We had to put Roscoe down this past Saturday. He was 14ish years old, but we only got to enjoy his company for 11 years. I only hope that the love we had for him the last 11 years of his life was enough to overcome whatever happened to him the first three years. My whole clan came home to say goodbye to Roscoe, so his last vision of this world was all the people he loved and served so well. After Roscoe was gone, we all went out to eat. We spent two hours sharing Roscoe stories and laughing ridiculously long and loud. 

We got Roscoe in October of 2011. After a year of break-ins at our lakehouse, I wanted a big dog that would help me feel safe there when Travis wasn’t with the kids and me. Our friend Cathy worked at Happy Tails, a shelter by the lake, and she said they had the perfect dog. Of course, she was right eventually, but Roscoe was a bit rough at first. Here are a series of stories highlighting our Adventures with Roscoe.

The First Night. I left from Lisle to pick up Roscoe. He had finally gotten fixed, so we were good to go, and I wanted to get him home as soon as I can. So, I made a nearly five hour round trip alone to get him. Good thing I brought a harness and a doggie seatbelt, because Roscoe thought he should be driving the car, and continuously whined and tried to get to my seat. When we finally made it home, he peed a little outside, so I brought him in. Everyone was excited and waiting. He greeted all of us and then lifted his leg and peed on Taryn’s backpack, which was hanging on a closet handle. We were all screaming for Roscoe (who didn’t even know his name) to stop, so he stopped… then moved to the entertainment center to empty the rest of his huge bladder. He definitely was NOT housebroken. 

The First Day. We somehow recovered from the river of pee and made it to the next day. I don’t remember exactly what day of the week it was, but the kids were home from school. The morning went by in a flurry of trying to keep Roscoe boxed in the kitchen and letting him out enough so that he peed outside. Roscoe had probably never been inside of a house before, and he decided he liked it, so it was tough convincing him to go outside at all. At lunch, I called the kids and put bowls of Mac and Cheese on the dining room table. Roscoe must have thought he was a kid too, because he jumped all the way onto the table (all four feet ON THE TABLE) and started eating out of one of the bowls. I snatched the bowls off the table and started yelling at Roscoe. I was about to scoop him off the table, when I realized that I didn’t really know this 55 pound chocolate lab that well, and didn’t want to risk getting bit. I had to settle for pointing to the ground and scolding him. He knew he had done something wrong and slunk to his crate and laid down. The kids immediately started telling him he was okay. I said, “let him feel bad for a bit first please.”

The First Week. Roscoe slowly started getting better at going outside for his business, so we decided to bring him to Petco for a toy. We brought Blackie too, but she was hugely skeptical about this large brown sibling of hers. Roscoe peed a little in the parking lot, so we figured we were good to go. It was four kids, ranging from eight to fourteen years old, and two dogs. What could possibly go wrong? We were all looking at stuff on the shelves in one aisle, when suddenly I felt my foot slip and smelled something awful. I looked around, and Roscoe had walked and dumped down half the aisle. I yelled, “GUYS STOP MOVING!” But three of the five of us had already stepped in it. Tayden looked over from the end of the aisle and yelled to Taryn to not move. Apparently oblivious to the chaos around her, Taryn stepped back to turn towards Tayden, and also stepped right into a soft squishy deposit. We were down to one man left clean. I had to explain to eight year old Tayden that he had to find someone that worked at the busy store and get some cleaning supplies for us. We waited a few minutes, and Tayden came back alone, explaining that they said they would just clean it after we left and to mark it with a sign that was left at the end of aisle 1. By then, the smell had permeated the store, so I couldn’t believe they didn’t come running. I explained to sweet little Tayden that he needed to emphasize that there were four people and two dogs covered in excrement, and we would walk out of the store, leaving a trail of destruction, if they so desired, but I didn’t think that they would really want that. And the only reason an eight year old (who looked like a five year old) was the one that was sent was because he was the only one clean! He came back with an employee, who was carrying a package of wipes and a poop bag. The poor employee/kid looked at the scene and said, “Oh my God!” He tossed me the wipes and said, “I’ll be back with more stuff and people.” We did NOT end up buying anything that day. The workers were so happy to see us leave, they didn’t care. It was lots of fun trying to drive home with the remnants of the day on our shoes and the dogs.

The First Month. Roscoe didn’t seem to be comfortable with men. He also was terrified of brooms, and I suspect these fears were unfortunately related. Whenever Travis would come home from work, Roscoe would charge the door barking like he was going to kill the intruder… who also happened to pay the mortgage. One time, my brother Larry came over, opened the door, heard Roscoe, closed the door, and decided to come over another time. But Travis lived there, so we needed to fix this. Remember though, be got him for protection, so this bark was usually something I liked. At one point, Travis declared that if Roscoe didn’t stop making him feel scared to come into his own house in another month, then Roscoe had to go. It seemed like Roscoe wasn’t going to stay, until exactly the one month marker, when he actually greeted Travis at the door without sounding like a killer. Eventually, Roscoe went back to barking at Travis, but by then, we knew that Roscoe was a keeper. He was a teddy bear that sounded ferocious, which was perfect.

The Second Month. That year, we went to Travis’ parents to celebrate Christmas, sometime around, but not on, Christmas. Trav’s Mom made her usual giant platter of cookies for us to take home. It was a great day, and we left too late, as usual. Exhausted and crabby, the kids needed to get to bed. When we got home, I put the platter of cookies in the middle of the island in the kitchen, and Travis and I started moving the kids toward bed. We all heard the platter hit the ground and went running. By the time we got to the kitchen, all that was left was powdered sugar and crumbs all over the floor, and Roscoe laying on his side with a distended belly. I suspect he used the bar stools and got all the way onto the island, pushing the plate over the edge in an effort to eat everything. Most of the plastic wrap was gone too. Now, I had a sick dog, and four crying kids, who weren’t getting any Christmas cookies that year. Mom was not too pleased either that her house of effort went into the belly of the beast. 

Truth is, there are endless Roscoe stories. In the end, he was an amazing buddy, loyal and true. He would have protected us with his life if he needed to, but it never came to that. Travis couldn’t help but love that dog, despite the rough beginnings. I miss him everyday. So does Blackie, who grew to love her big, clumsy brother. But Roscoe knew who collected him from the shelter, and who made sure he stayed in our warm wonderful house, full of couches for sleeping. So, in the end, as the beginning, he was my dog. So, I power through with my memories of the galoof, Roscoe. 

I will add a bunch of photos later. I am having technical difficulties.