Rosie the Trucking Dog

Rosie the Trucking Dog

Suzanne Marsh

It was a cold winter night in January of 2004, Earl and I had stopped at Carl's Corner for the night. We were OTR truckers back then. We were going into the “C” store before going to bed. A medium size dog brown and white dog was begging for food. She followed us back to the truck. We had a white German Shepherd in the truck, so we scrambled into the truck, got a paper bowl and gave her some food. She ate that then disappeared into the night. Earl and I agreed that if she came back in the morning we would put her on the truck. She returned to the truck the next morning. I noticed a tag, so I called the veterinarian whose number was on it. The veterinarian checked the tag number, the proceeded to tell me the dog had been adopted. I told him we had her and were in Carl's Corner. He called the person in Rockwall who merely stated that she had brought the dog back. The veterinarian told her that if the dog was returned there would not be someone calling from a truck stop stating she had the dog. When he finally came back on the line, he said that if we wanted the dog to keep her. That day Rosie became a trucking dog.

There was a Wal Mart in town, so we went there, got her the doggie essentials such as: a flea collar, a regular collar, a leash, dog food, dog dishes, a wormer. The next night found us in New Mexico at a rest stop on I10. We took both dogs for a walk. Rosie pranced along that night as if to say: “I have a family, my humans are taking care of me.”

There were so many things about Rosie that were amazing and funny. Rosie has been in all lower forty eight states. She has at least 150,000 miles in the truck. She was really diabolical at times. We had gone to eat dinner, upon our return, the cell phone was on the floor, the leather case was off the exterior, the back was open and the battery had teeth marks. At least once in a lifetime explaining what happened to the cell phone, the young man on the other end was in hysterics as I attempted to explain what Rosie had done. What really pushed him over the edge was when I told him the phone was still usable the only problem being was that it had to be held at a forty five degree angle and one had to guess at the numbers. Once he stopped laughing, he managed to choke out that we could take it to the nearest store and they would replace it. Thank heaven we had delivered in Houston, Texas and there was a store in the small plaza we had just delivered to.

Rosie had a penchant for nuts of any type. Once again we returned to the truck after eating, there on the floor was an almost empty can of cashew nuts. Rosie had been really generous, one for Earl and one for me.

Rosie was not a watch dog, she was much to sweet to bark at anyone. We had an issue with the truck in Fargo, North Dakota. Rosie had not been on the truck very long at the time. The German Shepherd we had to warn the service writer and the mechanic that she was there, usually it was easier to just get her out of the truck. We extended the same courtesy to the service writer at the dealership. While we left Rosie in the truck, planning to go and get her when the truck went in for the issue. That did not work out well at all. We sat and waited wondering when they were going to work on the truck. A young mechanic came in and handed Earl the keys, the truck was finished. The first words out of our mouths:

“where's the dog?”

The mechanic chortled as he replied:

“She sure is a nice dog, she never barked at me or growled. I climbed in, did a test drive and

she sat in the passenger seat looking out the window.”

Great, some watch dog. After that we locked the truck doors every time we got out. However,

time has a way erasing memories. We were in New York on vacation. We had stopped in West Henrietta for the night. The next morning we went in to have breakfast, leaving the windows open for Rosie. We returned to the car and the GPS was gone, stolen. Rosie just was not a watch dog.

Rosie was a contradiction, dogs and cats just do not get along, that is except for Rosie. We had stopped to see my aunt while, once again the truck was in for repairs. The only problem was my aunt had a cat. We promised we would keep Rosie on her leash. There was no need for that. The afternoon that we arrived, Rosie made friends with the cat. They got along beautifully, as my aunt said:

“The reason I have the cat is because it scratched the eye of a prize Boston Terrier.”

Saturday afternoon, the cat's head was wet. Then we discovered that the cat was purring and rubbing up against Rosie. My aunt, and my cousin were amazed, why was the cat getting along with Rosie and the prize Boston Terrier. Rosie had a very gentle way about her.

Rosie and the cat one thing in common, Rosie liked to catch mice. We were in Peru, Illinois at a truck stop. Earl had taken her out on her leash. Suddenly, she jumped into the grass. Earl went to see what she was doing and there she stood, just as proud as punch, she had caught a field mouse. She looked at Earl as if to say: 'it's mine, I caught it.'

Rosie, was never great walking on a leash, she had a lot of strength and would pull Earl. What chance did I have? We were in West Memphis, Arkansas and had taken the Chocolate Lab we found and Rosie for a walk. Another driver stopped to talk to me. I wasn't paying attention. Rosie saw a puppy and decided she wanted to go play. The next thing I knew I was kiss the pavement. My nose was bleeding and I was sort of stunned. Earl came running over, picked me, asked the other driver to wait with me while he took Rosie and Lucky back to the truck. We went into the “C” store, I looked like I had just met up with Freddie Kruger. My shirt was bloody and my nose felt funny. The clerk gave us a key to one of the showers. Once in there Earl began to clean my face, I had a good size cut across my nose. My nose hurt, and the blood continued to flow. I pushed what felt like bone back up, in other words, I accidentally set my own nose, but the bleeding subsided. The next morning I had two of the prettiest black eyes you ever saw. I looked like I had gone several rounds with Mike Tyson. For almost two weeks I wore sunglasses day and night. Every time I look in a mirror, I see that scar.

Rosie trucked with us for ten years, then she began to hesitate when she had to get into the truck. Age was creeping up on her. She lived to be sixteen years old. In March, she crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I miss her a great deal as does Earl. She wasn't just a trucking dog that kept us company on the road she was a member of the family. I can still see her in the truck looking out the window at the deer, antelope, bears, and field mice. Goodbye my Rose, someday we will meet once again at the Rainbow Bridge.