His name was Roscoe, as Jocelyn explained when she called. It was the Friday before Halloween weekend almost two years ago now, when the phone rang. On the line was my dear neighbor, who’d been the one to pair me up with Molly, the rescue we took home from Navasota right before a nasty rainstorm was due to hit in Halloween weekend in 2021. What is it about Halloween? Both times, the call brought treats, not tricks.
The offer was sweet—would I consider fostering a little chihuahua/rat terrier until we could find him a forever home? She had me at chihuahua and sealed the deal with rat terrier as I’d been the keeper of four chihuahuas in my life, none of them the nervous, yippy kinds, and all of them named Pepe. Jocelyn explained that her Aunte Marie had previously had two pups and that Roscoe’s sister Macie had recently passed and that Roscoe was grieving, not eating, and her aunt’s work schedule demanded more time on site and, hard as it was for sweet Marie to let go of Mr. Roscoe, he needed a new home. I was just supposed to foster a little while. I agreed immediately, without consulting Molly.
As I waited for them to arrive, I explained to Molly that she needed to be on best behavior, and trusted she would be. The door opened, Jocelyn and Marie walked in and Marie placed him into my arms. We looked at one another and not another utterance of “foster” was heard. He arrived with a cute t-shirt for his bed ‘scent,’ and we had some sweaters ready thanks to Lil Homie, Jocelyn’s previous pup. We had a nice leash ready as well. Molly sniffed but mostly watched me fall in love, and she figured out she’d follow suit. Now Roscoe was 11.5 years old, according to his vaccination record, and that was a surprise.
Molly is only about 6 or 7-ish. Arthur, Jocelyn’s doggie, is timeless, and the best behaved/good example of the lot. Roscoe was built low to the ground, so his length far outdistanced his height. He couldn’t jump up on the bed the way Molly could, to Molly’s delight. I outfoxed her, though, and picked Roscoe up and scooped him up beside me. That went okay for one night, but Roscoe preferred being closer to the water bowl than me and nature took over.
Doggie day care and night care and weekend care represent a collective effort between three people and let’s just say that we’ve got a fantastic routine and everything has operated like clockwork for two years as the pups have play dates, vet bills, shampoos, teeth brushing and treat time.
I’ve done what I can when I can and brought in (approved, tested out) treats. Jocelyn and her hubby, Philip, and our former neighbor, Jimmie, have a regular play date for her dog, Sandy, with Molly and Arthur. That was perfect for my bonding “me time” with Roscoe. We had long talks, sometimes; other times we went for a ride, and he appreciated the singling out.
Now when it came to protecting the homestead, his bark was mighty and were I a miscreant with bad intentions, I’d give second, and third, thoughts to harming me or the hearth. Sometimes I’d tell Molly to “knock it off” and it was Roscoe pitching the fit, ha.
Not all trespassers were unwelcome; others were simply in need of little, or no, scrutiny. Aunt Patti had a permanent pass and the deer were not allowed in the front yard without censure; you would not have wanted to be here they day they accessed the flower beds by the front window. No sonic boom was as harmful as the “ghostly trio” barking their heads off until the deer got done.
Roscoe was a fun and funny little man. He was set in his ways but was considerate of my need for focus while working. Although I’m a multitasker, I might go a few minutes before noticing one of his three water bowls was empty…and he’d simply walk over and hit the side of the bowl with his leash until I noticed and then we made eye contact. After I apologized for his inconvenience, I set things right again, after laughing at how smart he was and how dumb I was.
Oh, and don’t take his diminutive size (compared to Molly or Arthur) as a sign you could stiff him on treats either. One, one, and one…and an occasional extra piece of someone else’s if he could stealth it away…he tested Molly’s patience regularly, but Arthur was so generous he never put up a fuss (which earned Arthur many out-of-sight treats when the other two were not looking).
Molly M. Norma Ada Josh Axl Jones-Wakefield
Arthur Jones
Roscoe Sifuentes Jones-Wakefield
I was the one who benefited the most because the “little one” was my speed as I got stronger in muscle stamina after a health challenge. We understood one another’s limitations and loved each other for them. He remained at the computer desk with me, under my feet, as long as I was there, and I mean a good, long stretch many nights.
Then, he’d relocate if I did, found his place at night, on his little blanket on the floor next to my bed, within arm reach for a good head pat at night.
I was never alone when they were with me…and when I say “never,” I mean it. Bathrooms were not sacred to them. In fact, when I got in the shower, Roscoe would take up residence on the bathmat where I’d be stepping out upon conclusion of the shower…and once I knocked on my own shower door (3 times like Sheldon, ha), he’d stretch, move, and allow my egress.
The last 22 months have flown by. They say chihuahuas are good for children with health challenges, particularly breathing. My “Mr. Pepe #1” is a testament to that fact—given a litany of congestion and bronchial infections as a child, with Pepe in my bed, I slept like the proverbial baby, as we fell into a breathing rhythm together.
This time around, my own health mimicked Roscoe’s as we were both challenged at times trying to get stronger walking. Together we were patient, we were determined, and we were unified that we would get better. Together, we did.
Lately, Roscoe became a water seeker…drank every drop in the bowl for several weeks…and I just knew something was up. In these final weeks, he’d look deeply into my eyes and stare and I knew. We had some good chats during those times. He was not a cuddle bug but he sat close enough to my feet to sit on them and monitor my ups and downs.
How you approach these final days during what a short time is already? With gratitude and grace. I had the gratitude, and he had the grace. Animals give us unconditional love and forgive our multitude of omissions or lack of consideration when it’s “their turn” for thought.
It was not only in his living but in his passing that my faith was deepened and strengthened, which I’ve needed more than most people these last months especially, and you know what I mean if you know me well. Love unspoken by our animals is just as powerful as the verbal profferings of humans who try to get it right. We all make mistakes but our animals give us unconditional devotion and supply humor continuously by allowing us to focus on big and little things to break fixture on the greater weights of the world.
When it came time for him to transition into the next world, Jocelyn and I discussed it and agreed. Ironically, my vet was shorthanded and I had to wait 3 days until I could get in, even if I was seeking relief for the little man. Taking a cue from my North Zulch prayer partner, Ms. Mary Lee, when I knew there was no one praying contrary, I asked the Lord to take him home so he would not suffer yet one more day until “appointment time.”
As Roscoe looked up at me, I knew he knew, and I loved him gently and thanked him for being with me these past almost two years and for all the love. I sent a prayer upward and included my thanks to his original Mommy for sharing him with us these final years, a gift grander than any you can imagine.
I fell asleep at my computer desk mid-afternoon. About an hour later, I woke up and Roscoe was nowhere in sight…after a brief search, without calling his name, because I knew…I found where he’d gone in the house to transition to the next place. Confident that my Mom had him now, I smiled, for the first time in weeks it seemed.
There were still gifts ahead…
Aunte Marie agreed that we could bury him next to his cratemate on her property and in 100F heat, Jocelyn and Philip crafted the most beautiful grave for him. With shovel and pickax, killing their backs and down on their knees scooping up excess dirt…the little man had a final resting place suitable for royalty.
Arriving on the property from the farthest site across, three beautiful donkeys traveled over to supervise and witness the proper farewell.
I’d already said my goodbyes and for once I had nothing to say at graveside, ironic for a life celebrant. Jocelyn did the farewell beautifully and the donkeys and Molly and Arthur were the attendants in attendance. Peaceable kingdom indeed.
It was solemn but not sad. There was a crafted small gravestone with his name and the date, sealed in a Ziplock to protect the ink/color from fading in rain and tied with a ribbon securely to mark the spot. All was right in the world again, as Roscoe rejoined his beloved cratemate, Macie.
Love was everywhere throughout these past two years….allowing adoption, giving time, energy, devotion, and thought to including a new little life into an established routine. The name Roscoe is strong and sure, and so was his approach to his life. His full name is, and remains, Roscoe Sifuentes Jones-Wakefield and it’s a long name, but he is a forever memory in our hearts and a constant source of peace and comfort as we try to stay optimistic and positive, whenever we are surrounded by negativity and chaos.
This was my second “failed foster” experience, and I laugh to think I could ever foster without falling in love instantly. Molly and Arthur made it through their first day okay. Arthur barked early and long this morning (we do roll call and announce the names of all those present) as a small ritual…and this was our first Monday without him “here.”
If these walls could speak, though, one might beg to differ. Roscoe’s love shared during his time on this block remains indelibly here, and in our hearts. God bless you, little buddy, and as Bob Hope sang it best (and as dear friend reminded me should be Roscoe’s theme song, too), thanks for the memories, and most of all the love, little man. Every day we get stronger.