Randy 2003-2021
“And in the end
The love you take
Is equal to the love you make”—John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Happy New Year!
Can you believe it’s 2022?
So where did we leave off?
Who knows, let’s start fresh shall we?
But first, I have something I need to share. It helps me to write, so thanks for the indulgence.
Just before Christmas, we lost our little dog Randy.
He was almost 19 years old. He was ready, even if we weren’t.
Are we ever ready to say goodbye to someone we love?
But before I tell you a little more about my friend, I want to share this insight about having dogs—mostly rescues—for the past 50 years. They have their priorities straight: sleep, play, eat, love. Repeat.
Throw in the magic of car rides with the wind blowing your hair, sniffing everything, and curling up on a blanket and you have the makings of a great life.
Those of us who love dogs, think that they don’t live long enough, and they don’t. We should have them much longer. But if we are on this Earth to learn a lesson, it sort of makes sense that dogs don’t have to stay as long because they already know how to live and how to love.
They know that life is about love. They know that love is all you need.
We got Randy when he was about two years old in 2005 at the Delray Affair.
Diane knew about the Animal Rescue Force (ARF), a wonderful non-profit that rescues dogs and cats.
She and my daughter decided to check out the ARF booth at the Delray Affair and they were drawn to Randy, a skinny little Chihuahua mix with huge eyes and a fiery disposition. Randy weighed about 10 pounds at the time, but he carried himself as if he were a lion. He had a presence about him. He was adorable.
When they brought him home, his first two welcoming moves were to bite me and pee all over the house.
We figured it would be all uphill from that auspicious beginning.
Our golden retriever rescue, Casey, was an easy sell. They became instant friends. Casey would even “walk” Randy on the leash. Neighbors couldn’t believe their eyes. Randy was in on the joke. He was a leader, but he knew the best leaders empower their buddies.
As for Randy, he was only warming up in terms of “redecorating” our home.
Carpeting, rugs, and blinds were immediately targeted for destruction. He spent a lot of his time patrolling the back door looking out at the lake and protecting us from squirrels, iguanas, ducks, and birds. When wildlife appeared (or sometimes he would just pretend to see something that wasn’t there) he would slam his little body against the glass, grab hold of a blind or a rug and shake them furiously. He was ferocious and more than a little crazy. The golden would look at us as if to say: “you’re taking him back, right?”
She was kidding, of course. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a long, long, long time.
In time, Randy mellowed a little bit and channeled his energy into more productive pursuits. My brother-in-law Paul called him “Mr. Cardio” because when you walked him, he would triple his steps walking out front—all the way to the right and all the way to the left—his little legs moving like powerful pistons always on patrol for adventure.
His outings to the dog park were challenging because he was there for—-how do we say this politely? He was there for the action.
So, we took him other places—car rides where he would hang his head out of the window and urge us to drive through puddles because he loved the splashing water. Our daughter, Sam, took him to Starbucks regularly and he enjoyed pup cups at Boardwalk ice cream in Boynton Beach and Kilwin’s on the Avenue.
A Delray dog through and through, he attended the Easter Bonnet Parade, Chihuahua races at the Cinco De Mayo Festival and loved Lake Ida Park and walking by the Delray Playhouse where he marveled at the wave runners. And he made tons of friends, two-legged and four legged too. There was the postman who would come every day and invite Randy onto his truck for a treat and a scratch. There were Kim and Rebecca who were extra nice to him and Bella Liguori, a big black lab who would knock on the back door every night come in, eat Randy’s food and leave.
As cool and as handsome as Randy was….well he too, had his issues with women. It made him even more endearing in my eyes.
When Casey passed, he welcomed Sophie into our home. A fellow Chihuahua rescue from the streets of Miami, Sophie was a tough little girl. Randy loved her.
When Sophie passed, we welcomed another golden, a rescue named Teddy into our home. This was a match made in heaven. Those two were so good together. Randy the feisty veteran, Teddy the sweet innocent big lug with a giant heart. When “things” happened in the house, Teddy would be ashamed. Randy would walk past the mess as if to say: “this is on you guys, you shouldn’t have trusted us.”
When Teddy passed, Randy mourned.
And he got old.
For the longest time, he seemed to defy the calendar. He never really got gray, but his once bright mischievous eyes got terribly cloudy and there was nothing doctors could do.
For me, that was the saddest part of all. I loved Randy’s big expressive eyes. Suddenly, the light that was in his eyes went away. And that created an ache in my heart.
Being the resilient dog that he was, Randy learned to navigate the house without his eyesight. He avoided the angles of the kitchen but otherwise got along very well. Another lesson we can learn from dogs: they adjust, they adapt, they don’t complain they keep going on until they can’t no more.
For Randy, that day came on December 22.
We knew it was coming.
When we decided to get Gracie, our new golden puppy, we never thought Randy would be around to meet her. But he was. And he took one last Christmas picture dressed up next to a willful puppy who knew enough to be gentle around her senior brother.
All of the kids, except for Viktor, were home for the holidays and to say goodbye.
Jim Grubb, the world’s best and kindest vet, was here to ease Randy into the next world. I sure hope the Rainbow Bridge is a real thing. I think we all do.
Over the holiday break, I often found myself staring off into the corners of the house to Randy’s favorite spots. I would look to the spot where Randy would catch the sun, glance at where he would patrol and tear up a little when I looked at where he would curl up and sleep so peacefully. I looked at old photos of his big dark eyes and found myself aching for that little ball of energy.
He was the constant in our house—even the kids grew up and went away as they should. But there was always Randy; hopping into our laps, sitting at the table when nobody was looking and always alert —hanging on our every word.
Diane and I, the kids and so many others loved him, I think that’s why he stayed around for almost 19 years. Our love sustained him, and his love sustained us.
That’s how it’s supposed to be. As it’s meant to be….
Until we meet again Randy.
I know, if it’s at all possible, you will be there waiting for us.
