Roy came into our lives unexpectedly. Eleven years ago Ariel and I went to the mall, where there happened to be a dog adoption event hosted by the local pound. All the dogs were getting tons of attention... all but one, a skinny, trembling Shephard/Lab mix named (by the people at the shelter) Elroy. If he did not get adopted that day, he was headed for puppy heaven the next. It didn't look good. He was a street dog who'd been attacked by other dogs, and by life. His ear had been torn in half. Huge patches of fur were missing. He smelled terrible.
Ariel headed straight for him. She was two years old and she knew what she wanted. She wanted Roy. I had not expected to bring another dog into our home... but I did.
And so he came into our lives and we grew to love this shy, anxious, and incredibly sweet soul. His boundless energy gave way to a slower pace. He loved to lie on plush, soft spaces. He echewed the back yard. I think he had enough of the outdoors while he was living on the streets. He loved to lie on the couch and rest. He followed us wherever we went, a faithful furry shadow.
In the last couple of years he slowed down. He lost 20 lbs. He developed a limp. He could no longer jump onto the couch. He's been on all kinds of medications, none of which slowed his decline. He grew confused. He peed on a guest and seemed oblivious to what he was doing. There were times when I was really frustrated with him, which made me feel really guilty. On Monday he could no longer get up or walk, so we knew it was time to let him go.
I have never had to put a dog to sleep and it was a terrible experience. David, Ariel and I petted him and I kissed his head. We said goodbye as the vet injected the medication and cried as Roy took his last breaths.
I miss the clatter of his paws on our wood floors. I miss his constant presence, his soulful gaze. The silence in our house is deafening.
Au revoir, Roy.
