In loving memory...

In loving memory - Rascal Woof-Wooferson Rouviere 1994(?)-2006(there may be argument on his last name, but that's what I'll name him).

Read the following and remember. Remember our most loyal friend. Someone that we have spent more than a decade pouring our life and our love into. He will live on in our hearts.




I remember it all too well, perhaps not the specifics of what year it was, merely that it was 12 or more years past.

We went over to one of my dad's friends house. Someone from the U.S.S. Kelly, the club that we were a part of. They had just had an accidental litter of puppies, they knew that they were part chow, part collie and part whatever the father was.

We saw the little rascals running all over the yard. There were other people over who were just leaving.

I saw him there for the first time. A cute little white dog with a black patch around his eye. It was just so great that I had to name the dog "Patch" and loved him in an instant.

However, that is not who we are here to discuss. That puppy had already been spoken for and was later whisked away.

We ended up with another, but we were so excited to have a pet that we didn't much care past that point. He was barely of age to be separated from his mother and we stole him away to our house in Rosepark in Salt Lake City. I remember suggesting the name because we had just seen the movie and it came to me all at once. We should name him Rascal, and boy did he ever live up to his name.

I don't believe that we were there long, I remember that we spent many of his first days with the family at our grandparents house. They had gone on vacation, I believe, and we were there house sitting their small mansion and making use of their enormous backyard.

It was a wonderful thing, but alas we returned home and to the adventures that we would have there.

I'm not entirely sure why, but more than half of my memories of him come from this far off time. We lived in Rose Park and there we grew as a family for a few short years.

We would take him for a walk regularly and we would play with him in our yard. It was there that my fondest and most sharp memories stem.

I remember him running away from home often. Never very far it seemed. Either we caught up to him too quickly or he always stayed close to home. We found him more than once up the street, and a busy street it was. The little devil found it easy to escape without a fence, so we had to keep a sharp eye on him.

Here I remember him being small and agile enough that he would jump up on the bed that me and my brother shared at the time (I was like 8 or 9). We would bury him in blankets and he would always escape our trap. Near this time the dreaded puppy-fu was invented where he would often find himself tripped up while Dad played with him and found him on his back.

It seemed like forever passed. I remember him wanting to get to a teenager who had passed through the alley behind our house, and was only saved by the fence there (the backyard only was fenced at this house). I remember more fondly a time where we were taking him for a walk and a black dog barked and barked and barked to be very vicious and annoying and Rascal did the most perfect and coolest thing. He urinated on the dog's face. While that might seem gross, the dog never bothered us again. (One of my favorite memories).

Once while we lived there he was overzealous at a few people walking by and jumped at one of them. I will defend this until I die that he DID NOT bite them, but we found ourselves in court over it.

We had so much to do, animal control came out to take him, I believe, but we ended up taking measurements of his teeth to prove that he couldn't have bitten them to how their story was fabricated.

It was the first time I had been in court, and at the time of the incident, my brother and I had been outside and were thus the only witnesses. We should have fought them that day, not because we didn't need to follow the outcome, but because we were right and they had some kind of point to prove.

We ended up taking a settlement that we had to put up a fence on the front of the property or be fined. It was a battle, I remember not liking that week or two that we spent, but it was nice because we no longer had to worry about him getting loose.

It's at this same house, in this same city that he spoke for the first time. No, I don't mean barking, I don't mean whimpering, I full well swear to you that he spoke.

We were sitting in our front room eating Wienerschnitzel and my dad wanted to beg for a corndog that he was going to give him. All I remember from there is that he said very plainly "I ront ron." We all stared, mouths agape at each other and he never said another word. I will testify to that the rest of my life.


A few years passed and we moved again as we often did. This time we moved to West valley City into a very nice house with a decent amount of space.

Once again there was no fence across the front yard, but unlike the previous house the entire back was fenced in with the driveway fenced off as well.

Many fond memories of this house. We lived as a happy family for a long time and there weren't often many troubles. I know here that another one of my fond memories resides when I was defending Rascal, or so I perceive it.

We were taking him on a walk, something that we did less now, but had much more space to do it with the aqueduct that was nearby. A stray dog, someone that one of the neighbors had let loose maybe, was barking and harassing us on our way. I had brought with me a soccer ball, a dangerous move if I lost it to the water, but was tired of the barking. I dropped the ball and in an instant had perfectly planted it in the ribs of the barking dog.

I was scolded by three people as the dog yelped and ran away, but he wasn't harmed and I felt that I was doing the necessary. No cruel intentions, just wanted the mongrel to be quiet and leave us alone.

Throughout these years he was a close and dear friend and closer to my mother still. While my brother and I were off at school and my father off at work, she had no one to keep her company all day. The two of them would walk everywhere together and they formed a tight bond.

Eventually we moved again and found ourselves in a haven of friends. At first it wasn't too much of an issue, but later became longer term than we would like and issues arose, but that's not to the topic of this writing. Here at that house that we were living at, literally right across the street from where I write this now, we had to leave him outside.

The wife (at the time) of the man who owns the house is allergic, or so she says, to dogs. Cats we had proven, but we just felt she didn't want to deal with Rascal in the house. It would have been better for her to say that, but alas, here we are.

Rascal, his whole life, had been a house dog. Always living inside, we made sure to take care of him, but it's at this place that he lived a rough life. He spent all of his time outside now and often longed to be indoors with us. We eventually had to put up his first dog house because of the rain and worried when it was cold enough to start to snow.

We never had a problem with his health really that we could tell, but we felt guilty while he was out there. At some point during this time we found that his eye had developed some sort of infection and even worse it seems like he had suffered a stroke and half of his face would droop.

This marked the final two years that he was with us. We moved to a place across the street and out of the home of friends. We brought him back inside and loved him to his last day.

Today, was that last day.

I feel guilty for finding that the best thing for him was to put him down. I had thought of it for a while and thought it would stop his suffering. I feel guilty in that maybe, just maybe, we should have, could have, would have done more for him. That time is passed.

About two weeks ago or so, my mother asked me in the car while we were going to Salt Lake what I would think if they euthanized him. I told her that I had already accepted that we should and was trying to figure out a way to tell her the same.

It was a relief, but a depressing moment all the same that we would have to put one of our oldest and most friends to sleep.

This morning I woke up to find him where he normally is. He hasn't been able to move much recently as he seemed to develop a lack of coordination in the last months. If he would try to go outside he would fall down and even the last few days could not much walk or stand on his own power.

I wish we could have him back in his health. He's still the most beautiful dog I have ever seen, but I will not see him anymore in life.

I got ready and got through my morning routine this morning and sat with him alone in the dark waiting for my ride.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to him more than once, hoping that he might understand and might forgive me. I still feel it was the best thing we could do for him, but feel guilty all the same. I gave him his last kiss that he would ever get from me, right on top of his soft furry head where I would often pet him.

I came home from work today and my brother found me when I came downstairs, he informed me that they had just left to take him to the vet. I knew then that it was done. Beat from the day and hoping to keep with my plans I went to rest on my bed when I heard the front door open.

I started at the gasp, with such a shriek who wouldn't start in their skin?

"He's Gone!" she cried, and cried.

I came out of my room, roused from the nap that I was hoping to steal today.

Everyone was in tears. Well, my mom and my grandfather anyways.

They were the ones there in his final moments. They said that there were two shots. One to calm him and one to end it all.

I hadn't realized it at first, it didn't come out until she sobbed it to my dad over the phone, she was there when he drew his last breath.

How can you not cry for that?

One of her best friends, most loyal companions of all time and she watched him die.

He's been a lot more than a pet and that's why I mentioned that I would like his ashes so that we could bury him as such, but tonight we will likely remember him in our own ways.

I suppose the most surprising thing was my grandfather. He nearly collapsed, or so I thought, when he saw mom crying and saw us trying to console her. I don't think I've seen him cry, definitely not like that.

He's gone now, but certainly not forgotten. We loved him and always will.



I didn't write this to vent or to have everyone share in our grief if even for a short while, nor did I write this because he is dead. I wrote this to remember. I want you all to remember. Many of you never knew him in his youth and his energy, but perhaps you will use this to a good benefit in your own lives.

Don't remember how he died. Remember how he lived.

Fare thee well, my friend.