I remember lots of moments, some that I’ve probably written about in previous posts. But what strikes me most now that he’s gone is how much dogs fill in the gaps throughout our day. I miss coming home and seeing him laying there (or catching him “cleaning himself” in his younger years). It’s weird sitting on the couch and not having him come up and ask to be let out or ask for a little head tap-tap. I don’t like looking in the empty corner where his food bowl used to go that we’ve since moved down to the basement.

Your mom said something the day after we put him down. She asked me to move his things downstairs, but that she didn’t want to feel like we’re erasing him from our life too quickly. The truth is, I feel his absence almost as much as I felt his presence when he was here. We’re also going to be finding tufts of his fur tumbleweeding throughout the house for years.

There is a book I mention a lot to people by my favorite author — Joan Didion. The book is called “The Year of Magical Thinking,” and it chronicles the year after Didion’s husband died. It wasn’t anything that honored him directly, but it talked through the awkward moments of having dinner by herself or shopping for one instead of two people. I think about that now as we navigate life without a dog and how much of our day-to-day life involved him.

I wonder how long his food will stay in our cupboard. I wonder how long it will take us to get a new dog and I wonder how different his or her personality will be than Rogue. I wonder if I’ll like another dog as much as I liked Rogue.

I think dogs, like kids, teach us a lot about ourselves and help us become better versions of ourselves. I think Rogue gave me confidence in that I felt like his leader. I felt confident in making quick decisions with him, which wasn’t always something I could do before he came into our life. I felt like he taught me how to be playful in a way that translated to me being the kind of dad I am now.

I think Rogue came into my life at the perfect time. He gave your mom and I something to bond over. He gave us an excuse to not stay out too late and to awe at coming to terms with “can you believe we’re in charge of this life?” Turns out, we did a pretty good job and continue to do so with you two.

I think I am always going to miss Rogue. I think he set a very high bar for any future dog we have come into our home. Last night or the night before, we were talking with our friends about dogs we’ve had in the past. I was young, but the only dog I ever had was a husky who ran away all the time and jumped through a screen door one night, and mysteriously “moved to the farm” a day or two later and I never saw her again. For all intents and purposes, he was my first dog. And he’ll be the only one who saw me through all of the most important things in my life — engagement, marriage, an apartment, a condo, two houses, and ultimately, two kids. And he helped me transition through each of those things with friendship, empathy, and love.

I haven’t cried since he passed. I cried a lot that morning and the month before when we had him scheduled to be put down and ultimately held off. I think that was the right decision then because it made me confident that we were doing the right thing the second time. I think had we gone through with it the first time, we would have wondered if we made the right decision.

This post has taken me more time to write than most. It’s now been six days since Rogue has passed and his absence is louder than ever. Last night, your mom was sick and went to bed early and I stayed up to watch a show. Rogue would normally hang with me until everyone was in bed — he had a way of looking out for everyone like that. But not having to let him out is just something I’m not used to.

I know we’ll get another dog soon — your mom won’t survive for long in a house without a dog. And I’m happy and excited for new energy (albeit, maybe some familiar energy?) in the house. But there will only be one Rogue and he’ll be the standard all other dogs to come will have to live up to.

Rogue was our dog, but he was your mom and my dog first. He saw you two into the world and all those memories of this time in our life will include him. The next dog will be our dog, but he’ll mostly be your dog; the dog you grow up with and the dog you walk when you’re older. You’ll help pick him out and you’ll help name him (god help us if he gets some of the names you’ve thrown around these past few days). I just hope when you’re older, you ask about the big black dog that was in all your baby pictures. Ask me or your mom to tell you about him and watch the smile come to our face.

So, Rogue, you were my best friend and I’m sorry that I grumbled about taking you out or bending to your schedule when we were at home. I’m sorry for all the walks we didn’t do when you got old and I’m sorry we didn’t start you on Farmer’s Dog sooner. I’m sorry you tore your ACL all those years ago and I’m sorry you never caught a squirrel when you were young. I hope that all those stories about dogs going to heaven are real and I hope that you have a paw in guiding this next dog because I want him to be just like you.

Because you were the best.

Love,

Dad