We named him Riley but that quickly got changed to Riley Rumple as it became clear that he had a coat that tended toward shaggy. “You have to groom them, you know,” a total stranger remarked when he was walked on the streets of Falmouth. He answered to Riley when he wasn’t playing “I can’t hear you,” and ignored me when I called him Rumpy-Dumpy, Rumpus, or Pink Paw. He was our rescue puppy from Kentucky and we were blessed to love him.
Riley was an amateur athlete, always up for the sport of the season. He was always ready for swimming, running, Frisbee, and any game that involved a ball. But he was also a total party animal, and the more kids and dogs who were involved, the better he liked it. I often joked that Riley loved other dogs more than he loved me. His ideal day was to hang out with another dog or two, mixing games of run-and-bite into a day of napping outdoors. Riley loved the summer that Dan built the second shed and we were caring for Jackson. Outside all day, laying around the shed with another dog, mixing mock-battles and baring of teeth in between bark-fests and snoozing: heaven!
He was afraid of thunder, fireworks and gun shots. His secret pleasure was eating the extremities off of stuffed animals. He liked ripping the wrapping off gifts and anything to do with snow. And most of all he loved subduing long sticks, his eyes wild as he seemed to pretend that he was indeed a wild dog, capable of crunching wildebeest bones. He was a gentle dog, as far from the alpha-animal as you could get, and his motto was “Let’s play!”
Riley was the funniest dog we’ve lived with; we were blessed to know and love him.