Goodbye, Jack
Today, I did one of the best things a friend can do for another friend.
So why do I feel so empty?
May 31, 2013, I was driving past a pet adoption fair in town and even though I knew I shouldn’t stop, telling myself that never works.
There were about twenty dogs; all shapes, colors and breeds in crates spread about the parking lot under canopies. One crate though, contained two dogs. One was a smaller, mostly white Queensland Healer named Jack, about six months old, and the other was Savannah, a Sharpei mix that they thought was about three years old. They told me the two were best friends. Savannah had been at the shelter for two years, and Jack since he was born. I brought them both home that day because you don’t split up friends and they both captured my heart. I’m a little bit of a dog person.
Jack was never agressive with a single cat, dog or human being. It wasn’t in him. Always happy, always cheerful, and eager to play or just sit beside me. I wasn’t good enough for him.
About two years ago, Jack developed some lumps. The doctor told me he had cancer and there was nothing than could be done; I’d probable have him with me for a couple of months. Luckily, the doctor was wrong, and I got to be with Jack for two years. Not long enough by a long shot, but way better than two months.
I took him to the vet today because he hadn’t eaten much in a week. I knew what it meant, but convinced myself that the doctor would find some minor condition and a new prescription would fix everything.
No, she said, his body is riddled with cancer, and yes, he’s suffering. Even though he was stoic; not a whimper or complaint. He climbed on my lap and I knew he loved me. I asked if she could give him something to restore his appetite and I could have a couple more days with him, and she said she could try. As soon as she walked out of the exam room, I knew I was being selfish. What could I say or do in a couple of days that I hadn’t said or done in the last two years?
When she came back, I told her it was time. I held him, I cried, I told him how much I loved him, and he licked my face for the last time. He closed his eyes and I felt his heart stop. The end was peaceful, as it always is. I did what was best, and right, but it sure feels wrong.
It hurts, and I’m still crying. I buried him on our property in our pet cemetery where too many other faithful companions lie.
Someday, I’ll rest there with Jack and the others.
Goodbye, Jack.
