A requiem for a space dog, from Henry Vanderbilt:

Rufo, Rufe, Rufus T. Maximus, "Big Boy", black and grey Akita with white feet, tailtip, and throatpatch, born "Socks" in February 1993, first owned by someone who left him half-starved to DC Akita Rescue, adopted by Aleta Jackson who gave him his real name and his first good home, then "temporarily taken care of" when impossible circumstances hit Aleta in November 1995 by Henry Vanderbilt (relevant quote a few months later: "I see you two have bonded.") Rufo feared neither man, beast, nor machine - he once threatened to eat a reigning King of Atenveldt (not a post attained without considerable martial skill), he acknowledged no dog in creation as being bigger (despite the facts on occasion being much to the contrary), and he reached the end of his days without his firm position that he was also bigger than any eighteen-wheeler truck ever being disproved (largely due to considerable attention being paid by his human sidekick to avoiding tests of that theory, true.) Bluff aside (in twelve years and one month, he never laid serious tooth to any living being), Rufo was the gentlest brightest most amiable eager-to-please 3/4 inch fang 110-pound carnivore you could ever hope to meet, the world's largest fur-covered creampuff where cats, small children, and pretty girls were concerned.

Rufo had been getting gimpy and less outgoing in recent years, chiefly concerned with leisurely walks around the neighborhood and sleeping in the sun, past being up for his youthful regimen of chewing through gates, midnight sprints through the neighborhood, SCA wars and fighter practices, SF conventions, space conferences, and close to 30,000 miles of cross-country car rides (he'd hung his head out in the breeze and startled passersby in at least twenty-five of the fifty states.) He succumbed to advanced stomach cancer, giving little sign of anything at all wrong until just a few days before the end - he was always a stoic, seldom acknowledging any pain short of the overwhelming. He was amiable and affectionate right up to the end. He will be much missed.

If you never knew him, you missed one of the finer dogs that's ever been. If you did know him and have memories of him, please share them in whatever forum you come upon this. To all the people who were kind to him over the years, my heartfelt thanks.

I knew Rufo. Rufo was a friend of mine, and I'm a cat person, not a dog person. I shared a bedroom (though, thankfully, not a bed) with Henry and Rufo, once upon a time.

Rufo, ad astra.

[Update a few minutes later]

I feel a little bad about Jane Bernstein's comment, because it's perfectly justified. It's not possible for a blog to be completely not a "little club," because every blogger has a history and (if they've been a blogger for long) a long-time readership, and a lot of inside baseball, but this post is probably too obscure for even long-time readers.

Briefly, Henry Vanderbilt is the founder and long-time proprieter of the Space Access Society, which has been working for a decade and a half or so on making space access affordable for The Rest Of Us. He has pauperized (or at least, refrained from lifting himself from penury) himself in that endeavor, and has recently given up the reins for more remunerable activities, though still in furtherance of his goal, and his many friends are thankful that he's had the opportunity to do that. One of the critical things that the SAS has done is to put together a conference every year (the next one is next month, in the Phoenix area) that provided a venue to bring together all of the crazy people (of whom I'm one of the looniest) who think that this is a solvable problem, and many good things have resulted from it over the years.

Aleta, Rufo's original rescuer, was an employee of the L-5 Society many moons ago, and later co-founded XCOR (whose initial funding was one of the good things that happened at one of Henry's conferences). Another good thing that happened at one of Henry's conferences was that I met Rufo, when I was being a starving entrepreneur, and Henry generously offered me a free bed in his room, as long as I was willing to share with both him and the dog. I accepted, and Rufo proved a good roommate (as did Henry), particularly given the price (though it would also have been the case had I paid a king's ransom for the room).

I guess I'm a newcomer to the club here, and so never got to meet Rufo. But I know what it's like to lose a beloved friend of the four-legged variety.

Rest well Rufo. Sorry I never got to scratch you behind the ears.

Good dog. Gooood dog.

My wife and I are currently cat people but there was also a time (before we met) when we were both dog persons too. We go both ways. My sympathies to Henry. Having now spent just under $10K for surgeries, radiation, and seemingly innumerable drives on the DC beltway for visits to the vet and oncologist for one of our two cats who had a malignant fibrosarcoma, I can understand what this was like both for Henry - and for Rufo - and the affection humans and non-humans can have for one another.

Dogs are often in many ways better than humans - may he rest in peace.

It's touching to see people devoted to technical and political ideas in public life to show their kinda "other" side. I am a dog person myself, and can somehow relate to all that.

Before my first Space Access conference, I recall being quite apprehensive about what it would be like for me -- a non-specialist -- to be surrounded by the most hardcore rocket geeks on the planet. I was quite pleasantly surprised to discover that most of the people there were very well-rounded, outgoing, and all-around human. And despite being a dog, Rufo was one of the most humanizing things of all. *Any* dog at Space Access would have been amusing, but Rufo wasn't just any dog -- he was friendly, dignified, well-manerred, intelligent, gorgeous, and just all-around fabulous, which I don't say lightly about just any old dog (I, too, am generally a cat person). Bright shiny rockets are all well and fine, but it's worth remembering that life is just inestimably better with creatures like Rufo in it. He will be fondly remembered and greatly missed.

It's sad to hear about Rufo. Rufo would always accompany Henry to the local cons, and Rufo was always kind and gentle to my two daughters, who, being young girls love all furry creatures whether they want to be loved or not. I'll miss his presence as the SAS meeting this year.

Rufo joins Baron, the L-5 Society office cat, as one of the dearly departed nonhuman helpers in this strange and wonderful group. I gave Rufo to Henry after Henry very kindly offered to keep him because my mother, who was dying, was afraid of the big guy. After Mom died, I went to take Rufo off Henry's hands. But it was obvious that, while Rufo and I were friends, he _belonged_ to Henry. I am very glad I was able to bring them together.

And for those who never knew either Baron or Rufo, two very fine gentelmen who loved children and never bit or scratched, the space biz as we "alt.spacers" practice it also includes nonhuman friends. XCOR has a hangar cat. I suspect that other companies have a dog or cat running around the place, to help us remember that we need to play and enjoy what we're doing, as well as pay attention to the everyday technical details.

Ad astra, Rufo.