Amanda has said goodbye to Roscoe. It's a very tearful event... mightily justifiable. I'm leaving super early in the morning, so I say my goodbyes to the family in advance after some low-key hanging out.
Everyone is a little sad that Roscoe is going away, but know that he's going to a loving home with Kasia and me where he will be spoiled rotten and go on adventures.
One thing I should mention is that my right knee is a fluid filled bag of pain this whole time. I'm limping. Standing up from a seated position is incredibly difficult and severely painful. I aggravated an already fucked up right knee when Kasia and I were doing some digging in the front yard a couple weeks earlier preparing for the front yard garden transformation. I stomp on the shovel and there's a loud clang as I smash into a buried brick. OUCH! Motherf.....! I brush off the pain as temporary.
It wasn't temporary. I really fucked it up.
Anyway...
I say my goodbyes and good nights. Hugs all around. The niece and nephew delay their bedtime to spend some more time with Roscoe. He's basically been "their" dog since they moved there the summer before. They loved him and he loved them.
I manage to get to sleep. Later than I wanted to because I wanted to be on the road no later than 5:30am, so I could get gas and coffee in Missoula and haul ass to Portland that day.
Roscoe sleeps on top of me!
I wake up a little late. I make some coffee, so I can safely navigate the 40 mile drive to Missoula where I'd get breakfast, more coffee, and gas for the long drive ahead. Eric gets up way earlier than normal to say goodbye to the two of us and we have some coffee and smokes together.
Normally, my routine drive home is this.
Coffee at Eric and Shilo's first thing. Pack everything into the car. Say goodbye to my brother if he got up early.
Drive to Missoula. Swear at the traffic on Reservation Road. Hit the Starbucks just north of I90. Get a vente cold brew with just a drop of half and half. Bacon and gouda sandwich.
Head to the neighboring gas station. Buy a bunch of water and sugar free Red Bull. Snacks. Smokes. Fill up the tank. Hop on I90 and haul ass to Ritzville.
Gas up. Grab a burrito at the Taco Del Mar. Grab a coffee at the Starbucks.
Hop on I90. Drive to Ellensburg. Get coffee. Pee.
Hop on I90 and haul ass back to Burien.
It's like being on auto pilot for 500 miles at this point.
This trip would not be so automatic and rote.
Eric helps me pack up the car. I put on Roscoe's new collar. Pack up his water and food dishes. Locate his leash.
Eric gives Awkward Dog a bunch of hugs and scritches and says his goodbyes. I give my big brother a massive hug and thank him for all the good words he said to Amanda about Kasia and me. Were it not for him and the family, Roscoe never would have come home with me.
I hop in the car and start the drive to Missoula. One of my bizarre rituals when leaving the Bitterroot Valley is to listen to right wing morning news on the drive as I sip my Red Bull and chain smoke. Getting angrier and angrier as they spew their propaganda.
It's a quick drive and the Bitterroot Valley is absolutely gorgeous as the sun rises over the Sapphires. I get into Missoula. Swear at the rush hour traffic on Reservation. Arrive at the Starbucks. I go through the drive through and get my coffee and sandwich. Drive to the gas station across the street. Roscoe has been hanging out peacefully in the back seat.
Again, I'm in a 2012 Subaru Outback. It's a massive, very comfy car. I pull up to the pump. Park. I open the door to get out ever so slowly because of my borked knee.
ROSCOE FUCKING JUMPS OUT THE DRIVER SIDE DOOR OVER MY LEFT SHOULDER!
OH MY GAWD! ROSCOE IS GOING TO RUN AWAY JUST AND HOUR INTO OUR ADVENTURE!
I panic and launch my gimpy ass onto him the moment he hits the pavement. I'm sprawled all over him on the gasoline soaked pavement. I grab his collar and pick myself up despite the sheer pain I'm facing.
Roscoe is freaked out. Terrified. I look around at about a half dozen people looking at me suspiciously. And justifiably so. Nothing about this looks right!
I calm Roscoe down and get him back into the back seat of the car. I gas up the car. Go buy my usual snacks and beverages as well as a bunch of treats for Roscoe.
Mom had given me a ratty pink blanket for Roscoe's travel. Something to call his own. Something that smelled like home. It truly does help comfort him in this confusing moment.
I come back to the car. Roscoe is anxiously looking for me. I unload my gas station booty into the front seat and lay out a smorgasbord of dog snacks for Roscoe including a hot dog. He ignores everything except for the hot dog. He freaking loves hot dogs!
I put his leash on him as he munches his hot dogs. That should help me grab him quickly without launching myself out of the car nearly crushing him should he bolt again.
Luckily, he never does that again!
The passes on I90 are open and clear, so I it the road. I put on a super long Rush playlist and hit the road. I need to make it to West Linn today so I can return Chris' car and pick up my own for the journey back to Seattle tomorrow.
It's a smooth drive from Missoula to Spokane. It's still early so there's little to no traffic. I stop at the rest stop outside Coeur d'Alene for a quick stretch of the aching legs and to relieve myself. I take Roscoe out on the leash. He pees immediately, but is super anxious so no pooping. Ok. I get it. Hard to do your business under extreme anxiety. We all get that.
In Missoula, I head south on 395 toward the Tri-Cities and Umatilla.
Somewhere between Spokane and the Oregon border, Roscoe is whimpering. He's nervous and drinking a lot of water. We make a stop in the middle of nowhere so he can do his business. He pees again and has that nervous energy that dogs get when you can tell they need to poop. I walk him around for like 15 minutes, but nope. No pooping.
Ugh. Ok. Let's carry on.
All told this is nearly a 10 hour drive with regular rest stops. With a nervous, highly confused dog... it turns into a 14 hour drive with numerous rest stops where the dog just wants to wander around without pooping yet complaining about needing to poop in that uniquely canine fashion.
I was hoping to get to West Linn before the sun went down. I ALMOST made it. I got to The Dalles right as the sun is setting. So, I still have about 2 hours until I make it Kasia's parents' place. We power through because I'm starting to feel drowsy and want out of this giant yet super comfy car. I've been in it for 12 hours already today!
FINALLY! West Linn! I get Roscoe out of the car and greet Kasia's parents. I hit the in-law jackpot with Chris and Ana. I genuinely enjoy their company. They're simply fantastic people.
Roscoe is super excited to be out of the car and instantly falls in love with the Oregon Patoras!
He's still anxious though because he's full of hot dogs and needs to poop desperately!
We take him out back and he romps around. He pees. Romps some more.
FINALLY! Roscoe poops. It seems to take about 20 minutes for the event to take place (more like 20 seconds, but it was an arduous day and I was exhausted!). Then... Roscoe did a thing that he would be known for the entire time he spent with us.
POOP SPRINTS! He tore around the yard and top, lumbering speed in a hilarious fashion. Then he runs up to the three of us wagging his tail furiously.
"I did good? I love you, sir!" his demeanor implies.
Chris, Ana and I have some snacks. I recount the mundane details of the day's drive. Chris gives me some vodka he's particularly enamored of. Then I fall asleep on the couch watching Netflix. Roscoe on top of me.
Sleep!
I wake up. Take Roscoe outside. He's calmer now. He won't leave my side.
I have breakfast with the Polish family. Roscoe is super happy to see them. His demeanor is a complete turnaround from the day before.
I'm anxious to get Roscoe to his new home. Say goodbye to the in-laws. Hop in my now relatively tiny 1998 Corolla. Gas it up. Get some coffee and snacks and then beeline it home to Burien. No stops. Just a straight 3 hour shot. After a 2 day journey to Montana and then a 14 hour drive to Oregon, 3 hours is nothing!
We pull up at the house. I grab Roscoe's leash and head straight for the front door. It's a weekday, so Kasia is working in the living room. I open the door and before Kasia can even get a "Hello" out... Roscoe is in her lap.
Pete, who's only been with us since the last week of November at this point and has just gotten comfy in his new home is standing in the hall. He sees this giant brown blur of motion rolling around on his lady... pauses.
"Fuck this!" and then disappears for a day.
Kasia and I spend the remainder of the day playing with Roscoe. Introduce him to his back yard where he is king and free to romp as he sees fit.
We're exhausted loving on the dog all day and sleep soundly... until he needs to get up at 3am to do his business.
In the morning, we feed the new dog. Go about our day while taking much time to play with Roscoe. About midday, Pete comes out of the bedroom. He lingers in the hall, squares his shoulders as if to say, "MY HOUSE!" and goes and rubs himself all over Roscoe. Roscoe is laying on his Muttnut blanket and Pete gets in there with him and begins cleaning his filthy ears.
About 24 hours into this 65 pound brown bag of love invading his space, Pete has decided that he and Roscoe are buddies. And they would remain bestest buddies for the remainder of Roscoe's life. It was so adorable it makes you sick.
Roscoe quickly claimed one of the Ikea chairs in the living room. We'd put the Muttnut blanket on it and it truly became Roscoe's chair.
Here we are 4 years later. Roscoe has been gone for a little over half a year. A new, way more rambunctious dog now lives with us, but Pete still hangs out in his puppy buddy's chair with the Muttnut blanket. This adorable pink feline really misses his puppy friend. I get a little choked up every time I see Pete chilling in Roscoe's chair.
He's doing it right now!
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