We had her for six days. Roxie, an 11-year-old West Highland Terrier with aggressive bladder cancer, was handed to me by the NHSPCA on a sunny Thursday morning. She was sweet and gentle, and thrilled when I asked, “Do you want to go for a car ride?” When I opened the window, she stuck out her nose and let the wind ruffle her fur.
As she settled into our house, it was easy to see she’d been well loved by her previous owner. She was comfortable around everyone, didn’t mind being carried, and trailed us like a tiny, furry shadow. We were only fostering her, but it seemed like she was at home right away. She and Blueberry got along immediately, the cats were curious but unbothered by her presence, and Dandi treated her like a sister—jealous and needy and rather hilarious.
We learned quickly that Roxie didn’t need a leash. She never strayed more than fifteen feet from a human, even when the most interesting thing of all—a chicken—walked past. She wasn’t afraid of the goats either. She simply trotted up and introduced herself as if she’d met plenty of goats and found them blandly interesting.
But the cancer was stronger than she was. She couldn’t keep food or water in her stomach for more than a few minutes. Her whole body would shudder and shake every time she breathed in. She was stiff and struggled to move most of the time. All she wanted was to lie on someone’s lap or stare out at the darkness as the sun set.
In the few short days she was our family member, we learned that Roxie:
Loved boat rides
Loved to be chased
Loved tennis balls
Loved barking when she wanted something
Loved duck jerky
Loved napping on top of humans
Loved napping in cozy pup beds
Loved napping in human beds
Roxie was sweet, happy, and always up for an adventure. Even when she could barely sit up from the shaking, she wanted her nose out the window of the car, to chase Dandy around the garden, or to grab that tennis ball in her teeth.
The thing is, I knew before I even brought her home that Roxie was facing the end. The rescue made that clear.
She wasn’t going to live past three weeks.
She didn’t even make it one.
But I still loved her. As much as you can love a pet. As much as you can love a being who’s been entrusted to your care.
I have always believed that love is a choice. I know some think it’s mysterious and uncontrollable. But not me. I can choose to love. And I chose to love Roxie, even though I knew that love would bring a deep, aching pain along with it.
And I would make that choice a thousand times again.
Rest free, Roxie.
