Just Jack
August 11th, 2009 § Leave a Comment
As a puppy Jack was enthusiastic. He suffered from separation anxiety, which I reminded myself of often. I had to remind myself, otherwise I would have grown tremendously angry when he ate all the foam out of the bottom of my mattress (which I discovered one night when I fell completely through it), chewed my prescription glasses to pieces, ate the crown moulding off all the door frames in the house and barked like a banshee every time I left him.
Jack was a pound puppy and with pound puppies comes baggage. Sometimes that baggage takes a while to get out of their system, for Jack it took about 8 years. But Jack was adorable and sweet. His big ears that flopped at the corners, his brown needy eyes, the way he would roll onto his back and bat his paws at me – all made me fall hopelessly in love with him. The day I adopted Jack, I promised him that no matter what happened, we were in it together and I would always take good care of him.
Within a few months of adopting Jack I discovered that much of his anxiety faded after long runs. So, every morning at 6am Jack and I would go for a 6 mile run. On one particular morning, Jack was tremendously excited to get out to stretch his legs. As I ran, he pounced up with a look on his face that I could swear was a smile. The main street was humming with hundreds of cars filled with morning commuters headed to work. I held Jack close to my side and ran as he pounced happily by my side. When we got to the center of the crosswalk Jack sprang up like a bunny and nipped at the waistband of my sweats. It wasn’t until I felt the cold rush of morning air, that I realized he must have gotten my pants caught on his tooth because when he returned to the ground, my pants went with him. There I stood, in the middle of the crosswalk, with my derriere exposed for everyone to see, wrestling to free my pants which were wedged between two of Jack’s sharp puppy teeth. Once freed, I proceeded to run the fastest mile I have ever run, back home to hide.
I had Jack for about 5 years when, during a routine vet visit, they found his blood work to be “concerning”. After a series of lengthy and tremendously expensive tests, they discovered that Jack needed surgery to remove 2 feet of his intestines and re-route his “plumbing”. I was told that after $7,000 worth of surgery and a 1 week stay in the hospital, Jack “should” be okay. I cried. I didn’t care about the money, I knew I would find some way to pay for it, but all I could think of was losing my Jack.
Time passed slowly the day of surgery. I went to work but couldn’t focus. After 8 painstaking hours the vet called to say Jack made it out of surgery. He told me I could anticipate Jack being at the hospital for at least a week, as this was a major surgery and required a great deal of supervised recovery. The next morning the vet called to say that I should come pick Jack up that afternoon. Apparently major surgery, 70 stitches and staples were no contender for Jack’s enthusiasm. He spent the night standing up, wagging his tail in his kennel and barking incessantly at anyone who would listen. Jack was making it known that he was ready to come home.
Convincing a dog with boundless energy and bull like stubbornness to take it easy is an impossible feat. Even though Jack was home we still visited the emergency clinic 8 times to get him re-stitched because he kept popping his staples. For me, the surgery was burned into memory, for Jack it was so distant it was as if it never happened.
Jack’s surgery was almost 6 years ago and his ”new plumbing” has left him with a handful of annoyances. Once weighing in at 70lbs. Jack is now a gaunt 40lbs. I blame his skinny obsession on the fact that we moved to LA for a while and the pressure of staying attractive in Hollywood got to him. Sadly, no amount of food will ever fatten him up and his appetite is insatiable.
Jack farts. Not mild offensive farts either. He farts long and stinky, nose curling, head roll into the back of your head smelling farts. Even more terrible is that he farts with reckless abandon. He doesn’t care who it is in front of, what time of day it is, or whether all the windows in the house are safely opened. His farting knows no boundaries. I briefly dated a guy who was not a fan of Jack. Granted, not every person can look past such vulgarity to see the adorable, sweet puppy within. This guy treated Jack with politeness, presumably only because he hoped to get laid. One night, we got to my house late and he said he was too tired to drive home. I told him he could sleep on my couch (I was well onto his ulterior motives and knew we had no future. Love me, love my dog…and clearly he loved neither of us.) I woke the next morning to Jack darting into my room and onto my bed and could hear my date cursing under stifled breath. I walked in to see him holding what was left of his shoes. Needless to say he left and the last image I have of him is watching him hobble shoeless to his car at 6am.
Jack and I have been through a lot together. He has been there for countless moves to new apartments, driven with me for hours in the car as we went on vacation, went to camp with me in the summer. Jack has sat next to me as I cried over breakups, he has stood watch through the night keeping me safe inside my apartment, he greets me every time I walk through the door – which never fails to make me feel important. It’s as if he promised the same thing to me ten years ago - that no matter what happened, we were in it together and he would always take good care of me.
