October 20, 2020, marks the 10th anniversary of the passing of my first DDB, Rogue, the one who started it all and set the benchmark for all those who came and will come after. He loved everybody, didn't know a stranger, especially loved kids and puppies, and was the gentlest, sweetest dog I'd ever known.
Rogue was my alter-ego, my constant companion, and an extension of myself. Always a bit shy and aloof, I found that I could "hide" behind Rogue, and meet people I wouldn't have ever initiated a conversation with otherwise, as Rogue was the perfect ice-breaker. He came to work with me every day, went out with me to meetings, and more often than not came out with me when I went out on errands, to the gym, or meeting up with friends for dinner/drinks. It got to the point where some clients would insist I come with Rogue or not at all when we met. We'd sit outside at Bar Celona in Old Town Pasadena where a band I worked with played regularly, walking around town beforehand, usually making a pit stop at Three Dog Bakery before heading to the restaurant, where we'd have dinner and Rogue would "hold court", always getting people's attention and enjoying the ear scratches and butt rubs he'd inevitably get once people realized what a love-muffin he was. Where everybody in the area knew Rogue, I could walk down the street on my own and not get so much as a nod or hello from people who would regularly fawn all over Rogue when we were together...I was invisible without him it seemed.
I moved from Silverlake Los Angeles to Las Vegas in 2007, as my business was taking me there more and more, and also it was a place where I could afford to buy my own house with a decent sized yard and a pool. I suppose I bought the house more for my dogs than myself, as I really couldn't have imagined living in Las Vegas otherwise. Granted, I bought the house next door to my BFF who'd moved there a couple of years earlier, so it didn't take that much convincing to make the move when the opportunity came, and Rogue thrived in the Vegas lifestyle.
Rogue's favorite pastime was to cruise the Strip in cooler weather, where tourists would crowd around to take photos with him (which pissed off the costumed characters who charged for photos, because of course we didn't charge!!!). He would park himself in front of the Sigfried & Roy statue at the Mirage, assuming that all those people taking photos were waiting for him to arrive for his photo shoot. And every rescue I brought home he'd welcome with open paws, letting them know in no uncertain terms that they'd won the puppy lottery when they were chosen to join our little family. And he also loved to pop his head out of the SUV window at stop lights, getting quite put out if people in the other cars didn't notice him and/or point and take photos...he was the biggest ham and just loved being the center of attention.
At the age of 6 1/2, about 3 years after I'd moved to Vegas, I heard him cry out one night, and the next morning noticed he was a bit wobbly, and worried as he continued to deteriorate over the next few weeks. I took him to vets and canine chiropractors, but nothing helped. He kept getting worse, then started having seizures. He was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and died in my arms in my bedroom during his final seizure on the morning of October 20, 2010, just three months after he first started showing symptoms that something was wrong.
At the time, I'd never known such grief as I did with the passing of Rogue. I was catatonic, feeling that I'd lost the best part of who I was, and couldn't imagine life without him. I'm experiencing this same profound grief again with the recent loss of Targon, but that's another story for another time.
Rogue, you big beautiful boy, you started an addiction and legacy of joy I could never have imagined, and as I watch now the antics of puppy DDB #8 (and boy #4), I have you to thank for starting the whole thing. I'm sure you're having the best time exchanging stories with the 5 who have joined you, and I have a strong feeling that you've already coached #8 before his arrival into this world on how to take care of me. Thanks, buddy, for all you gave to me, and know you're still missed and loved, and always will be!
Comments