It's with a heavy heart that we said goodbye to our dear friend, Rex Grossman, this week.
Eleven and a half years ago, Rex entered our newly married lives in Omaha, Nebraska. I feel sure that i remember that Rex was born on a farm in Council Bluffs, Iowa (Brooke thinks it was in Nebraska) on the 27th of November 2006.
He survived orthopedic surgery on his right foreleg in his first year of life and moved to Milwaukee, coincidentally, when we did in the summer of 2007.
Rex was a ridiculously good looking dog. In his early years, he would literally stop traffic, with drivers pulling over and getting out of their cars to meet him and ask what kind of dog he was (Beagle / Boston Terrier aka a Boglin Terrier). Rex enjoyed riding in cars - when those people stopped he often seemed to think they were there to get him and he would try to jump into their cars. (This was also often our method for catching Rex when he was still a runner and we'd have to flag down strangers and ask them to open their car door to coax him in and allow us to recapture him). In so many ways Rex's stay with us seemed like a temporary, fleeting thing and he seemed to think that he was soon to be on to something else - to his next big thing.
In subsequent years, Rex became acquainted with Doctor Singh, whose summer cabin i expect we largely funded. Rex survived a toy-induced blockage surgery, mysterious intestinal strangulation (possibly caused by an allergic reaction to avocados), death by chocolate when he ate Grandpa's Christmas gift from under the tree, an eventually explicable summer of malaise in 2013 (caused by a toothpick that had lodged itself under his skin for several months), and finally a prostate cancer diagnosis in September of 2017.
Reading this list of historical woes that Rex went through, it probably seems we were bad human caretakers for a pet. We weren't, but things often seem other than they are. Rex often seemed like a bad dog... screaming and crying loudly anytime we were in public (or in a car). Pulling incessantly on walks. Reliably emptying out the bathroom garbage can if ever we left the house and forgot to put it on the toilet seat. Rex often seemed to sullenly slink away upstairs to lie under the bed when we were home. He generally shied away from hugs and kisses. But all of this, i think, was a complex psychological game that Rex was playing, because, vorallerdings, Rex was a genius dog. A jock who loved playing ball more than life itself and a prototypical 'bad boy', but very self aware (a high IQ and high EQ, as it were).
Rex had a deep and abiding love of Harley Davidson motorcycles - he would sit and watch as one rode by if we were on a walk, or look out the window as one passed us on the highway. We're pretty sure that Rex was a tough biker dude who had been reincarnated as a cute little puppy dog as karmic payback for a tough life knocking peoples skulls together. For certain, this life wasn't Rex's first go round. He was an old soul, and wise beyond his years.
Rex Grossman was a good dog... the best of dogs. He was our dear friend. We often called him "our lodger", because he seemed more like a stranger who had come to stay with us than a family member (that's why he had his own last name!). He became a part of our pack and we a part of his.
We will miss him, and will howl at the moon for a good long while in his honor. Aooooo!
Eleven and a half years ago, Rex entered our newly married lives in Omaha, Nebraska. I feel sure that i remember that Rex was born on a farm in Council Bluffs, Iowa (Brooke thinks it was in Nebraska) on the 27th of November 2006.
He survived orthopedic surgery on his right foreleg in his first year of life and moved to Milwaukee, coincidentally, when we did in the summer of 2007.
Rex was a ridiculously good looking dog. In his early years, he would literally stop traffic, with drivers pulling over and getting out of their cars to meet him and ask what kind of dog he was (Beagle / Boston Terrier aka a Boglin Terrier). Rex enjoyed riding in cars - when those people stopped he often seemed to think they were there to get him and he would try to jump into their cars. (This was also often our method for catching Rex when he was still a runner and we'd have to flag down strangers and ask them to open their car door to coax him in and allow us to recapture him). In so many ways Rex's stay with us seemed like a temporary, fleeting thing and he seemed to think that he was soon to be on to something else - to his next big thing.In subsequent years, Rex became acquainted with Doctor Singh, whose summer cabin i expect we largely funded. Rex survived a toy-induced blockage surgery, mysterious intestinal strangulation (possibly caused by an allergic reaction to avocados), death by chocolate when he ate Grandpa's Christmas gift from under the tree, an eventually explicable summer of malaise in 2013 (caused by a toothpick that had lodged itself under his skin for several months), and finally a prostate cancer diagnosis in September of 2017.
Reading this list of historical woes that Rex went through, it probably seems we were bad human caretakers for a pet. We weren't, but things often seem other than they are. Rex often seemed like a bad dog... screaming and crying loudly anytime we were in public (or in a car). Pulling incessantly on walks. Reliably emptying out the bathroom garbage can if ever we left the house and forgot to put it on the toilet seat. Rex often seemed to sullenly slink away upstairs to lie under the bed when we were home. He generally shied away from hugs and kisses. But all of this, i think, was a complex psychological game that Rex was playing, because, vorallerdings, Rex was a genius dog. A jock who loved playing ball more than life itself and a prototypical 'bad boy', but very self aware (a high IQ and high EQ, as it were).
Rex had a deep and abiding love of Harley Davidson motorcycles - he would sit and watch as one rode by if we were on a walk, or look out the window as one passed us on the highway. We're pretty sure that Rex was a tough biker dude who had been reincarnated as a cute little puppy dog as karmic payback for a tough life knocking peoples skulls together. For certain, this life wasn't Rex's first go round. He was an old soul, and wise beyond his years.
Rex Grossman was a good dog... the best of dogs. He was our dear friend. We often called him "our lodger", because he seemed more like a stranger who had come to stay with us than a family member (that's why he had his own last name!). He became a part of our pack and we a part of his.
We will miss him, and will howl at the moon for a good long while in his honor. Aooooo!
1 comment:
When Rex was very young, we would go for a walk down the hill to the trail near 36th & Martha St. in Omaha. After it had rained, there would be puddles across the path at some places and Rex, mystified by the standing water, was afraid to step into the puddle to get across. He was too small to jump over, so he would just cower and wait for us to pick him up to lift him across the dangerPuddles.
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