A note from Rave's adopted Family:
Sir Raven De La Nuit who? RavyBaby!
What do you say about a dog who was half Jesuit, half James Michael Curley? Half hooligan, mostly perfect?
A walking talking Dyson endorsement?
Eleven years ago this September, Rave came from upstate New York, by way of two wonderful Ladies,
one named Joan, the other, Susan Conant. We picked him up one November afternoon in Burlington,
stuffed this huge black and white skinny THING into the back deck of a small wagon and drove home.
He lay with his great head between the seats, looking at Howard then me, sizing us up, but with the
glint of humor in his big amber eyes. He was 27 inches at the shoulder and his front paws were as
big as my hands and his teeth were at least 10 inches long. He had a black nose the size of a coffee mug.
He quickly taught us that kibble should have just a touch of Ragu, not green beans, that he loved
riding with the top down, and that vanilla ice cream was his favorite, but Frosty Paws would do
in a pinch, that little kids were the source for his all time favorite food, peanut butter. He
would answer, when he chose to answer, to a variety of names, Elvis, RavyBaby, daRave, and really
enjoyed hearing his name in a song. "RavyBaby UUUUUBEEEE TRUUUU, RAVYBABY WEEEE LUUUVE YOUUUUU.".
Try as we could, we could not get him to howl, but he did have a cacophony of opinions on every subject.
His all time favorite girlfriend in the whole world was Honey, a pound puppy herself, who, and he
would be the first to admit this, was adopted because of his sterling example. He joined her at the bridge.
He co existed peacefully with Rags, less so with FatCat, both elderly lady cats when he arrived.
For years we blamed him for opening the sliders, giving the three of the joy of a good sniff
around the back yard. It was only recently that we caught FatCat pushing the door with her paw
until Rave opened it w/his mighty nose.
FatCat and Rags are waiting for him at the Bridge.
Stories, yah, we have stories. How about the time he ate the prune necklace from the little
snowman, or about the time he took off down to the local elementary school and was arrested,
only to join the littlest kids for cookies. Or the abrupt 'goose' he would traditionally give
my home from college son. Or the Thanksgiving turkey that was liberated to the livingroom floor.
Or about the time he visited my neighbor and jumped in bed with her husband. Wish we could have seen his face.
He had a funny little habit of leaning into his friends to be patted, his great head reaching
their waist, and greeted everyone politely on his walks. We had workmen coming into the house
over the years, and he graciously greeted them, but only once did he insist on putting his
huge self between myself and a plumber's helper, and refused any friendly overtures.
About 3 years ago, he started showing signs of his age; trouble getting up, walking a little
slower and a little sideways. He gave up his rides in the convertible. His magnificent black
coat had a white skunk stripe down the back, and his head was salt and pepper. But a new puppy,
Honey's replacement quickly put some of the bounce back in his step. We celebrated when his
tail curled over his back during his walks.
Finally, one day, the now short walks just became too much, his eyes had lost their devilment,
and we knew it was time. Somehow, no one ever told us that we would fall in love with this big
galloot, that home would be such an empty silent place when he was gone.