Rufus J. Thunderlove
2011-2024
Today, I bid farewell to Rufus J. Thunderlove, not just the Executive Producer of the Abandoned Albums podcast but my steadfast companion for thirteen years. Rufus was more than a pet; he was my best friend, confidant, and partner in every sense of the word. Every adventure I planned, I first considered if Rufus could join. Sadly, his robust Pitbull mix stature wasn't always welcomed everywhere; but never once did that dim his spirit.
Sadly Rufus wasn't a dog that everyone could appreciate. He demanded something beyond a casual affection for dogs, you had to have a genuine love for dogs. His presence was powerful and his personality, unforgettable, ergo the “Thunderlove” handle.
PART 1 - ADOPTION
I never wanted a Pitbull, or Pitbull mix. Like many people, there was something about the breed that unnerved me a little… and this is from a guy whose previous dog was a Rottweiler. But the truth is, I’ve met Cocker Spaniels that were a helluva lot meaner than any Pitbull OR Rottweiler I ever met.
It’s impossible to put into words what Rufus meant to me and had done for me. But how did he come into my life? Welp, I was in grad school in New York City, living in Brooklyn at the time with my then girlfriend. And one night as I turned the corner to go to my apartment, the door to the apartment across the hall was open. That’s a story for another day, but I caught a glimpse of my neighbor carrying a dog and the dog and I locked eyes.
As we looked at one another, our connection was immediate and I instantly knew his name should be Rufus, a revelation so strong it felt like kismet.
Normally that apartment was a clearing house for cats, so it was unusual to see a dog.
This was the holiday season and my girlfriend was vocal about not knowing what to get me. I’m apparently “hard to shop for.” So I walked into the apartment, set down my bag saying: “If you wanna get me something for Christmas, you can get me that dog from across the hall.”
I asked what the story was with the dog across the hall. I got the three glasses of wine version, which is to say slurred and a tad nonsensical… somehow, I was able to discern that he had been sick with pneumonia and parvo, but was convalescing across the hall.
“His name is Coffee,” she said.
”Ugh, that’s dreadful. My name is better.”
”Yea, I know. What’s the name you have?,” she asked.
”Rufus.” (Fergus was a close second).
She thought for a second: ”Oh, that’s good.”
”I know, right?”
We walked across the hall to meet him and found him penned in, with the pads all around him clearly needing changing, which we promptly took care of. The women that lived in that apartment were a little unusual, but nice… enough. Coffee was shy at first but eventually his tail was wagging, especially when I said his name was gonna be Rufus. It was like he understood.
Like so many Pitbulls, he had some trauma before he made his way to Brooklyn to the Wythe Avenue convalescence home. Although I don’t know what the trauma was, but throughout his life he remained extremely sensitive to loud noises, in particular raised voices. I could only guess what he experienced and all I knew for certain was that his life ended up with him on some kind of house pet abattoir.
You see, Coffee was one dog away from being euthanized…and the dog that was put down before him was his brother. In all fairness, parvo and pneumonia in both lungs is hard to recover from, and almost impossible without having someone to pony up and pay for it all.
Be it fate or luck my girlfriends aunt happened to be there and for whatever reason, decided to pay for everything needed to help save Coffee. Perhaps she recognized the same uniqueness I did.
PART II
After a relapse and few days of living in a bubble at the vet hospital we adopted Coffee… and promptly changed his name to Rufus. The Thunderlove moniker would come in a couple of days.
While the transition into our place was a bit rough for a couple of days, eventually the dust settled and the roles were established:
Ruby (French Bulldog) was the alpha.
Lucy (cat)was the dim-witted cat.
Lulu (cat) was the thug.
As the youngest, Rufus became comic relief.
The biggest problem we had was trying to convince our neighbors in the building that Rufus was harmless. At that time he had a lunge thing that he did, and while I didn’t necessarily feel it was aggressive, I don’t suppose people like having a 40+ lb Pitbull lunge at them. At almost a year old, and our neighbors inexplicable fear, socializing him was out of the question.
I don’t think the Hannibal Lecter dog mask I had on him in the building did any favors in easing anyone’s fear of Rufus.
Over time Rufus settled in and the more comfortable he became, and more confident, he became a bit unwieldy. This necessitated a couple of consults with trainers, but that proved not to be cost effective. It was at this point I figured that I’d train him with the basics and that would have to be enough. As long as he was relatively behaved, I was ok with that.
Rufus was easy to love and we all quickly fell in love with him. Our neighbors never cottoned to him though and would avoid elevator rides or hug the bricks when they saw us. That suited me fine because I wasn’t the biggest fan of too many of the neighbors.
PART III
Our daily early morning walks in Brooklyn became a routine to work on training and to manage his boundless energy. As the quiet streets of Brooklyn woke up, Rufus and I had our moments of peace and play…
… often leaving our playful marks around the neighborhood.
PART IV
As it does, life brought changes, my relationship ended, I changed careers, and moved out of Brooklyn. Rufus and I travelled out to Michigan, down to Florida a couple of times, and into the Catskills once or twice - the point is, he was my buddy, my pal, my amigo - he was Hutch to my Starsky. Granted, we weren’t cops, but Lulu could easily pass for a Huggy Bear type character. As harried as life could get the two constants were Rufus and Lulu. Their presence became the cornerstone of my life.
Though his beginnings were fraught with hardship, I like to think he had a good life with me… and I believe that he did. I did my best to make his life as easy as possible while Rufus filled my days with all the emotions, but mostly happiness, joy, and laughter.
Last week Rufus was diagnosed with an inoperable and terminal cancer in his bladder. Nothing can be done. The tumor will eventually close his urethra making it impossible for him to pee. I won’t get graphic, but the last few days I’d seen a rapid decline and I realized it was time to send him off to whatever is next.
If you’ve ever had to make this decision then you know how hard it is. You either know this or you don’t, I can’t, and won’t, try to explain it.
Rufus and I shared an immeasurable bond that was immediate. And it can never be repeated. If you’re a pet parent, you have those once in a lifetime pets, and Rufus was one of those, and I’m so grateful to have 13 years of memories with the goofus Rufus.
Although his body has left me today, his spirit lives in, and all around me. Eventually the tears will stop. I believe one day, I’ll see him again… but it won’t be today. And that hurts.
**As I reflect on my years with Rufus, I chose to turn off the comments. Not because I fear the sadness they might reflect, but because I know in my heart, those who knew Rufus, or met him, or know me, and have read this far will share in my mourning and understand the depth of my loss. Thank you for understanding and sending the good vibes.
