The Rocketman


One day in the late spring of ’94 I stopped by Mom’s place to say hi and maybe mooch a cup of coffee in the process. My sister’s car was in the driveway when I arrived and since it was also around lunchtime my chances of landing a bowl of homemade soup that day were pretty good, too. But instead of some tasty freebies what was awaiting me inside was far less pleasant.

The first thing out of Momsy’s mouth was, “Come look what I got!”

Feeling a sense of ominous trepidation sweep over me I reluctantly followed her into the family room. My instincts had not failed me, for what my eyes beheld in the family room made my blood run cold.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” I demanded.

“He’s a Toy Pomeranian and his name is Rocky…I just got him this morning.” Mom explained as she retrieved the miniscule furred urchin from within the confines of his micro-sized Porto-Kennel.

“That’s nice, play with it outside, hmmm? And is he a morning snack for the real dog you’re going to get later today?” I asked.

The glare I got for an answer gave me cause to change the subject somewhat.

“Why in hell would you get a pathetic little ditch rat like that, Mom?”

“He is NOT a ditch rat…he’s my little baby!”

“Your baby? Whoa! I didn’t even know you were pregnant! So this is just some kind of severe deformity, no?”

This elicited another threatening glare from Mother Dearest so I dropped the matter, at least temporarily. Looking over at my sister for some backup on this I was dismayed to see her go over to Mom then give the tiny brown fuzzy thing in her arms a pet and hug. (I dare anybody to tell me that all women don’t stick together always!)

“So, do you like Rocky?’ Mom asked me.

“Well, maybe on a whole wheat kaiser-bun with tomatoes and mayo, he looks to be about the right size.” I replied. “And some pepper, maybe?”

At this point the glares were getting even more intense so I let the matter go once and for all.

“Training could be a bit tough with him, Mom.”

“Oh no, training will be easy. Poms are very smart.”

As it turned out she was right, Rocky had Mom fully trained in short order. He ate only the best people food, slept on only the softest cushions/bedsheets and nibbled on only the most expensive ditch rat….er…dog treats. He rode around in the co-pilot’s seat of Mom’s new Buick Roadmaster and constantly voiced (yapped) his displeasure at any bump in the road or 10 second interval between pettings. As well, running out of cookies to chew on while in the car was deemed a capital offense by the spoiled little beast. By having Mom so completely under his control I couldn’t help but respect the mini-monster. However, much to his chagrin, it turned out that I wasn’t nearly as agreeable to his demands as was my doting mother. The antagonism between us had begun.

When Rock was about 8 months old he hurt his rear leg coming down the stairs one morning. There didn’t appear to be any specific reason for the injury but he wouldn’t walk on the leg at all and instead ran about doing a 3-legged hobble. A trip to the vet produced some troubling news, the miniature fur ball had a deformity in his leg and the end result was prolonged surgery and the implantation of a steel pin in the femur. The dog took this in stride and even though he was in discomfort and pain, from the pin and weak leg, he remained his usual happy-go-lucky self. Begrudgingly, I slowly began to admire the little mutt.

As the years went by I watched on, as Mom would make every effort to please and pamper the Pom to no apparent avail. She would even make Rocketman (a nickname I gave him because it annoyed Momsy) meals fit for royalty that he would turn his nose up at. She would then, dutifully, proceed to make him something else to eat that he would also walk away from in disdain. He even tried this with me once when I looked after him for a day. He went kinda hungry that night…! I may have liked the silly dog but he still irritated me on a regular basis and Mom very wisely removed him from my sight on more than one occasion.

As time passed things between The Rocketman and I toned down to a dull roar of sorts. I’d show up at Mom’s and he’d start yapping his fool head off. My response was a standard “SHUT THE HELL UP, ROCKETMAN!!!” Mother would simply shake her head and walk away. Yet also, with the passing of time, I noticed a difference in the relationship between Mom and the dog. He very much mellowed out in his later years and became a peaceful companion to her who no longer made great demands and was usually quite content to eat what was served and just be near her. Now granted, the less fussy eating may have had a large part to do with Mom’s decision to make him one thing to eat and nothing more; but Rocketman’s general demeanor has also became more agreeable with age. Maybe mine has, too, for we get along quite well these days.

Rocketman is coming up on 13 years old now and the bum leg is arthritic, he needs help getting up and down stairs as well as up onto the patio chairs when we sit out on the brickworks. But he’s comfortable there and, as he always has, enjoys being outside in the sun. I thought about all this the other day as I sat outside on Mom’s patio drinking a coffee and soaking up the weak rays from the low hanging midday sun. There just aren’t too many chances to do that around these parts this time of year.

The short time spent there with Mom’s little dog was peaceful and only interrupted once by a jay that wouldn’t stop screeching.

“SHUT THE HELL UP, BIRD!!!” I snarled.

Rocketman erupted into a yapping tirade at the feathered intruder, causing the bird to flee in panic. With a satisfied grunt he settled back into relax mode.

Observing this it occurred to me that, not only had the two of us long ago buried the hatchet, but also we’d become rather similar in some ways. We have both shifted into a slower pace, value good companionship more, and become a bit crankier with our advancing years.

…

Ron

This post has been edited at member's request.Ron,

Well, being the "ol' dawg" that I know from that other writing site a-wa-ay back when, I can see how you and Rocketman eventually came to terms. I'm glad you were eventually able to accept him. That being said, I commend you, as I don't think I could be as magnanimous.

To me a dog has to be a DOG! A dog has to WOOF, not yip! A furry bedroom slipper is NOT a dog...might as well get a cat.

Anyhoo~~I digress. Many yippy bedroom slippers have kept many "Momsys" very good company and that IS special. Seems that this is the case with Rocky and your Momsy. Animals of any kind can be such a source of comfort and can (if you 're not allergic) be beneficial to your overall health and well-being.

This was a wonderful read, and I truly am glad you two were able to bond in his later years.

So good to see a post by you, ol' dawg! Has been some time. Now...I'll just go give my 102 lb. Rhodie mix a little pat...hehe
(my next plan for the coming years, is maybe adopting a pair of greyhounds...)

Give Rocketman a pat for me...and tell him flutter said it's perfectly fine to be cranky in our old age...as you can tell from my post

~~flutter~~

Ron,
The Kids (all eleven) keep on me to get a dog, living alone isn’t healthy they reason. I’ve been resisting but if you write more of these dog tails I may weaken. So knock it off.
I am tempted to get a cat… for my shop.

Jack

Ron,
Dogs are gifts of the gods to humans.
How I enjoyed this charming double portrait of the rocket dog and yourself!
Yes, we all mellow with age ... there's apparently no limit in that direction.
I, too, prefer pony-sized dogs. Perhaps I should think about adopting a rat, if only to contradict myself and delay the mellowing process.
Thanks for such a fine story.

Jane

BRAVO! ENCORE! ENCORE!

Ditch Rat. You are one of a kind, my friend .

I've also have my reservations about small dogs over the years. I have three dogs and the smallest one weighs 75 pounds (they eat pretty well, too). Having said that, there is something to be said about having a dog that can be used as a feather duster in an emergency....

'Tis a grand story ye've tol' ous, Ron. I hope to read another 1000 of 'em over the next few years...maybe until we are the equivalent of 13 dog years old.

Excellent.

I don’t know why I wrote this, it seems like such an insignificant subject. But one day over at Mom’s place, as I observed his antics, I found myself contemplating the little old mutt. The Rocketman is many things, but boring or inconsequential are not amongst them. He is quite unique in his own way and damned determined to make sure that all those about him are fully aware of that fact.

~ Flutter: I suppose I was too hard on the mini-mutt when he first showed up (and later on, too) but I’ll give him this; he earned the respect I now give. I wouldn’t want a Pom or any other dog that size, but he seems to be what Mom needs so I’ll give him that he has a place on this orbiting rock that none other can fill quite as well. On another point; I don’t think I hafta tell Rocketman that it’s OK to be a bit cranky, he’s either figured that out by himself already or just doesn’t care one way or another.

~ Jack: It could just be that all the kids are right. After Mom’s husband died there was a big hole in her life, Rocketman helped to fill that hole for her, in part. And for that, I’m grateful to him that he showed up.

~ Jane: Yes, God was definitely smiling over the Earth the day He gave us dogs. You say we all mellow with age and I suppose that’s true enough. But in spite of my progressing age I’m sure you’d find that those who know me would attest to the fact that I’m lagging far behind where I should be in the mellowing department. And no, don't get a rat. You should adopt a dog that’s almost as big as you are...then you can hug it hard without worrying about breaking something.
I’m pleased that you liked the piece.

~ Wordman: A feather duster? I’ve never done that but there were a few times earlier on when I threatened to stuff a broom handle up Rocketman’s butt, dunk him into a bucket and use him as a floor mop. (Momsy was in disagreement with this practice, however.)

An encore, you ask? Well, Momsy DOES have another little ditch rat lurking about her premises. I suppose that maybe I could tell you all a bit about "Dangle Dog"...!

Some news

It has now been over a year since I wrote about Mom's little dog and, as is to be expected sooner or later, things have changed. I spoke with Mom the other day and she was quite beside herself, The Rocketman has passed away.

I don't know how something like a furry little dog can so grasp our hearts but in his latter years Rocky definitely did that with all who knew him, and his passing has now seriously pained most of those hearts. It was hard to notice the changes in him over time but the demanding, annoying and spoiled little wretch he was, first as a pup then as a young dog, slowly transformed into an agreeable and highly likeable individual possessing a playful manner with a slightly devilish sense of humor. The Rocketman became the quintessential companion for Mom and went a long way towards filling a hole in her life that had existed since the passing of her husband. The old boy was a dignified gentleman in many ways and an endless source of comic entertainment in others, I just found him to be pleasant company to be sought out whenever I visited.

It now falls solely on the small shoulders of Mom's other dog "Nikki" to try and fill that spot she had previously shared with Rocky, although Nikki is also grieving her now absent lifelong friend. I'm pretty sure that the two of them will get through this and, with some time, carry on as before; but somehow it will never be the same again for either of them. This is all, I'm sure, rather silly...pining for a small dog, but I already miss Rock and it's just not going to be the same sitting on Mom's covered deck in the morning without the company of The Rocketman there to help me enjoy the sunrise.

It's a rather odd thing but it seems that no matter who you lose in this life it always hurts more than you would expect afterwards if they were close to you, even if it's just a little dog. And The Rocketman had a knack for getting close to everyone.



Rocky
1994 - 2008

Rest well, old man, you won't be forgotten

...

Ron

My condolences on the loss of a "family member". I see my adopted stray Rhodie mix, all 100-plus pounds, aging before my eyes. Just a few short years ago, when I took my Mom's aging female dog, nearly 14, to finish out her years with us, Woody, the Rhodie, was beside himself with "showing off". He would leap from the top landing into the yard, ignoring the 3 steps...gliding through the air, proud as Rudolph leading Santa's sleigh!

Now, he walks slowly down the steps, but when it is time to come back up, he stands there looking at them...hesitating. You can almost hear his thoughts "Oh, boy...I know I have to make it up...maybe a deep breath will help...heave ho...here goes...grunt...groan" (sounds a lot like me! )

I know what lies down the road in probably the not too far off future...ah, me. Why do I agree to take in all these poor souls, knowing I will lose them all too soon? I guess it's for the same reason Momsy loved Rocky so...they fill a special place in my heart, and (Momsy) and I in theirs.

A hug for Mom from me...maybe she and Nikki need a new dog...not a pup...but a few years old?

~~flutter~~

I had the pleasure of meeting and spending time with Rocky on a few occaisions. He was quite the cute little old duffer. He was like a miniature golden bear and very adorable. I naturally fell in love with the little guy. It grieves me to know he is gone from us forever.


Babs

Ron...You may think with a handle like “Lionheart” I would naturally be a cat lover...not entirely so.
Actually I prefer dogs and have always had one about the house. I know how they worm their way into our hearts with their faithfulness and wonderful personalities. It is truly tragic when one of these little critters pass away...I also know the pain that comes from loss and I can honesty say I’m sorry to hear of Rocky’s death.

My thoughts and heart are with you all.

“ Lionheart
^

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened.
- Anatole France

Ron -- Oh. Sorry to hear about this.

Whenever we lose an animal friend, the void that's left is always greater than we expect - every time.
But I believe the loss is felt hardest by his comrade Nikki.
I do hope Rocky will have a worthy successor (if that's the right word).

Jane

Ron is a very talented and articulate writer. He does a lot of writing on historical subjects and once in awhile he throws some fiction into the mix.
I am bumping this up because I feel it is one of Ron's best posts as it comes from his heart.
It's not often that grumpy old fart I call friend admits that something touches him as deeply as Rocketman did.

Babs

Yes, this was one of my favorites from "the old fart"! Wherever is he hiding these days?? Nudge him on over here!