happy anniversary to Roscoe, our "perfect demon"

"When you say a situation is hopeless, you're slamming the door in the face of God." - Charles L. Allen

Roscoe, our latest rescue, will celebrate his six month anniversary with us this week. Right now he’s lying at my feet, snoring loudly in his dog bed. He has no clue we’re about to mark this milestone, but as in all other situations, when the fun begins Roscoe the tiny-no-longer-terrible Terrier will be there with a cute crooked smile on his face, barking his best, most enthusiastic bark, prancing about proudly like it’s all about him, which in this case, it is.  

 When we first met Roscoe, he was not this way. He was a sad, broken, scared little fellow, so sick there wasn’t much life or love left in him. He was at the animal shelter - an “owner surrender” because his person had died and no one in the family wanted Roscoe. I will admit, I can see why.

 

He is elderly and blind in one eye. The other eye was infected which gave him a vacuous, soul-less stare. He couldn’t hear due to severe ear infections in both ears. His under-bite gave his face a crooked look; because of fleas and a skin infection, he didn’t have much hair. And, probably due to all of these things, plus some rough treatment along the way, Roscoe didn’t like to be touched.    

 

There he sat, shivering on the cold concrete floor of the kennel, looking confused and sad, scared and pitiful; at times, he made a sort of a low moaning sound. I met Roscoe briefly at the shelter, but didn’t give him much thought…there’s so many sad stories there. Then one of the volunteers at the shelter posted a video of poor little Roscoe on the group’s Facebook page. I saw it and that was it for me; I had to try and save him.

Thankfully, a local rescue got him the next day and I immediately offered to foster him. I was sure that with some medicine and a proper diet, Roscoe would be easily adoptable. After all, people love little dogs, right?

My theory started to crumble when I went to pick Roscoe up at the vet and they said, “Oh, you’re here for the biter.” What? I thought I was there for the cute little guy who would soon find a loving home - not “the biter.”   

The vet said Roscoe had one of the worst ear infections she’d ever seen and he had a mouth full of rotten teeth that would need to be pulled.

 

“He doesn’t seem to have much personality,” she said. “But maybe that’s because of all the health problems. Poor little guy. Good luck.”  

 

They helped me get Roscoe to the car, but when I tried to pick him up to get him out at home, I quickly discovered that Roscoe was, indeed, a biter. It was a quick and vicious snap that came simply from being touched and there was a nasty snarling sound.  

Once in the house, Roscoe’s other issues became apparent. He ran about, pooping and peeing whenever and wherever he liked. He jumped on the furniture and up on the tables, searching for food as if he’d never been fed. Roscoe was a miniature version of the Tasmanian Devil. I fed him a big meal and, to his credit, he quickly found his newly purchased dog bed and fell into a deep sleep. It was the same kind of slumber I saw homeless people sleep, years ago when I worked in an emergency room. It was as if a full belly, a warm bed and the feeling of even temporary safety overwhelmed the soul and it simply shut down peacefully.   

 

I immediately fired off an email to the rescue, detailing the reasons Roscoe wasn’t going to work out. Then, something about the sight and sound of him enjoying that deep sleep struck me and made me decide to give Roscoe another chance.   

 

Day by day, Roscoe settled in. He became less wild and more willing to do his business outside. He stopped running all over the furniture and gradually seemed to notice us. It wasn’t that he needed our approval or sought our affection; he just seemed to appreciate the regular meals and a routine. He still snapped when we tried to touch him and didn’t like being picked up, but he allowed us to clip his leash on for walks and could hop in the car by himself, so we all began to get along.

Once he was squared away enough health-wise to go through the surgery, Roscoe went back to the vet to have his rotten teeth pulled. By this time we’d pretty much decided we’d adopt Roscoe as the list of strikes against him was just too long for potential adopters to deal with and, besides, Roscoe had wiggled his way into our hearts.

The vet said the dental surgery would be tough, but Roscoe would feel so much better afterwards that he could end up acting like a totally different dog. And, that is exactly what happened.

 

Within a week, Roscoe became the most friendly, affectionate little guy you could ever want to meet. He loves being petted and having his head scratched. He rolls over for belly rubs and enjoys being brushed. We still can’t pick him up without a snarl and a snap, but there’s no need to carry him anywhere, so no worries there. It turns out there was a great dog inside that poor pitiful pooch, living in such pain. Needless to say we adopted him.

 

The other day Mr. Clark came down from his home office proudly proclaiming he’d Googled Roscoe and it turns out he’s what looks to be a purebred Norfolk Terrier. According to the AKC, Roscoe is “one of the smallest working terriers, active, compact and hardy.” His breed is described as “fearless and with incredible courage.” Farmers and hunters admire their “gameness, loyalty and great charm.”

The Norfolk Terrier’s temperament is “happy, spirited and self-confident.” They are also “barkers and very vocal.” Roscoe and his kin are considered to be the “perfect demon” - “self-confident dogs who carry themselves with presence and importance and thrive on human contact.”

Yep! That’s our Roscoe. The breed’s life expectancy is 8-14 years, which means we don’t have a lot of time left with Roscoe. But what time we have, we will enjoy, treating our little guy like the king he has become. Happy 6-month-anniversary, Roscoe!