In loving memory of
Rosie
Doster
10/26/2008
09/30/2022

Our family had to say our goodbyes to my sweet Rosie girl. When I found her on my way to high school in April 2009, our vet thought that she was about six months old so we always celebrated her birthday as October 2008, meaning she would have been 14 this month. I always thought that it was fate that brought us together, as on that particular day I took a different route to school. I vividly remember finding a little black dog sitting in the middle of Monroe St holding up traffic, and when I got out and yelled to her she jumped in the back of my car and off we went. I had actually thought that Rosie was my sister’s new dog, Roxie, although they did not live in the immediate area. After discovering the mistake and some “very hard” attempts to find where Rosie had came from, all that it took was a threat for me to move out of my parents home if they did not let me keep her. And just like that, Rosie become a part of the household with our family dog Sable. I’d like to think that I was always a pretty good teenager, but becoming responsible for a dog at the age of 17 definitely helped to fine tune the person I was. It’s crazy to me to sit here and look back now, realizing that Rosie was there for my entire adult life until cancer decided it was her time to leave us. Over that time, Rosie was there for every step on my journey of life. From finishing high school, completing college, and several career changes along the way; but more importantly, Rosie was there when I met a girl, made her my wife, and was blessed to have three children. Not that Rosie had too much say in the matter, but I’ve come to realize that she was the one constant through all the changes in my life and a best friend that was always there when I needed someone to talk to. Everyone needs a steady rock, and Rosie was mine. For anyone who ever got the chance to meet Rosie, she was the gentlest giant around. While she was spayed at a young age and never had pups of her own, in 2015 my mom brought a puppy we named Sophie into the home and Rosie took her under her wing. I believe that Sophie looked to Rosie as her mother, and the bond that they shared often made me wish that I had let Rosie have a litter of puppies (although I do not know what I would have done with that many dogs, because there is no way I would have been able to give any Rosie puppies away). When we moved out of state, splitting Sophie and Rosie up was one of the harder parts of leaving friends and family behind as we started life on our own together. Unfortunately Sophie passed unexpectedly not long after Sable left us, but I find comfort knowing that the three of them are together once again, chasing squirrels and barking at the mailman. Rosie had many jobs besides being the best confidant; the protector of the children, the guardian of the house, and the best walk partner a guy could ever ask for. Although she was an extremely friendly dog, Rosie was a great reader of people and was quick to let it be known when someone she did not trust came around one of the kids. As our eldest, our son shared an especially close bond with Rosie and explaining to him where his puppy went is one of the worst parts of her no longer being by my side. Our family had quite a few changes over the past 12 months, from moving back to Michigan, me starting my final career, purchasing our new home, and our third and final kiddo being born. I like to think that Rosie, the good girl that she was, waited patiently to make sure that we made it through all these big changes before she let it be known what pain she was truly in. Nothing really prepares you for the loss of a beloved pet, but just a few short months ago I would have believed that Rosie had years left to spend with us. She was still going on her daily walks and spent each day with the heart of a puppy, although the number of naps had certainly increased over the years. With all the hassle life brought these last 12 months, I did not notice that Rosie was slowly starting to spend less time doing the things that made her who she was (although she never lost her passion for trying to steal any human food she could, wherever she could). I’m grateful that Rosie was a fighter and had the strength to see me through to this chapter of my life, and find at least some comfort in the fact that she is no longer in pain. While the house is certainly not quiet these days (thanks to the little children running crazy), I cannot help but find that a giant piece is now missing. I often find myself looking at the places where I use to see Rosie and her big brown eyes, calmly waiting to hear what we were going to do next for the day. Making the decision to let her go was easily the hardest thing that I’ve had to do in life, and there is not much I wouldnt trade to have her following us around the kitchen one more time while the wife makes dinner. We will miss her more than I can imagine, but Rosie deserved to rest her weary eyes after doing her job so loyally over her long life. And as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t selfishly make her stay with us any longer. I find solace in knowing that that day was not my final goodbye to Rosie, but rather an I’ll see you later. As always, I know that Rosie will be there, patiently waiting for me to return home when I make it to the other side. I can’t imagine a day going by where I won’t think of Rosie, wishing I could give her one more ear scratch and a kiss on the head. Rosie was the best cuddler and always wanted to be where her people were, forever willing to give a friendly dog kiss before she slept by your side. Thankfully we live in an age of cell phones, where I at least have the hundreds of pictures and videos of Rosie from over the years. But I’ll miss her every day until I can see and hold her once more. I love you, old girl. Now get some rest and I’ll be back in a little bit We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle; easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.

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