Rosie in Autumn

 

by Pa Rock

Rosie, my best friend and constant companion, is nine years old now and while she still enjoys the occasional burst of energy that sends her racing across the yard in pursuit of a chattering squirrel, she is getting older and has slowed down.  Rosie is in the autumn of her life - and I am in the winter of mine.

Rosie was born in July of 2014, shortly after I relocated to the midwest from Arizona, and I discovered her - and her sister - mewling in a cardboard box on a tabletop at a roadside puppy stand in Caulfield Missouri, on September 1st.   Rosie, at one--pound and one-ounce, was the larger of the two chihuahuas.  She had a small white blaze on each foot and on her forehead.  When I picked her up she licked my face and I knew that she would probably be the perfect companion for this lonely, old, displaced civil servant.  However,  I somehow managed to put her back in the box with her sister and head on to Mountain Home, Arkansas, to do some planned shopping at a lumber yard. I told myself that if she was still there when I came back through a couple of hours later, that it would be a sign that it was meant to be.

The lady was still there when I came back through, and although the little sister had ridden off in a car filled with strangers to a place called Chicago, Rosie was nestled in her box and waiting on me to rescue her.  I pulled ten twenty-dollar bills from my wallet, bundled Rosie into my car, and we went home and never looked back.  

Yes, you can buy happiness - if you are smart enough to recognize it when it licks you in the face!

When we got to her new home, Rosie was so small that I had to carry her up and down the porch steps. I had some geese and domestic turkeys who all wanted to crowd around and look at the tiny oddity, and they were all very frightening to the farm's newcomer.  But soon everyone adjusted, and Rosie is now the undisputed Queen of the Roost.

But Rosie is also older and beginning to suffer some of the maladies associated with old age.   Her eyes have fogged over, and although she can still see, her vision is definitely not what it used to be.  I sympathize strongly, because my vision is also beginning to falter.  Rosie used to stand on the back porch at first light and last light and bark incessantly at the deer gathered at the far end on the field as they grazed on the tall grasses.  Much of the time I could not even see the visitors in the dim light, but Rosie could, and the fact that they dared to invade her property was maddening to my little dog.  (As far as land ownership goes, if Rosie can see it, it's hers!)

Last spring when my friend Rex was bush hogging, he pulled down a large nuisance sapling that was interfering with the growth of a more established tree,  Rex is usually extremely neat with his work, but that particular time he left a ragged stump that is about four-feet tall - and at a distance it sort of resembles a short human.  The human stump is off in the direction of where the deer graze, but closer to the house, and Rosie can see it.  Now instead of barking at the deer, she focuses on that strange person who is standing on her land and gets infuriated when her barking will not scare him off!

Rosie and I are both nearing the ends of our brief strolls through life, and we have been fortunate to have encountered each other and spent time together along the way.

The value of a good friend is beyond measure.