Losing a Pet Eulogy for Rudy, August 2013

Last Sunday, Rudy spent the day with me.

Most of his days were spent with me.  From the first day I brought him home from the highway corner upon which his brothers and sisters were being given away, Rudy spent every one of his days, with me, when I was home. Those few days I was away, he spent waiting for my return.

Rudy was intended as a gift for my daughter, who was expected for a rare visit for the holidays. I temporarily named him Rudy, short for Rudolph, in honor of the season. He'd snuggled his little nose into my neck the very moment I picked him from the litter, and he stole my heart. As they so often do, plans changed, my daughter stayed home with her boyfriend for the holidays, and Rudy would stay with me.

Perhaps I'd planned it all along.

I began working on the farm full-time prior to Rudy's arrival, and other than the three days a week I spent in Austin at school, he and I shared most minutes of our life with a menagerie of dogs and cats and chickens and ducks and rabbits and goats.  And as soon as he was able to make his voice known, he let the rest of the world know that he'd rather we all be left alone.

Rudy didn't much like strangers.

Rudy didn't like the UPS man, the FedEX man, the postman, the Pastor and her husband, any neighbor, few family members (some were tolerated.) strange animals, grasshoppers, or chickens rooting about in his feed bowl.

Rudy was not particularly fond of rap music. Rudy liked Pink Floyd. Occasionally, Joni Mitchell. And his mama, singing to the cucumbers at watering time.  He never understood why she sang, but he liked it when mama was happy.  He sat beside her morning and evening in the midsummer, and watched those cucumbers do absolutely nothing in response to her songs.

He didn't like cucumbers, either.

Rudy finds the sweet spot, October 2012

Rudy spent his entire night, every night. laying on his front porch, close to slumber, but always with one ear cocked for danger.  One ear up.  One ear down.  Nocturnal wild animal visits would not be tolerated.  Nor would that strange guy, up the road.  Rudy was the best watch dog in all of the countryside.  I'd never felt as safe as when Rudy was on guard.

This summer has been a little crazy.  In fact the entire last year has been a bit of a roller coaster. There has been much change.  Rudy and I have not spent every day together.  In fact, Rudy was cared for most of the summer in the country while I worked and lived in the city, primarily.  And as soon as there was a place for Rudy in the city, he and Jack, previously a city dog, came to live in Austin.

Now, Jack?  He's just fine with Austin.  He was born in Austin.  He's lived in Austin. And he's changed locales and lifestyles with me for over ten years.  He's a gypsy, that Jack.

Rudy didn't adjust to the city as well.  Rudy was stressed.  There were people and cars and sirens and drunks and buses (Rudy REALLY didn't like buses) and kennels, and, well, noise.  Lots of it.  The city proved to be too much for Rudy. Rudy was clearly stressed.

And without going into the dark details of those days, I'm sad to say Rudy did not survive the move. His last day, he would not leave my side. And I will forever be grateful that he and I spent those final hours, as we did for all those days on the farm, together. Side by side.

Rudy teaches his nephew, March 2012

So, today I sit in this coffee shop, creating a small lake of tears and a bit of a scene, remembering the unparalleled devotion of Rudy. I thought waiting a few days would help me have objectivity. Would help me say the things that others who lose pets need to hear. Would help me be pithy and wise.  Nope.  I'm still a wreck. Rudy deserves a more dignified memorial, but he knows how I am; I don't know how dogs' minds really work, but I'll just bet Rudy knew I'd take this pretty hard. He'd come to be comfortable with all of my moods. I could never be cranky, or goofy, or touchy, or messy, or sweaty enough for Rudy to avoid me. Rudy was there for my dark days, and bright. I know he's cheering me on, still, in the special place our animals go to wait for us.

With one ear up.  And one ear down.

"I'll Always Love a Dog Named Beau" 

written and read by Jimmy Stewart.