We write for lots of reasons. Sometimes it’s exciting news. Sometimes it’s a funny moment or quip. And then there are the therapeutic processing entries. This is one of those.
Warning: Those who have tender hearts for pets may need a box of Kleenex.
Friends, I’m going to tell you a story about our oldest loved pet in the family. He passed on Monday (about the exact same time to the day as our favorite greyhound 3 years ago, oddly enough). Jack, the wonder sheltie, is quite the story, and I hope you’ll bear with me as I tell it, so I can honor my emotions and my heart.
Twelve years ago, our family adopted a small beagle named Colby from some friends. She was our canine world at the time. Along came our son (Bell Pepper), and it got a little “hairy” with the depressed beagle walking around looking for a friend, while I frantically fed, changed, rocked, walked, comforted…you get the picture. So, in our great wisdom, we determined to add a friend to our family for the beagle at about the one year period. (I’ll always claim temporary insanity if you press me on this decision, but it ended up well.)
I began the research process. At the time, I knew I wanted an intelligent breed. In contrast the beagle, I hoped for a dog that was both food motivated and obedient! Every online article, questionnaire, and info page pointed me to something like a sheltie. So, I began to pray. After a little more than a month of praying, I remember a stormy night when I was wide awake with our young son and walking the floors turned to praying God would provide the right dog for us. I even envisioned a little dog out in the storm walking up to my front door. A month later, the prayers were answered.
We contacted a group that adopted secondhand shelties to families, and they had this one dog they thought we should see first. We went to meet him. His story was simply that the group believed he was on his own for about six weeks before he was captured and brought in. Since they found him on a stormy night, they called him Stormy. He wasn’t exactly a full-bred sheltie, but he was “sheltie enough” for the group to accept him. They worked on getting him to health for about a month. Doing the math only made it plain to me that my prayers seemed to line up with his timeline only too well. The deep brown eyes just sucked me in. His age was debatable, but we knew he was between 4 and 6 years old. He was delivered to our house just a week or so later on September 2, 1999.
Since we had a Colby, we simply had to have a Jack. Given a new name, he settled in beautifully. Our two dogs got along famously, and this sheltie became my buddy. There were a few things we learned in a matter of days, though.
Jack had an uncanny ability to chew through a nylon leash in record time! (This is likely how he became a “free agent” in the first place.) He chewed his leash when he was alone, and it didn’t seem to matter that he wasn’t tethered by it. Three leashes in a couple of days was a little much (two in the car alone) looking like they’d been cut with scissors.
Jack never ran away. He walked. Slowly, methodically, he plodded down the street when he was “free” on two occasions in the first weeks. (At least he was easy to catch.)
Ever the protective one, this lovely dog bit the mailman the first week! We were horrified! The mailman was casual about the minimal damage in comparison to the “real dogs” that bit him in the past. (I bet you didn’t know that a police officer visits your house after that, and that the word quarantine has a lot more meaning coming from a uniform.)
My sweet dog didn’t like uniforms. He didn’t like any uniforms. (It is very difficult to convince a police officer that your dog is a real sweetie while he resembles a Tasmanian devil behind you in the doorway.)
The mailman incident earned us a note on our mail daily that read “DOG” on the top piece of mail. When we moved ten blocks away a few years later, the mailman recognized our dog…and our name. *Sigh*
Jack had his quirks. Someone, somewhere, is a blonde child who messed with him, and he never forgot it. No blonde children came into our home without a bit of intimidation. *Sigh* Once, a blonde boy I was tutoring was chased through the screen door–while the door was closed, unfortunately. It’s a very good thing the Dashing Hero and I had zero chance of blonde genes showing up.
Our most embarrassing pet owner moment was when we “lost” Jack and couldn’t find him. In a panic, we ran out the door, called his name, and told a police officer driving by. We drove our neighborhood and the adjoining one, calling his name for an hour and half. Hoarse, scared, and exhausted, we returned home…to find Jack…in the bathroom…with the door shut. (Yes, he put up with his silly owners at times.)
All this to say that Jack was unique. I loved him. He was Jack, the wonder sheltie, in so many ways. Our obedience class was a perfect example. When I say he was the smart one, I’m not kidding. He learned everything I taught him…quickly. A basic obedience class was too boring for this dog, so I taught him everything I knew. He knew everything the other dogs supposedly knew–and then some! At the end of the class, this dog was really ready for the final exam/competition. He achieved a perfect score from the judge, and the judge even admitted to wanting to award extra points for flawless additional commands. Jack won the heart of the class instructor (but not exactly the hearts of the other owners).
Jack was the permanent fixture in our house for 11 years, longer than any other dog I’ve ever had. He became the best friend to our second son (Habanero), who has known him all of his 9 years. He was Habanero’s favorite, but he was always “Mommy’s boy”!
My sweet boy had his favorite spots in the house. During Bible, he could always be found on the floor in front of the window and radio. During our school day, he would always be under the end table. At bedtime, we eventually had to gently touch him to come to bed when he could no longer hear our voices. He would slowly make his way the bedroom to tuck himself in under my night table. Every night. For years. Dashing Hero and I always said there would be no dogs in the bedroom at night. Ha! Jack was a little special, I guess.
Monday, August 23, 2010 is a day I’ll remember.
While anything shocking could have happened, it was peaceful. As excruciating as it was, we had to put our sweet baby to rest. Life for him was no longer good, right, or comfortable.
Sweet Jack, you are missed! At Bible time, you are not scratching at the carpet, turning circles, and lying in your favorite spot. At bedtime, I turn to the end table, and there is no one to gently stir and tuck in for the night. In the morning, I don’t wake to see you oblivious to the morning, half of your body hidden by the bed skirt.
Love you, sweetie. We did our best to give you the great life you deserved. You were one great dog for and to our family. Thanks, buddy, it was a good run!
