Happy 14th Birthday Rocky: Holding Space for Our Gratitude and Our Fear
If you know me, you most likely know a little bit or a lot about Rocky. Rocky is the center of my universe. A 65-lb supermutt of all the breeds that society has labeled as “scary” or “dangerous” (American Bully, Pit Bull, American Staffordshire Terrier, Rottweiler, etc.). In reality he is just a big old lovebug in the shape of a hyper-muscular dog who is seemingly unaware of his size and strength.
Well that little baby turns 14 today (or sometime this month because let’s be honest, when adopting we’re all just guessing dates while the dog is less focused on a date and more focused on living each and every day of their lives like it’s their birthday). We’ve had quite the year with Rocky’s health as a now super-senior dog and there was a point this year when we weren’t sure he would make it to his 14th birthday. The universe (plus investing a whole lot of money, time, and energy into veterinary care of all kinds) sometimes works out and not only did he make it to his 14th birthday, but he is entering year 14 absolutely thriving.
This journey with Rocky’s health holds a significance that has our hearts not only bursting with joy and gratitude for continuing to have this time with him, but also shattering into a million pieces because we do know that our time is limited… enter anticipatory grief. Before I get there, though, I’d like to take us on a journey of what Rocky has meant to me and halfway through, to Ryan. His story, while incredibly powerful to us, is not the only one of its kind. In the animal rescue world we often find ourselves asking the question, “who rescued who?” because while we may think we’re setting out to take in a dog and give it a happy life, they do so much more for us, in such a short period without seeking gratitude or much in return. Although the altruism may be somewhat encouraged by knowing that the humans have access to a plethora of yummy food, we kind of did domesticate them into forgetting how to successfully hunt their own food.
People often ask me how I do the work that I do… how I could possibly step into people’s rawest grief day in and day out in a variety of manners. While I can provide all sorts of formal answers to that, the simplest, most consistent one is Rocky. Starting my career at the Medical Examiner’s Office, less formally known as the city’s morgue, in my twenties came with all sorts of heaviness. I was supporting families in a variety of ways, including viewing their deceased loved ones’ bodies in a setting that was not warm by any share of the imagination. I would witness visceral reactions to grief and loss and while it was the learning experience of a lifetime, it wasn’t easy. Each day I was bearing witness to several people’s worst days of their entire lives.
How could one possibly leave that at work and not carry that home? It wasn’t as simple as slams laptop shut. However, I quickly realized that I did have somewhat of a simple formula that helped a majority of the time. I would go home, open the door, and this beautiful creature that only knew love would immediately wake from his daytime slumber asif he spent his entire life preparing for this moment, tail wagging to the point that it jiggled his entire meaty body, ready to greet me with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind (s/o Jim Harbaugh, former coach at my Alma Mater, the great University of Michigan). I knew that no matter what the day threw my way, I could count on Rocky getting up, always choosing joy, and enrapturing me with his unconditional love and his excitement to take on the walk we were about to go on like it was his first time ever. Some might say that we spent years terrorizing the streets of Philadelphia, but these are some of my fondest memories. His zest for life and lifelong war with squirrels meant that our “walks” were more like a fast-paced crusade to find every squirrel in the Northeast, even if that meant chasing them up trees (mind you, Rocky is NOT a tree climbing kind of dog, remember we are talking a meaty, stocky Bully mix) and barking at the top of his lungs. Those walks and the routine that we had were far more effective than any sort of consultation, supervision, or therapy at getting my mind off work and into the present moment.
And so I realized that I had my rock, my Rocky dearest, who was the most reliable source of love, unbridled happiness, and of course, goofiness. Without saying any words he made me feel safe, loved, appreciated, and at home wherever we were. He was there for me through long nights in grad school, through accomplishments and milestones, through struggles and challenges, always warm, always fuzzy. The best hugs I’ve ever received were Rocky’s hugs and while his aging body won’t allow him to hug me like that anymore, we’ve been adapting all along the way.
When Ryan came into our lives, it was imperative for him and Rocky to get along. Rocky immediately welcomed him in and seemingly knew before me that Ryan would become his dad. That little genius. Those two fell in love, which made me fall even more in love with both of them and so we became a happy little family. Rocky kept us sane when the pandemic hit. He gave us a feeling of being home when we lived our nomad life moving from airbnb to airbnb across the country. He happily joined us in Colombia for our wedding, which required lots of hoops, but was so worth it to have our baby, the glue of our relationship, there. Side note, his custom-made tuxedo at the wedding may have gotten more compliments than my wedding dress. But who better to steal the bride’s thunder than the most handsome boy in the world. Rocky helped us lean into Colorado living when we got here, going on multi-mile, elevation climbing hikes, despite already being diagnosed with Arthritis. We could go on the most exotic, once-in-a-lifetime vacations and the greatest memory was always that of coming back home to Rocky. He finds a way to make even the most mundane day a joyful one.
Fast forward everything we’ve been through with Rocky and we get to the year where we had to confront the reality that we had tried to be blissfully unaware of, even when the years ticked past the average life expectancy for his breeds. We thought we only had his Arthritis to worry about, but his body was starting to struggle in other ways. A vet spoke too soon and said he likely had cancer and it felt like the world was caving in. While we were unable to fully rule that out, after a lot of testing we did receive a diagnosis, which was Cushing’s Disease. Although Cushing’s is not curable, it is very treatable. So after too many invasive tests, getting a funky haircut (aka getting his belly fully shaved for an ultrasound), all we had to do was get him on the right medication dosage and we got him back to “normal.” The “normal” is normal for what to expect with a 14-year old dog with significant Arthritis and mobility issues, not for the 10-year old dog that could hike 10 miles. He moves slower, sleeps longer, is more selective with his walks, more particular with his appetite, but his heart is still filled with as much love as day one, if not more.
Realizing that he no longer hears us when we come home, seeing him fall trying to do things that used to be no problem, having him turn down walks, and confronting other reminders that he is very much aging brings a grief unto itself. And, it also serves as a reminder that he is still showing up each day wholeheartedly and we owe it to him to also show up to each day wholeheartedly. To not let the grief weigh us down to the point where we can’t enjoy the time we do have with him. So, we find ourselves celebrating him for everything, even something as simple as getting down the stairs, and it has brought so much joy to our lives. Watching him zoomie but in a much more uncoordinated manner with lots of falls that cannot stop him has become a new source of daily joy. To live life from his lens where we are in the moment and not getting too far ahead, but of course, those attempts are at times futile. After all, we have these human brains that love to overthink. If someone could come up with a way to allow the human brain to be a little more dog-like; fully in the present, they could knock Big Pharma outta the park. So, this is the dichotomy that we have been and will continue living; holding space for the love and joy AND making room for the anticipatory grief over knowing our time is limited.
Every day is a new day of adapting to his changing needs. From constantly adding more to his wellness and medical routine that would make Bryan Johnson jealous (because physical therapy, acupuncture, ketamine injections, a personal palliative care team, and so much more aren’t enough), to bringing dog strollers for him to rest on our walks, to having to baby-proof (excuse me, senior-dog-proof the house), to mealtime turning into a whole production, we are trying to take each day in stride to honor him.
Rocky has always taken each day in stride, even when I’ve put him in situations that have been questionable, never dangerous, but questionable. Because taking a dog out of warm Miami to very snowy Michigan to live in a college house of 13 loud, party-loving girls seemed like a great idea at the time. Although, seeing him in snow boots for the first time is a core memory for me. I like to think that he had the foresight to know that his young mom would eventually get it together and be much more responsible. This present-day situation feels questionable because what do you mean he can’t live forever?? But just like he continued to show up through all those questionable moments, we will show up for these.
This dog has been on dozens, if not at least 100, of flights and has made thousands of people smile. We recently had a young boy on a flight thank Rocky for his service, which made our hearts flutter. He has changed minds on the idea people have of pit bull-type dogs being vicious (this really needs to go, they are hands-down the greatest dogs of all time and no, I’m not just super biased (ok yes, I am), but there is real evidence of this). He has welcomed our nieces and nephews into the family with a gentleness that we didn’t know was even possible. They’ve grown up viewing him like a legend. We’ve had a few who’ve loved him so much that we’ve bestowed upon them Rocky lifelike pillows, which we’re sure their parents were super thrilled about. Rocky really is a legend in his own category and it is an honor to be his mom. I may have chosen him when I adopted him, young and not knowing what all owning a dog entailed, but he chose me as the person whose life he would forever change for the better.
There are few love stories that compare to the love story of a person and the dog who gets them through their twenties and in the lucky cases, like myself, into their thirties. I am so beyond grateful to have this and so afraid for what is to come when we have to part ways (yes, grief therapists experience grief, too). But until then, I am choosing to spend as much time with him as possible, to see each new grey hair as a token of the memories that we’ve created over the past 14 years, and to celebrate every small victory.
Happy birthday, my sweet prince. You may never read this, but I hope that you know that our love is boundless and that each day that you’ve given us has been the greatest gift we’ve ever known. Now it’s time to get to cooking him his birthday steak in our plant-based kitchen. What won’t a parent do for their child?!
And to anyone who can relate, our hearts are with you. If you made it this far, thank you. Next week you can expect a return to regularly scheduled programming with a much more clinical blog that better explains Anticipatory Grief than this rambling, far too tangential attempt to shed light on a lived experience with it.
