Jackson
Jackson was 10 weeks old when we brought him home; my little girl was not
quite 3, my son just turned 6. I’d been a cat person until then, and I
resisted falling in love with him for as long as I could. He was bred for
temperament, calm and sweet, the perfect nap buddy – not a typical Jack
Russell. As he and the children grew, he took his job seriously, which can
be hard for a manly man when wearing sunglasses and a tutu. He got the kids
up in the morning, helped me get them to school on time, and made sure they
were tucked in and that I was safely in bed before he’d settle in for the
night himself. He got married once, and we threw biscuits. He and his bride
had 5 beautiful puppies, and we kept one of the girls, Jasmine, who is still
with us. Jack was never fixed; we always said Jack
was not broken. He played soccer like a pro, and had a 17-lb rock he used to
push around, pretty impressive for a 16-lb guy. We called him Buff Daddy
because his neck and shoulders were so strong. He never knew he was a small
dog, and it didn’t matter the time he took down the Rottweiler
that confronted his kids. Jackson slept beside me
for nearly 15 years; more times than not, he was the only one there for me
to talk to in the middle of the night. After his boy went off to college, he
slowed down a lot. When he started to stumble, he was frustrated, but
grateful that I was willing to carry him. His face showed such pure joy when
I came home from work every night, and he watched my every move. I think he
wanted me to be there when the time came, and I’ll bet he was more worried
about me than about himself. He still followed me everywhere, or tried, even
after his little body was thoroughly used up and he could barely stand.
People said I’d know when he was done, and I did - I’d finally made The
Appointment. Two nights before we were scheduled to go in, I was brushing my
teeth when he collapsed on my feet, and I held him and kissed him until he
was gone.
Thank you so much for finding me, friend. I promise you that the children
and I will always, always be okay.
Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving
safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside,
thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, "WOW! What a
ride!"
Wendy D.
