In Memoriam of the Best Dog in the World

6/20/10

Location: Arlington, VA and memories from North Dakota

Last week was off to a great start: I’d settled into my job, got to know my supervisors and coworkers better, spent time at the apartment with my roomies, explored the Rosslyn neighborhood, and went swimming for the first time at my apartment’s pool. Then, I called my dad after work on Thursday, June 17, since I figured my mom, whom I received a missed call from at work, would be at water aerobics. I walked out of the metro station into the bright sunshine and warm air, and listened to the ring.

“Hey Dad, are you busy?” I asked after he answered, thinking he would be preoccupied with something at the farm.

“We’re just on the way to Milton,” he replied. “Brought Rex to Park River.”

“Oh, OK,” I said. “How is he doing?” As stated in the post "London Calling," my dog has cancer and has been struggling with various symptoms, including the loss of his vision. I just spoke with my Dad a couple of days earlier, though, and he said Rex was having some good days. I figured he brought him to the vet in Park River for another check-up, since he had been taking him there quite frequently to check his white blood cell count, weight, etc.

“He’s gone,” my dad seemed to choke on those words. “He was in so much pain…” he trailed off. “Here’s Mom.”

My mom came on the phone and explained to me that they decided to finally put Rex down since his systems were continuing to shut down and he had really been suffering, even more than usual, lately. “It just wasn’t fair to him to make him keep living like that,” my mom said, her voice breaking. She said she was with Rex when they did the procedure; my dad couldn’t handle it and had to stay in the pickup. She said she sang him his favorite song and he went to sleep for the last time with a smile on his face.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

I was walking home still, and told her I’d call her back after I got to my apartment.

I got home, set my purse on the floor and slid off my shoes, than just sat on my bed and cried. I looked up, only to see the photo of Rex, our beloved dog of 6 years, taped to my wall. The tears came harder. He wasn’t just a dog to us, and I know probably everyone with a pet says that, but it’s true. We treated him like a person and he acted more like a person than any other dog I’ve ever seen. Rob and I would call him our brother, and we were only half-kidding, and my parents would joke about their three kids, the R’s: Ris, Rob, and Rex. He had an extensive vocabulary and always seemed to understand what you were saying. You may say come on, he can only understand sounds and how they correspond to actions. No, he knew much more than that, and other dogs do, too. (Suggested Reading here). Rex also had an acute ability to sense emotion, and he’s comforted every one of us when we were feeling sad, anxious, or ill. Rex absolutely loved to cuddle up to people, too. I always thought all dogs were liked that since Rex is also my first dog, but I’ve come to learn that’s definitely not true. Rex loved resting his head on your lap, snuggling into you on the couch, and leaning against your leg when he stood by your side. He’s also known for “petting” you when you pet him: he would repeatedly lift and gently drag his paw on your leg or arm when you were patting his head or scratching his ears. Finally, he was a big fan of giving “kisses” and would give you several if you asked or made a kiss noise with your lips.

While he was our family’s dog, he was my dad’s guardian angel, best friend, and shadow. While he listened to all of us without fail, my dad was his true master. It causes me more heartbreak to think of their separation then it does to think of my own. While I truly love my dog, I’ve been away most of the time for the last three years. Rex has been by my dad’s side everyday: rain or shine, office or farm, home or away, hunting or wrestling on the kitchen floor, walks outdoors or sleeping indoors. When my dad did have to leave, Rex would seemingly go into depression. He wouldn’t touch his food, barely drink any water, and rest by the closest door, his ears perking up whenever he heard a vehicle or footsteps that might be my dad returning to him. My dad’s had many dogs throughout his life and he’s always said none of them could compare to Rex. He was my dad’s stress medication, his sidekick, his little redhead baby. As much pain and heartache I feel at the loss of our Rex (Rexy, Rexer, Rexus, Rexus Pexus, T-Bone), I know it doesn’t compare to how my dad must feel.

It’s hard to believe that when I come again, he won’t be there to greet me like he always did. He would always give me the same lit-up eyes, smile, and waggy tail no matter how long it’s been since I last saw him. He always remembers me. And I’ll always remember him.

I’ll remember his big, knowing brown eyes fringed with red and blonde eyelashes. I’ll remember his velvet soft ears and his crimped red fur behind them. I’ll remember the feeling of his wet tongue on my face and the feeling of the rough pads of his paws in my hands. I’ll remember how he would stare out our kitchen window (his “TV”) forever looking at the squirrels and birds and how he would scamper around in a circle, his nails clicking on the floor, whenever he was excited or about to be fed. I’ll remember how when he was fed, especially if it was one of his faves (French toast, eggs, steak) he would vacuum the paper plate of food at lightning speed, causing all of us to crack up and chide “Take a breath, Rex!” I’ll remember giving him baths after he came back dirty and smelly from the farm, and afterward how he would shake in a wave from his head to his tail. I’ll remember lying on the foyer rug next to him with his paws on my shoulders and me scratching his belly. I’ll remember how he treated his many toys and stuffed animals like they were his prey or his pups: some were submitted to tearing, biting, and shaking when he was playing hunting, others were used as pillows and carted around and guarded like they were his own young. I’ll remember his dancing to his “Who Let the Dogs Out?” musical treat jar, his adorable fear of storms, fireworks, and our Roomba, his love of Christmas, his not-so-subtle begging techniques, his acting abilities and how he was a ham in front of crowd of any size, his love of sleeping in the sun (even if that meant getting up every 20-30 minutes to follow it as it moved across the window), and the thwap of his tail on the floor after you left him, that grew in volume and speed in order to signal to you that he wanted you to come back.

Rex gave my family and I unconditional love and thousands of smiles and laughs over the past six years, and while losing him truly is like losing part of our family, I am grateful we had the time we did with him. He’s left a hole in our hearts, but that hole couldn’t be there if our hearts weren’t filled with love and joy by him first. I know we’ll see him again. Maybe it will be in heaven, or maybe he will be just like Enzo (from The Art of Racing in the Rain). Either way, that dog was something special and he changed my family’s life forever.

All dogs go to heaven, but Rex was our angel on earth, too. I'll always miss him.

 ♥ Joseph's Magnificent T-Rex 2/22/02-6/17/10 ♥

Rex and I in 2006

Rex and I in 2010



The Three R's



Playing with new toys at Christmas.



Such a happy little guy.

Brother napping with Rex.



Typical day at the office.



Rob and I back in 2004, only days after we got Rex.



Rex this past winter in our backyard.

"To call him a dog hardly seems to do him justice, though inasmuch as he had four legs, a tail, and barked, I admit he was, to all outward appearances. But to those who knew him well, he was a perfect gentleman."

-Hermione Gingold