Dear Rembrandt, aka Remy, RemDog,
It is only a day and a half since you left us and our hearts
are aching. Your absence leaves a literal and figurative giant hole in our
lives and in our living space. I just thought I would write down some memories
and message them to heaven, where I am sure you are now, reunited with your
right front leg, enjoying a peanut butter kong and relaxing on a sofa, (as you
were the all-time couch connoisseur), without a worry in the world and pain
free.
You were a bit of a hard luck Harry from the beginning. You were such a mellow puppy … and then
suddenly too mellow. You came down with
Parvo Virus on New Year’s Eve and spent two days at Friendship Animal Hospital
in Intensive Care. This would be the beginning of your love for that place,
with many more visits in your future. Miraculously you survived and this time
when we brought you home you were no longer mellow -- but a wild guy! You were big and strong even as a puppy and
you could do some real damage in an astoundingly short period of time. I guess
we didn’t really understand crating back then but here is a list of some of
your achievements:
The lion foot leg on the oak dining room table – yes, oak --
gone in minutes.
The toes of two cleats and a custom-made mouthguard right
before a big high school game. I made the excuse you were just excited for your
boy, who was playing wide receiver in those days, but you are very lucky he
didn’t tear his ACL that night, playing with plumber’s tape wrapped around his
toes.
Every single toilet brush and dustpan in the house chewed to
a nub. Some of those nubs still exist.
Two sixty-pound potted water lily plants, pulled out of the
pond, shredded and strewn about the yard. I caught you red handed (pawed) and
you stood there with your big goofy grin and your slow tail wag looking so
proud.
And that is just to name a few. We were happy when your
focus turned to bully sticks and marrow bones.
Your adolescent years were spent trying to get you to
conform to societal norms. You loved everyone and everything, but we sometimes
had to modify your 70 pounds of enthusiasm. When you hit the front door at a run
(your unique form of greeting the mailman), I worried it wouldn’t stand the
impact. Several training classes, some private tutoring, and a lot of treats
did the trick.
Do you remember how much cats loved you? We’ll never forget
when Jordan adopted a tiny sick kitten who we named Otis. He came into the
house and started purring wildly the moment he laid eyes on you, and from that
day on he thought you were his mother. Even when Otis grew into a very large
snowshoe Siamese he still buried his face in your armpit and kneaded his paws
into your fur until sometimes you couldn’t tolerate it anymore and you would
stand up and send him flying. But he always came back for more love. Everyone
did.
There was something about your hulk and kind demeanor that
attracted people. I will always remember the day you were with me in a bookstore
and a tall woman, elegantly dressed in business attire, came up to us. She
stood there gazing at you while she stated that she didn’t like dogs. Then she
got a little closer, looking at you even more intently and said, “He is very
handsome.” Then she touched your soft ear and bent down to rub your head.
Before I knew it, she was sitting on the floor with you between her legs,
giving you a total body massage and you had rolled over into her lap. You
convinced her that a dog might be a good alternative to a boyfriend. You had
that effect on lots of souls through the course of your beautiful
lifetime.
One of my most “body contact” memories was during high
school football preseason and Augustin and some of his buddies would come home
from practice for lunch and to cool down from the summer heat. They would
stretch their sweaty selves out on the sofa and watch TV and you would be right
in the middle of them with their legs draped across your hulk and your big head
resting in their laps. I wish I had pictures of that now.
You were a pro traveler and liked nothing better than a road
trip. We sussed out the dog-friendly hotels up and down the East Coast. We
would walk you up to the check-in desk, having already made a reservation for a
dog “under 40 pounds” and hope that no one looked down. I’m sure they did but
saw your sweet brown eyes and big smile. No one ever asked you to get on a
scale. You knew to tip toe down the halls to our room as quickly as possible so
as not to cause a distraction. You always enjoyed a king size bed and a good
night’s sleep on nice linens.
You liked a vacation as much as anybody and loved taking the
ferry over to Block Island or a trip to the Berkshires. One year I decided that
I wanted you to learn to kayak with me. We practiced first on dry ground. You
learned to “wait” while I got in, then slowly squeeze into the small space in
front of me. When we got to the lake, all went well even with the kayak heavily
listing toward the front. Then we got a little too close to the shore and you
decided to disembark and do some exploring -- through poison ivy -- then came
back to the kayak and settled back in between my legs. Enough said. It was a
very itchy remainder of the summer.
And then there was the relationship you had with my teenage
art students. This part really brings tears because it was so meaningful to me.
You knew the days that I had classes and you seemed to know who was coming. You
knew the ones that were stressed, the ones who had had a rough day at school,
or whose parents were going through a divorce, or the ones who had just had a
break up with a boyfriend or girlfriend, or the one who had no friends at all.
You would greet them as they entered the studio and flop down on the floor at
their feet and they would flop down with you and bury their face in your broad
back and stroke your fur. Then after a little while they would gather
themselves and go to their easels and start to draw, calmed and renewed. Anyone
who ever doubts the concept of a therapy dog should have born witness to the
effect you had on these kids. And sometimes they drew you. There were some
wonderful drawings of RemDog over the years. All we had to do was pose you in
front of a donut and say “leave it” and you were the perfect model.
You were also a champion foster brother to many puppies and
fearful dogs. You could make a rambunctious litter of five sit at attention
with a soft but firm “ruff”. We called
you “The Sheriff”. You also knew intrinsically how strong or gentle you needed
to be from a chihuahua puppy to a big 14-week-old pit mix who needed some
exercise. One of your most touching charges was the special needs puppy from Lucky
Dog we fostered for four months. All four of her legs were malformed from birth
and Lucky Dog had provided her surgery on her front legs to try to give her
some mobility. She was terribly fragile, and her bones broke easily, so you
couldn’t play with her. But boy she adored you and you knew that. You would lie
by the puppy pen and she would wiggle up to you and give you kisses through the
bars. You were the braveheart to our shy fosters. Just your presence made them
feel safe and more confident, and your enthusiasm for everyone who entered the
house gave them a new attitude toward life.
There is a long list of funny stories but I just want to
remind you of a few. We don’t want people thinking you are a saint, right? Did
I mention that you were very food focused?! There was the Washington Post
Sports department holiday party each year that you enjoyed thoroughly. One year someone brought a platter of
beautifully decorated cupcakes. At the end of the party, a little girl came up
to me, tugged on my skirt and said “you know what? I just saw your dog eat 19
cupcakes and I counted.” You were fine
because you were a gastronomical tank.
A year ago July when you were limping I feared the worst. An
x-ray at Friendship Hospital showed that you had bone cancer at the top of your
humerous and there was no alternative to amputating your front leg. Everyone
was worried because you were a big guy with a giant head and already had an
iffy back leg (from a prior run in with a Hummer on Connecticut Avenue that led
to FHO surgery at Friendship. This is another story for another day). But we
were not ready to part with you. So the
surgeon took off your leg and stitched you up with the most elegant strip of
stitches I have ever laid eyes on. And you know what? You did great. Within 24
hours you were up on three legs and learning to maneuver. There are times when
having a huge food drive really pays off -- anything for a cheese stick! With
the help of a big stroller/bike trailer thingy you could do anything and never
missed a walk in the neighborhood, a stroll to Bethesda for a Sunday morning
bagel, a trip to see friends at Strosniders Hardware, a vacation, or a party.
You loved your weekly visit to your favorite, lamb treat generous physical
therapists and your best friend Matt at Friendship. Fourteen months of a full
life. But then that big C raised its ugly head again in your lung and spleen.
Once again you were a trooper and an inspiration until the bitter end.
Rembrandt, aka Remy, RemDog, we are going to miss you buddy
-- your big warm calming presence, your goofy smile, your gorgeous brown eyes
and soft ears. But we know you are up there in dog heaven seeing old friends
and making new ones and romping around on all four legs.
We love you. Forever.
Modeling in the Drawing Studio
Roadtrip! with siblings
This past August in Maine
So good at making others comfortable
With his special foster sister Deana, now Danica
Another shot with her
With human sister. A classic RemDog look
Best snuggle of all with human brother
The summer of the kayak adventure
Sharing a cigar and a bullystick with dad
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