After a brief hiatus, this week, Crunchy For Me is featuring Jif’s Creamy Peanut Butter. While this is about as traditional as it gets, I couldn’t see myself choosing anything else. See, the peanut butter community and, more importantly, my family, recently lost a very loved and valuable member: my family’s dog, Roxy. Aside from having an unparalleled appreciation of Jif’s Creamy Peanut Butter, Roxy was a sweet, weird, and, most of all, lovable Sheltie that my family had the pleasure of loving for over 12 years.
Where I would normally get into my review of Jif’s Creamy Peanut Butter and how it tastes on a PB&J, this space is better spent sharing my favorite memories of Roxy. It’s impossible to fit all of her memorable moments and lovable qualities into a single blog post, so I’ll focus on a few of my favorite:
- Roxy loved to play catch, but she was always confused about its mechanics. When you play catch with a dog, you throw the ball, stick, whatever, and let the dog retrieve and return it to you. To Roxy, the “chase and retrieve it” part was a two-way street. The majority of her catch was played in my parents’ family room with the thrower’s butt planted firmly on a couch. Roxy would bring someone one of her toys (she had a way of making you feel honored when chosen) and anoint this person as her selected catch buddy. The ball would be thrown, retrieved and . . . well . . . not necessarily returned. Roxy would look like she was going to drop her toy in your lap. In fact, she’d get just close enough to do so. But, when you reached for the toy, she’d take a few steps back and drop her toy JUST out of your reach. Then, she’d take a few more steps back with this shit-eating grin on her face as you reluctantly lifted your butt off the couch to get her toy for the next round. I never understood why she did this. I mean, if you want to play catch, give me the damn toy so I can throw it again. But, for physiological reasons, dogs can’t throw. So, I eventually came to the conclusion that this was Roxy’s version of throwing YOU her toy. Like, “Man, I just had a ton of fun retrieving this stuffed gopher. You’ll enjoy it just as much, I swear. Here, let’s try.”
- Roxy was definitely my mom’s dog, especially after my sister moved out. Roxy and my mom had countless memorable interactions, but my favorite was when my mom would walk down the stairs only to have Roxy play-ferociously pulling at one of her pant legs. As a Sheltie, I’m pretty sure this was Roxy showing off her herding skills. (Also, I always enjoyed the “This is my wonderful, crazy dog, world.” look on my mom’s face as she walked down the stairs.)
- Roxy always knew that fall Sundays meant upstairs with my dad in the man cave. And, also, snacks. Early on, this was probably Roxy training my dad for how to do retirement the right way. Little did my dad know that this would also come to include A LOT of walks.
- When my brother or I would come home, Roxy would bark at us. This was in spite of the fact that she knew us for over 12 years. While this wasn’t unusual (she was a dog), it was always more of an “Intruder! Intruder!” bark.
- My wife accomplished the impossible task of getting Roxy to pose for a picture. Of course, we later found out that this was accomplished with treats hidden underneath where my wife wanted Roxy to focus. I previously assumed it was magic.
- When Roxy was lying down, she refused to move for anyone. It didn’t matter if she was lying right in the middle of the doorway and you had to move around her a la Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment. She moved for NO ONE. Except, of course, for cats and snacks.
- One day last June, I went to my parents’ house only to walk inside to see neon toddler’s socks on the kitchen counter. This was weird, because there aren’t any children on my side of the family, let alone any living with my parents. That, and the bottom of the socks were super dirty, like a toddler wore them outside without shoes. I later found out that my incredibly determined brother used the socks to take Roxy for a late-morning walk. While I’m reluctant to bring logic and reason to this otherwise hilarious image, it was an admittedly considerate and smart move on my brother’s part. See, June is usually a really hot month in Sacramento. This usually means that Roxy could only go for walks early in the morning or late at night. Otherwise, her paws burn on the concrete. Because of the heat, there was a week or so last June where Roxy hadn’t been on any walks. Determined, my brother used the socks to combat the heat and get Roxy some much-needed exercise. While I wish I got to see Roxy wearing the socks (partially because Roxy refused to wear anything besides a leash), in hindsight, coming home to the socks on the counter was much funnier.
- Lastly, and perhaps more fittingly given this forum, my sister always joked that Roxy was going to start a blog. (I think it was a joke, but I never was 100% sure.) While I’m pretty sure that there are countless dog blogs on the Internet (I mean, it’s the Internet), Roxy’s domain name was always my favorite part: myfavoritecolorisorange.com.
Like I said, Roxy had countless other memorable moments and qualities, but those are my favorite. Also, if I had to guess, her review of Jif’s Creamy Peanut Butter would be, “Delicious. Not as great as salmon, but delicious nonetheless. Probably my favorite. More, please.” Because she wouldn’t have it any other way, I’ve enjoyed a few dozen-or-so spoon-dips of Roxy’s favorite peanut butter on her behalf.
Love and miss you, Roxy.