Our first Labrador was Tanite. She was black, British, beautiful and way too smart. She would do complex math equations, calculating wind speed and tides, to figure out how to retrieve the ball from the water with the least amount of wetness. She could swim of course, but she preferred the water ankle-deep. When she got angry she would find the thing you loved the most and destroy it. She really had a knack for it - a gift. Prescription sunglasses, the rocking part of the rocking chair, Topo maps, paneling on the house, the TV cable & remote, and (gasp) my shoes. If you liked it, she had her eye on it - just in case. She wanted what she wanted when she wanted it, and if you didn't get it for her, she would either make you pay later or take care of it herself.
Like most Labs Tanite was obsessed with food. She once ate 10 pounds of cat food and then asked for dinner. I still have the x-ray from getting her stomach pumped. She ate multiple seat belts, mad that we left her in the car for longer than 30 seconds.
When she was six years old she was diagnosed with cancer. Even though we planned to do everything to save her life - surgery, chemo, you name it, we (ok, me) got this harebrained idea that if she had a buddy, it would help her to recover faster. So we adopted Maya, blonde, beautiful, not that smart (the perfect Beta) and full of love and energy for everyone.
We spent the first two weeks of Maya's puppyhood protecting her from Tanite, who was determined to kill her. Literally.
I don't know why we were surprised, Tanite was always a one-woman show and she was not going to share the spotlight just because she had cancer. I mean, if having cancer doesn't make you the center of everything what will? Eventually Tanite decided two things: she would survive her illness and devote her life to bossing Maya around. Maya was fine with that.
Tragically, when Maya was six she was poisoned to death by our crazy next-door neighbors. (I'm not exaggerating, we had to officially disclose them when we sold the house.) We couldn't prove murder but it was obvious what had happened and we were devastated. One evening she was perfectly healthy, the next morning she was disoriented, foaming at the mouth with a racing and irregular heartbeat. Xavier took her to the emergency vet who sent him to a specialist in Berkeley who could do nothing. She died that night. Cue: tears, righteous anger and broken hearts...for most of us.
Tanite, once again an only child and the center of everything, lived until she was 14 when she became the incontinent version of Helen Keller. Blind, deaf, quiet and relieving herself wherever she would, we knew she was getting close to the end but we couldn't bear the thought of her actually dying. Not after everything that had happened. Then one morning she woke up and wouldn't eat. The girl who stole 10 pounds of cat kibble didn't want any breakfast. That was how we knew the time had come and she was ready.
This was my first in-person experience taking a beloved pet to the vet to be "put to sleep." We cried and cried and cried for weeks.
And then he wouldn't get another dog. It was too sad to lose them, and now we have kids and a puppy would bring even more chaos. Plus a puppy would destroy the house. ("Remember the rocking chair?") So I waited.
Two years later the Universe, acting through Dirk and Misha, gave us Gringo. He needed a home and we needed a dog and we all lived happily ever after until he was 14. When it was his time to leave us, I told Xavier that we would not be waiting two years to get another dog. "My oldest girl is in college my youngest is entering high school and my baby-making days are over." I needed - I need - something to love and care for that needs me back with the same intensity. Within two months he had found our puppy Rocco. Nothing distracts you from your sorrow quite like teaching and chasing and teaching and chasing and teaching and chasing a puppy. Especially a Lab puppy because as soon as they arrive they learn to use those cute little paws and tiny vampire teeth to start shredding your life and belongings to pieces.
This is what he looked like as a baby, our Rocco. From day one the phrase "God made him cute so we wouldn't kill him" became the house motto.
Did you know that it takes two years for a Lab to mature? And by mature I don't mean grow up and act responsibly. I mean that it takes two years for them to stop trying to dislocate your shoulder for no good reason and jumping on everyone and kissing them on the lips.
Rocco is a year and a half, AKA, Not Grown Yet.
Rocco's favorite game is called I-have-something-of-yours-come-chase-me. Bonus points for those willing to run after him up and down the stairs. He is the only one who likes this game and yet we keep playing. He comes into the room with that "Hey! I have something you really like! Come and get me!
He says "Ha! You missed again! I am the great and powerful Rocco! Try again!"
While Rocco is very good at commands like sit, stay, wait, hurry up, kiss, off, tangle, and heel, the command "give" is very, very, very hard for him. "Give" most often translates to "swallow this stolen thing that might just kill me. Swallow it now, as fast as possible For The Win." If it wasn't so terrifying it would be amazing to watch.
One time Rocco stole a knife from the kitchen counter and begged us to play chase. Reverse psychology worked (for once) and we were able to stealthily approach him, looking carefully in the opposite direction, to recover the knife before he could break into the Rabbit Run (hind legs in front of fore) and kill us all.
God made him cute so we wouldn't kill him.
Rocco is ridiculously beautiful and knows it. He is the only dog I've ever met that doesn't feel compelled to greet people at the door. If he knows you, he waits until you come over to him and rolls over so you may rub his belly. If you are the pizza man he is going to scare the life out of you. I'm pretty sure he's just barking "give me that pizza" but it sounds ferocious and I've noticed we don't have a regular pizza guy anymore. I suspect they draw straws to see who has to come to our house.
Rocco is the only Lab I know who is not a canine garbage disposal. We've already talked about Tanite and the cat food fiasco, and Gringo would literally eat anything except raw egg and arugula. Following the grand tradition of Labs through history, Gringo considered the garbage can - any garbage can - a very handy (right at eye level) source of treats. Rocco won't even eat a banana - or any other kind of fruit. He won't eat vegetables either. He wants meat, kibble, treats and bread, not necessarily in that order.
Rocco knows he's not allowed on the bed, so he waits until I'm in the shower to hop up and go to sleep on my pillow. His favorite pose is the Superman, which makes my joints ache just looking at him. And yes, I am thinking about embarrassing him with a red cape. Because I can.
His best feature, or at least my favorite, is that he's totally bonded to me. For the first time in my grownup life, I have a dog that loves me more than anyone else. Which is one of the reasons I don't yell at him when I get out of the shower and find him asleep on the bed. Rocco spends his nights in a kennel box but his naps are usually spent with his head on my foot. He positions himself between me and the door to make sure I don't try to do anything like go outside without him.
He's not a huge fan of cars (he was with me in my car accident last year) but he loves to go anywhere. Park? Yes! Friends house? Yes! Bath? Yes! He is so good natured it's impossible to stay mad at him for very long.
He's my boy.
My fourth Lab and my second boy. And I'm in love all over again, even knowing the clock is ticking as he ages 7x of me.
Let's not think about that.
This is Rocco, my lovely monster. 80 pounds of delicious, face-licking mischief. That we could never even think of harming. Because God made him so damn cute.