As ditzy as Roxy could be (I often mused she should have been a blonde), she could occasional be a typical Rottweiler; the perfect example of the definition of hardheadedness: obstinate, stubborn, willful (sort of like the daughter who rescued her from the dog pound). But I’m not going to talk about the softer, more abstract aspects of hardheadedness today. I need to expound on something just a bit more concrete, and significantly harder: The density and unyielding properties of Roxy’s skull.
Have you ever been headbutted by a Rottweiler? I have, more than once (and I saw stars flash before my eyes almost every time). I didn’t go seeking contusions and concussions, but Roxy happily dished them out, most of the time as a byproduct of her exuberance to greet me or play or, come to think of it, if anything remotely resembling food became involved. And while I held my aching head between my hands and moaned, Roxy continued on, oblivious to the aura of destruction emanating from her thick cranium. In fact, she would stare at me, the picture of innocence, even while my eyes struggled to refocus through the haze of double or triple images generated immediately after impact, completely oblivious and waiting expectantly for me to interact with her.
Have you ever almost bitten through your tongue because a Rottweiler uppercut you unexpectedly with her head in her excited rush for attention? I have (and I took precautions to never repeat that experience).
When I asked Terry if he had any fond memories of being bashed by Roxy’s skull, he related an incident where he had called Roxy to jump up on our bed, where he had been reclining. She ran across the room, launched herself into the middle of our queen sized bed from a location roughly midway between the door and the bed and barreled into Terry. I hope he didn’t have his glasses on (I forgot to ask him that) but he did say his vision went black for a couple of seconds after the collision.
I spoke to Rachelle, who couldn’t remember ever running afoul of Roxy’s hard head. She must have been more agile than her aging parents and the ditzy train-wreck of a Rottweiler named Roxy.
It’s been three months, come Monday, since Roxy left us. On a much happier note, Rachelle celebrates the anniversary of her birth on Tuesday.
