Goodbye, Old Friend

Jeff spend the night for the first time last week. Jeff is a neighborhood dog who I had been calling Scratchy until I found out his real name. I called him that because he liked it when I scratched him, and now I know why: the poor dog is covered in fleas, and seems to have other skin problems as well. One night we were coming home late and the neighborhood thug was in the main street so we took a detour. We heard a noise and Jeff came running up behind us. I'm not sure if he had a run in with the thug, but he seemed ever so happy to join us. When I opened our door, he came right in and made himself at home. We gave him some water and he drank it as though he had not had water in days. Then he promptly threw up all over the courtyard. He checked out the house and then engaged in a lenghty self-scratching ritual. We felt pretty bad for him. Though by most standards Jeff is a street dog - you see him bopping around all parts of the city as if he knows exactly where he's going - he does in fact have an owner. I actually met him and he seemed a decent old man; he gave Jeff a pat on the head, a gesture you don't see too often in Morocco, and he didn't offer to sell Jeff to me for $12, a gesture that is pretty common in Morocco.
Anyway, Jeff indeed seemed like no stranger to the indoors. Although we set up a bed for him in the courtyard, while I was brushing my teeth, he went in my room and hopped right on my bed. So I got in next to him, and he started to doze off while I petted him. This was one of my most blissful moments in Rabat. But it ended a few minutes later when I squashed a flea on my face. As much as I liked Jeff, I wasn't keen on sleeping with fleas, so I put him back in the courtyard. He scratched at the door for a few minutes and then went to sleep. I heard him up at 6 am so I released him into Oudaya to pee on the walls and carry on with his day. I learned where he officially lives and spoke to the owner's daughter about taking him to the vet. There is actually an animal shelter called SPANA here and they sounded very nice on the phone and said I could bring him by tomorrow for some flea treatment.

I think it is no coincidence that all this happened only 2 days before Rocky died. Bill sent me an email on the 27th that will forever be difficult for me to read. He said Rocky had spent a restless night and was having trouble breathing. That morning, Bill had made the heart-wrenching decision to put him down. He said it took everthing he had to ring the doorbell at the emergency vet clinic. I am sorry, but almost grateful, that I could not be there with them. I am sad that I can't sleep next to Rocky when I come home in July, but I know I will dream of him often.

Rocky Schwevak
December 1994 - February 27, 2008
Rest in peace.