Ode to Leroy

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I got home from work today and heard thunder rolling as I walked up the steps. My first thought was, “I hope Leroy didn’t hear that.” He didn’t. It was a week ago today, this very afternoon that Leroy breathed his last. I have spent this past week in mourning, crying at the very thought of him, wanting him back. I miss him terribly, and only someone who has had a great dog can relate to this feeling of loss. 16 years is a long time – it’s the longest that any of our dogs have ever lived. It’s well over half of our youngest son’s life and almost half of our middle son’s life. The chart at the vet’s office had the equivalent in human years and, according to that, Leroy was 98.

Leroy never had anger issues, never growled at anyone, never barked incessantly against our wishes, never ate the cat food  – well – there was that ONE time. I heard a crunching sound behind me coming from where the cat food dish was sitting. Leroy came around the corner – our eyes met – and he put it in reverse so fast, spitting kernels of cat food out of his mouth with a look that said “I have no idea how this disgusting stuff got into my mouth!” How could I not laugh at him while chewing him out for that??

I believe I can count on one hand the number of times Lee did anything wrong. He was obedient, kind, sharing and compassionate. If he were human, you’d swear that he was one of the nicest people you’d ever want to meet. He loved. He loved unconditionally.

He almost NEVER had an accident in the house. The boy could hold his pee forever! On the very rare occasion he had to go during the night, he’d come up to our bedroom door and give a soft ‘woof’. I never told him to go away, I knew he was serious and would jump out of bed to get him out the door just in time. What a great dog!

He was smart. We would talk about him and use his code name ‘Orange’ and he figured that one out, too. He had incredible hearing and you could whisper something and it would wake him up from a sound sleep. Every year we’d have our July 4th picnic and he was the most social dog, making his way among the crowd, giving everyone a chance to pet him and looking ‘cute’ for a handout at dinner time. When it got dark, he’d get someone to let him in the house and go hide in the bowels of the basement to avoid the noise of the fireworks. Loud noises scared him.

Which brings me back to the thunder. I will always think of him when I hear thunder. I would comfort him during thunder storms, hold him, tell him it was ‘ok’ . . . the rest of  his 98 years he was comforting everyone around him, telling us it’s okay. Telling the grandchildren that he would take care of them, that it was ‘ok’. And now, when I am haunted by the sounds of his last breath, I hear him tell me “it’s ok”, and I am grateful to have known him.