It didn't matter what name you used - he never came for any of them.
Twelve years without learning what the word "come" meant. (Yeah, he probably knew. He also had it figured out that we couldn't stay mad long. And he was right. He trained us well and to hear him tell it, we weren't always fast learners.)
He came to us from a rescue agency, four months old. When we arrived to pick him up, he was lying on his back on a couch, all four legs in the air. At first we thought they drugged him and we'd find out why after we got home. Turns out, that was just one of his preferred positions.
As a youngster, he honed his skills at thievery, extending his home range beyond our five acres and bringing home treasures from the neighbor's yards. The one he was most proud of was a self-feeding dog station (almost as big as him). Took a few phone calls to find the owner of that one. Thankfully his zucchini phase was short-lived.
We called him our antidote to an empty nest because he arrived when our youngest headed off to college. Our girls referred to him as Brother. He participated in all family events, but never looked at the camera for group photos. He was the main character in the Great Thanksgiving Day Massacre. (Ask my sister-in-law about that one. It's best told over a beer.)
Together we put on miles and miles in the forest behind our house, or on the trails, and nearby logging roads, so many places. Places I would not have had the courage to explore on my own. (I apologize profusely to all the animals he chased. Refer to paragraph one - he never came when called.)
He made "Goof Camp" extra fun for our first two grandkids, and stuck around long enough to meet and briefly entertain the next two, mostly by Skype. He was an excellent Uncle to our daughter's Sadie Bear, as she attempted to chew off his legs for no apparent reason, other than they were there.
They were quite the pair and together outweighed me, which made walking them on leashes a significant challenge and often involved cuss words. We had many firsts together, like when he ran me headfirst into a tree. The emergency room doctor acted like that wasn't unusual. (He must have had a similar dog at home.)
Like many dogs, he had an affinity for rolling in all things with disgusting smells and had a ridiculous fear of baths. Although we were told his genetic make-up contained many things including lab, he was convinced he couldn't swim. He was, however, a top-notch wader.
He considered fetching a ridiculous pastime and would not participate. (Sitting on command and other tricks fell into the same category.)
Bozley made friends with everyone he met, and made sure that anyone who arrived at our house left covered in dog hair. He usually moved over a little to accommodate guests on his couch.
He trained my husband to put extra treats in his dog food AND he made him sing made-up songs when he fed the two of them. (This is a man who, at one time, thought dogs belonged outside. And definitely not in our bed.)
He was always, always, always so happy to see us. He hated suitcases. He loved going for rides and sticking his head out the window. He did not enjoy wearing birthday hats. He never held a grudge.
We tried to let him know how spoiled he was. That not all dogs enjoy the freedoms he had. He listened politely, thumped his tail. And fell asleep.
Now this little house feels awfully empty. If we're being honest, we probably always hope (on some unspoken level) that we'll outlive our pets. But that doesn't make saying goodbye any easier.
So thanks Boz. It was a hoot. You done good ol' buddy. You done good.
