On October 9, 2024 at 3:00 o’clock in the afternoon, Bob Nixon, always active and on the ready for any adventure to save lives, called to say he had been in hospital for 4 weeks and then later on October 14, called again. I missed the call. He said he was still ill and then out of the blue going back to his past, he remembered that his mother had asked him once why he had been so sad as a child and how he would try to prove her otherwise by jumping up and down on the couch. Then he added how miserable and frustrating being handicapped was, he could not use his legs and the doctors could not sort out why. When I returned the call he wasn’t there.

Today I learned he died, that he died on November 15 in the early morning hours, a time I, and many others who loved him, were completely oblivious of his moving on to another unknown territory. On November 21, I had sent him an annual wreath which he advised me he always kept on his door until April and also the first of several installments of Christmas panetone as well as Oregon Growers Marion-berry jam; sometimes Strawberry Rhubarb jam too. I hope they have that in Heaven, a very important staple.

I had met Bob in 2000 when out of the blue he called about a dog named Nadas (Pictured above), a Malamute condemned to death in Jackson County for chasing a horse. Not knowing what to do, I did everything to try to save Nadas’ life. I was just a novice, but no one was going to do anything, so I had to try. Then having learned of this incident and effort somehow, Bob just called and stepped in off the internet. Bob with his irrepressible humor, optimism and skill was very active and instrumental in creating a happy ending for Nadas. Chris de Rose at Last Chance for Animals and Best Friends in Utah where Nadas spent the rest of his life filled in to complete the missing pieces to save Nadas’ life.

Bob was a tireless warrior for the rights of animals: an enforcement investigation arm for animal abuse and neglect in Illinois, a professor of economics at a community college where he taught through stories, and was once a hobo who rode the rails and could teach you how to do it and not get caught.

I had hoped he could cheat death as so many of us who loved him had hoped too. He had been so active: a black belt in karate, running ten miles a week, driving half way across the country on a moment’s notice to fetch a dog no one else wanted.

How do you cope with a loss like that? In illness, his body became a prison he could not escape. So he found an exit to be a free spirit. His known nickname was Indy, leader of the Raiders of the Lost Woof for adventures rescuing animals in danger.

Long may he live: Our sorrow relieved only because his spirit is no longer trapped by his body. The gift was knowing him.

We will meet again some day of blue skies, all of us who loved him, dogs and people too. It will be a huge gathering. All of his friendships were one of kind, unique. He had no generic friends. I remember a saying Bob once quoted when someone scolded him for monies spent on rescuing animals. His response was “Well, have you ever seen a hearse with a luggage rack?”