Oh, Mr Rocket Bears
I think that most little kids, when they envision getting a dog, imagine a constant companion, ever playful and mischievous, wanting to share every adventure together. Running through fields, with their trusty companion at their side. Rocket was that childhood dream come true for me.
I met him when I went to Amy Preston’s house (of Relic Canaan Dogs) to pick out a Canaan Dog puppy. She had two litters of puppies to meet - eight puppies in total. Half of the puppies were not entirely sure they wanted anything to do with me. The other half were mildly curious. Rocket immediately climbed into my lap, attempted to paw my face, strained to kiss me, and refused to leave my lap. There was no decision to be made about which puppy I wanted. Rocket let it be known from the second we met that we belonged together: Keiffer and Rocket Bear.
I was still grieving the loss of Oz when I brought Rocket home and I knew that part of me was holding back emotionally from bonding with another dog. He was cute and I adored him, but I wasn’t quite ready to give up my still grieving heart. One night in the first week, Rocket was very vocal and fussy in the middle of the night, so I took him upstairs so that David could sleep. The bed upstairs had no sheets, so I started putting sheets on, and Rocket curled up in the comforter and looked at me with his brown soulful eyes with such innocence and love, that my heart shattered. My reluctance to open myself to another dog came crashing down and I have been madly in love with him ever since.
We would take long morning walks to Washington Square so he could run around the dog park. He was such a happy little boy. If he ever got picked on by an older dog, he would cower and occasionally whimper, but as soon as the older dog left, he would bounce around happily again as if it never happened. He was always content to get his way. I started making the joke that “being spoiled” is not a matter of nurture as I had once thought, because Rocket arrived spoiled. I was not going to be the one to try to train that out of him.
He loved the hoses that NYC supers would use to wash down the sidewalks. Any time he saw one, he would run up and start chomping on the spray of water. He scared a few supers, but he was only 6 months old at this point. He would also occasionally play sneak-attack on passing joggers - jumping and pretending to attack. I never knew when he was in the mood to do it. There was nothing to do but say that I was sorry as the joggers kept going (he would never hurt anyone. It was just a little game he played.). Out of my friends, he had a few favorites that he loved to hump or attack their shoes as they walked through the house. I warned visitors that he will most likely attack their heels when they walked down the steps, but that he’s ultimately harmless and it’s best to just ignore it.
When he was full of himself and intent on getting his own way, I would call him “Snocket” (snot + Rocket). When he was really stubborn I would call him “Bracket” (brat + Rocket). He was too pleased with himself to ever get truly mad at. I would just say “Oh, Mr. Rocket Bears” and let him be who he wanted to be.
Gogo was still alive at this point and he loved his Aunt Gogo. She did not feel the same way about him. I would catch him hiding around corners when he heard her coming down the steps, so that he could pounce and bark and startle her as soon as she turned the corner. He would nip her hind legs while she was sleeping to get her attention and she would give him her admonishing old lady barks. I came into the living room once where we had set up a play pen for Rocket with his bed in the middle. She had broken into his pen and was lying in his bed - I suppose claiming that SHE was the puppy now. Rocket was barking at her trying to tell her to get out of his bed and she was softly grumbling at him to leave her alone.
Gogo eventually passed and we got Bird, who was close to Rocket’s age. She had three litters by this time and clearly did not want another (and she was fixed). She didn’t want Rocket to get too fresh with her. He was always anxious to rough house with her, though, but would have to settle for taking naps together. Bird and Rocket and I got through the pandemic together at Bashakill. We explored trails and they drank creek water, found animal carcasses, sniffed hatched turtle eggs, stomped through the Bashakill, ate frog eggs and sat outside listening to the wildlife. While the world was in lockdown, we would take two hours walks in the woods. It was my our personal paradise. In some ways, I didn’t want the world to open up because we had everything we needed. We would take trips to the beach where Rocket would run and run on the sand. I would always run with him, as fast as I could go, his big goofy smile at my side.
I called him My Eternal Puppy. Or Professor Puppy Dog. But usually Mr Rocket Bears.
He was one of the most handsome dog I’ve seen. Throughout his whole life, strangers would tell me what a good looking dog he was. People bicycling by would shout “Handsome dog!” He was handsome, but I often suspected that what people were really reacting to was the sparkle in his eyes and his goofy grin - the boundless glee that he would carry with him wherever we went.
And there were plenty of neighborhood female dogs that were quite infatuated as well. He would often meet older female dogs that would change from sedate, middle-aged ladies into animated, coquettish young girls in his presence. It was standard to hear owners say “What is going on? I’ve never seen her act like this!” I would explain that Rocket was not neutered and usually the owners would laugh at their little girl so madly infatuated and desperate to win Rocket’s affections. There were a few female dogs that would see him across the street and drag their owners with all their might to say hello to Rocket.
In his last year couple of years, he started having breathing trouble. At times it was very labored. I took him to a few vets and had lots of scans but we never found the underlying cause. In the last six months, it seemed like he was getting better. We started taking long walks again - back to Washington Square where he played as a puppy. He was an elder puppy now, a distinguished gentleman, friendly and happy to meet everyone - both dogs and people. But he was starting to not join me in bed anymore. He rarely took steps if they could be avoided. Even as an old man, he would sometimes finish his dinner and be in a frisky mood. He couldn’t manage play-bows anymore, but would give a little hop and a quiet “wuff” to let us know that he was ready to cause trouble if we didn’t play with him.
Last Friday, I took Rocket to Fire Island. Something happened on the trip that I later realized must have been a cardiac arrest. He was having trouble getting from the ferry to the house. I thought it was just heat exhaustion, but he was getting worse and his tongue was turning purple. I realized I had to get him on the next ferry and to an emergency vet as soon as possible. On the 20 minute ferry ride to the mainland, I had him next to me, petting him and telling him much I loved him. We looked into each other’s eyes and just like the night in the bedroom when we first got him, I gave myself over to his brown, soulful eyes. We held our gaze as his very labored breathing slowed and then stopped, punctuated with a few final convulses. We remained inseparable until the last possible moment.
There will never be another dog in my life like Rocket. My perfect companion. My buddy. My love. I have cherished every moment of our 12+ years together. I tried to never miss an opportunity to love-bomb you - to watch your ears sink back and your tail thump as I approached singing “Mr Rocket Beaaaars...” I will find you again.
