I had a message recently from an adopter whose dog, a shepherd, had recently died. Some people feel moved to contact me after their dog has passed on and I really appreciate it. Losing a dog is a very personal loss because it's a connection that only the two of them had. But I appreciate them sharing their loss with me because even a sad occasion like that is an opportunity to celebrate a dog's life.
This particular shepherd was named Roscoe. Although the name rang a bell, my memory failed me for the most part so I turned to my written memory and found Roscoe in my blog. It was back in 2012. I had pulled Roscoe and another shepherd, Dixie, from my county shelter. They had been turned in by people who were losing their farm. I wouldn't have remembered Dixie's origin story absent this reminder, but I maintained contact with Dixie's adopter and have since adopted another dog to him after Dixie passed on a while back. Roscoe lived to almost 13 years, which is a very good run for any large breed dog.
I read a few blog posts from around that time, covering the period between when I first took in Roscoe and when he was adopted out. That spanned a period of a few weeks and recounted a couple of trips to VGSR adoption events in Gainesville. Most weekends I'd load up at least four dogs and make the two hour drive, being met upon my arrival by a small swarm of volunteers and potential adopters who wanted to meet the dogs. I would pass out the dogs to trusted volunteers, occasionally hold back one that I needed to hold myself, generally because the dog was so insecure in the strange environment.
Then I'd spend the next two hours talking to people. Talking to people doesn't come naturally to me, certainly not easily, but talking about dogs is better than most topics and for the chance to get a dog adopted I did it the best that I could. After two hours of talking and being nice, I was often hoarse and always exhausted. One post from this time mentioned coming with four dogs and leaving with just one. That was a good day and those days happened, although not all the time. Sometimes I'd drive home alone and sometimes I still had the same van full of dogs that I had started with.
We moved a lot of dogs in those days, with the help of many volunteers who handled dogs at the events, and others who had processed the applications, checking out the potential adopters. I look back on those days fondly and without regrets, loving all the dogs we helped and all the great people I met in the process. That was how my old green Toyota Sienna got to 300,000 miles. It never gave up on me either, even though it had shed a number of parts and pieces over the years. I finally replaced it, with another Toyota Sienna, only when the air conditioner gave out and the cost of replacement exceeded the value of the vehicle.
Anyway, those were good times and we saved a lot of good dogs, including Roscoe, Dixie, and many, many more than I can recall. It's gratifying to have heard that a dog whose path had crossed mine so many years ago went on to live a rich, full life. Roscoe did for sure.
Roscoe was a very handsome dog.
This is Dixie, Roscoe's sister that also left with us that day.
I'd recognize that black and white floor of the Fluvanna SPCA any day.
He was one well put together shepherd, nose to tail.
Dixie was a bi-color female, with a typical female shepherd attitude.
And here's Roscoe near the end, matured, greyed, but still a handsome dog,
everything you'd want in German Shepherd Dog.
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