This is a tale about a woman and her dog. Of course the woman is me…and the dog in question is our Jack, aka Mr. Poop…Bad Jack…Jackie Pooper…Jack Ack…and Mr’s favorite: Jackie Crapper.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet
Surely, Shakespeare had unprecedented beauty on his mind when crafting those lines. Beauty such as this precious face:
This is Jack. All six pounds of him. Acquired 15 years ago in a Home Depot parking lot. Not the likeliest of purchase locations; a little like encountering a dodgy fellow who opens one side of a rain coat with, “Hey, Mack. Want to buy a watch?”
(In case anyone wonders, it was perfectly legit. He came with all his paperwork, veterinary reports, and a CD of from-birth photos and videos. In a parking lot. Like all pet transactions.)
Best sketchy parking lot purchase I ever made.
Dog people like to talk about “heart dogs,” the one that fills your heart irreplaceably. For me, all of our dogs are heart dogs. But there’s something extra special when a dog chooses you to be HIS person, the way our Kelly chose my husband.
Jack chose me.
Little Jack would rarely let me out of his sight, and when I left the house, he’d wait for me by the back door. If we went on vacation, he’d wait for my return by whatever door led to outside, whether it was at my parents’ house or a kennel. He would always wait. And watch. And wait.
If he couldn’t sneak into the bathroom to be with me, he would dutifully wait outside the door until my mission was complete.
If I gardened, he gardened.
If I was sewing or crafting, he would find a comfortable place to pass the time:
And he would delight in roadtrips, wherever they led, perching himself on my shoulder to watch the world pass by from a safe vantage point.
Jack was the Very Best Pal of Kelly.
Despite their size difference, they were absolute equals in the house (although Kelly could’ve tossed Jack into the next county if she wanted). When we would launch a frisbee to Kelly, six-pound Jack would race to get there first, with zero evident fear of being stepped on by something that weighed 1000% more than he did.
He noticeably missed Kelly for a long time when she crossed the bridge, and was NOT at all happy when Doschie adopted Roland nor when, a year later, Allie became part of the family.
But Jack kept his position as top dog/master of the house, and referee to the antics of the bigger, younger pups. We jokingly referred to him as the hall monitor, because he would bark at Allie and Ro when they wrestled, as if responsible for admonishing them (on Mom’s behalf) to knock it off.
We were never able to break Jack of barking at or chasing any and every passersby, and despite repeated training sessions, he played chicken with the mailman whenever he could get away with it. Jack was a herder at heart, and had no fear of chasing deer out of the yard with great authority.
Speaking of things he could get away with, Jack was completely housetrained… IF you were watching him. But as he got older, he seemed to stop caring about the niceties of outdoor plumbing, and occasionally left little, well, mementos around the house, which earned him some of the names mentioned in the first paragraph. Mr D&D always said that the world was Jack’s toilet.
Gross, but accurate. Good thing he had this face…
Jack used to sleep on the cedar chest at the foot of our bed back in the early days…and as a little guy he also liked to sleep under things…
He eventually found a permanent sleep spot underneath our bed.
When he was seven or so, Jack began to exhibit symptoms of collapsing trachea. It’s sadly a very common affliction among small dogs. The cartilage in the trachea weakens and flattens, making breathing increasingly difficult as it degenerates. A lot of dogs don’t last long once it hits. Jack hung on for eight more years.
And he was great…until the last two years…when his medicines stopped controlling his symptoms and he would wake up with spells of goose honk coughing consistent with his ailment. When the geese honked, it would frequently wake up the sleeping accountant next to me. And when the little spells became more frequent, only ONE of the two found his way back to sleep.
We tried everything to solve a problem that had no good solution.
Jack wanted only one thing…to sleep near me.
And we wanted only one thing…for him to breathe comfortably so we all could get a little rest.
We tried relocating Jack to very pleasant places at bedtime, but he wasn’t having it.
AT. ALL.
He ONLY wanted to be near his person.
We tried a nice comfy alternate bedroom. He barked and clawed at our bedroom door till we let him in.
We moved him downstairs to the back hall, where he barked until he figured out how to escape, or until we couldn’t take the barking anymore.
I felt guilty, Mr felt exhausted.
I tried pretending to leave the house so he would sleep while waiting by the back door and then I’d quietly sneak back in via the front door. But Allie ratted me out one night and Jack was never duped again.
I tried sleeping on the Family Room couch until he fell asleep, then stuffed pillows under blankets so he would think I was still on the sofa, and tiptoed upstairs. It worked a few times, but Jack was no dummy. And in the middle of the night we’d hear the familiar honk from underneath the bed.
We both LOVED this little maniac but were at our wit’s end. And so we did the unthinkable. We reintroduced him to his crate, which he loved…as long as I was around. We took the door off and put it inside a playyard in our finished basement, which he hated… I frequently tried fake sleeping on the sofa down there as well, but he was never fooled.
Eventually, exhaustion was no way for us to live. So, I would take him downstairs, kiss him goodnight, cry a little when those gumball eyes of his watched me leave, and went upstairs to bed. The tradeoff was that at least we could sleep and NOT hear him angrily barking all night.
We talked it over with our vet, who offered sedatives to help him settle down. It was a NIGHTMARE of guilt and conflict.
Our veterinarian, Mr, and I agreed that Jack still had great quality, but he was taking a toll on ours every night for MONTHS. So we did the best we could and hoped he would get used to it. He never did. Up half the night, slept half the day.
Forgave us every morning. Protested every night.
Eventually, signs that the heart failure that often accompanies tracheal collapse had started to manifest. It’s hard to know when to say when. Even with his mixed up sleep schedule and increased coughing, he still walked the yard with us every morning. Followed me around all day. Bathed in the sun wherever he could find it. Savored a car ride on my shoulder.
But those night times were unhappy for all three of us, and likely for Allie, too.
Jack loved his “boney bones.” (Don’t look at me, I was sleep deprived and overwrought…so that’s what we called them.). He loved to gnaw away at them for several hours and guarded them from the other dogs with the fierceness of a lion. So, every night at bedtime, he willingly followed me to the basement–under his own power–entered the playard on his own, and excitedly took the treat that would keep him busy and distracted…for a while…and said goodnight.
One evening last summer, we were enjoying a steak dinner on the patio and Jack was like a puppy again, enthusiastically begging for his cut of grilled deliciousness. My daughter cut him a large piece and thought–like the boney bones–it would keep him busy for a while.
He gulped it… whole!
Not ideal. He started gasping for air and we raced him to the emergency vet.
Jack was fully at the entrance to the rainbow bridge and–given his other decline–we were prepared to help him cross. But our daughter was SO distraught and felt responsible…AND the team at Blue Pearl Vet had endured a bad day and “really needed a win.”
About forty minutes later we heard a HUGE cheer and a short time later the vet appeared with our tenacious Jack (minus a thumb-sized, extracted piece of steak).
Jack had a happy rest of the summer and fall, enjoyed the sun, the walks and the occasional car sojourn on my shoulder.
But as fall turned to winter, he started to decline a little…and in January there was a sudden and noticeable change…and we entered into serious negotiations with ourselves about when to make the call. For all the love he gave me, if not actual adoration, I didn’t want to let him suffer. Mister, a softie at heart, kept believing Jack would rebound and never let himself give into the reality that I saw.
On the last Saturday of January, Jack came in from outside and, exhausted, lay down on the floor. I stayed with him for a little while and when he was asleep, snuck away to take a shower.
I should have known better.
While I was cleaning up, my little champion went looking for me and climbed all the stairs he could manage until his little body called it a day.
He literally gave the last beats of his heart to be with his mom.
My little heart dog.
We always said he was as beautiful when he was sleeping as he was when awake.
This parking lot pupper who functionally dedicated 15 years of his waking hours… to me.
A little spitfire, who could jump four times his height.
Part dog, part cat… who could find a comfortable place to sleep anywhere…as long as I was around.
Jack in a blanket.
Jack on a sofa.
Jack on a chair…
Jack in a box.
(I KNOW!!! That was HORRIBLE! But I’m sitting here crying my eyes out and let’s be honest, we all desperately needed a little giggle.)
Goodnight, little Jackie Pooper. Give Kelly a kiss for me.
And thank you for blessing me with your fluffy, gumball-eyed mountain of love.
_______
I was grateful for the opportunity to share Jack’s story via his month’s Where Blogger’s Live topic: “The Animals/Pets Who Rule My Heart.” Here’s hoping you will find more upbeat “tails” by visiting:
Daenel at Living Outside the Stacks
Bettye at Fashion Schlub
Jodie at Jodie’s Touch of Style
Leslie at OnceUponaTimeandHappilyEverAfterAgain
(Me) and
Sally at Within a World of My Own
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