Thursday, 22 August 2013


It seems all wrong that a bouncing big lump of a boxer can go through so much yet be beaten by a lump that simply won't stop bleeding.  Like a creaking gate we knew a day would come when some catastrophic event would make the gate fall from the posts that held on so tentatively.  How could it possibly be so small as a delicate piece of skin no longer strong enough to hold back time?

He won't be defined by a lump well not that kind of lump anyway, anyone who has met a boxer knows they are big daft lumps of enthusiasm, gooniness and energy.

In part this energy was the catalyst for a new owner.  Needless to say I was the messenger of this life change when the original owners, beaten by his chewing of all things hoped wrongly, that a new house change of routine and desperate optimism would mean leaving him out of his cage, which did not fit the look of the new house, would magically cure this expensive comforting habit Rogan had.  Unfortunately they soon found, to their cost, this was a huge error of judgement and a new home was required.

Soon Rogan made himself at home where a cage was installed and a new lifestyle soon cured him of chewing and destructiveness.  Taz their resident dog was quite happy with her new live in love and they bashed, slammed and snuggled their way into a very happy relationship.  He was accepted by the two cats though needless to say disgust was a well practised look by now, only cats can achieve this look with such ease.

Rogan always loved toys and for me that will be one of my favourite memories of him.  You could balance a toy on his head and tell him to wait and he would wait......and wait........and wait the second you told him to get it he would spring into life grabbing the toy his eyes glinting with such excitement you couldn't help doing it again and again.  My favourite was a squeaky toy I bought for him which not only squeaked but had a chick that popped up when squeezed, he'd carry it  out the side of his mouth. Seeing him pop the chick out was something else yet what I really loved was a game he invented himself.

Standing on the rug he'd drop the squeaky chick/ egg onto the wooden floor.  He'd stand there staring his body taut, then ever so slowly he'd reach a foot out and the egg would just be out of reach.  So he'd swap legs( not always) and try again so slowly it was as if he was in slow motion.  When he still couldn't reach it he would stalk it as if his life depended on it so slowly you barely believed he moved at all.  Closer and closer he'd move and then POUNCE he'd dive on it squeaking it hard yet you never knew at what moment he would pound only a barely perceptible wag on his stumpy tail would give away the excitement that was building up.

It's hard to say just what made Rogan Rogan, his face was unlike any other his daft expressions and his sheer delight.  In his later years his funny gambolling run, his missing toe and his bark always seemed to have just fallen out of his mouth.

His enthusiasm was infectious and he has left the house/ home/ family a sadder place and a house now for the first time in 41 years dogless.

We miss you Rogan but carry you with us.  In fact I am sure I heard you when the post came through the letter box just now!

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