By Dan Miles
This morning before work, I walked alone. Again. My four-legged walking buddy will no longer accompany me during my daily exercise. I held back tears thinking how rapidly the growth on his front leg progressed over the last three weeks and our decision to end his suffering. But putting aside my sadness, I remembered the joys our mt canine friend brought me and my wife, Nancy these past seven years.
Captain Jack Sparrow is the name the animal shelter in Tennessee gave our boxer mix. Since he proved to be quite the food pirate always looking for some unattended morsal within his reach, we saw no reason for a change. The day we met the van that delivered him up north, the driver labeled him a flight risk and handed him over to us. Nancy and I were not sure what to make of this sixty-five-pound dog with a powerful frame. The report of his breaking out of two crates on the two-day ride north did little to dispel our concerns. I gave him the once over. His red coat and elongated muzzle gave clues as to the other breeds mixed in with his boxer ancestry. He was a handsome dog, and we were instantly drawn to him.
We had little time to think about all of this because the van had a schedule to keep. Besides the fees had already been paid, so we loaded him into the back seat of our car where I sat next to him. He appeared nervous but not aggressive. Not long into the two-hour drive home he rested his head on my arm for the duration of the trip.
The ladies at the shelter had sent pertinent documents such as health records, vaccinations, and Jack’s date of birth, but little else. They assured us that Jack was friendly to people and other pets. However, they omitted an important detail. Jack suffered from severe separation anxiety. The severity of his condition became apparent the next day when he chewed through our car’s seat belts when we took him with us to church. During the ensuing months he broke window screens and frames, chewed up window blinds and broke crates guaranteed to be escape proof. We tried everything to keep him under control in our absence, but nothing worked, so we took him with us.
Despite his major flaw, Jack was very personable. Everyone he met liked him and he liked them. I called him my Will Rogers dog. He never met a person he didn’t lick. The problem we had with him was, he demanded radical changes to our lifestyle. We could not leave him home alone, so we took him along when the both of us needed to be out of the house at the same time.
I often joked when someone petted him that I’d gladly let them take him home. But despite the difficulty of adjusting, we bonded. He became my walking buddy. He accompanied me through our village on my four-mile trek. On snowy days when I left him at the house because the salt on the roads burned his feet, people would ask about his welfare.
Jack proved to be a ray of sunshine brightening those he met. Despite his size, children had no fear of him. We have pictures of our grandchildren with their heads on Jack’s chest as he reclined in our living room. He became a part of our ministry at church. We set up a crate for him behind Nancy’s keyboard. He missed fewer Sundays than most of our members. Our Sunday School kids lined up to give him a hug. When we couldn’t find a sitter for him during our monthly nursing home service, the activity director at the facility suggested that we bring him in with us. The residents loved this, and Jack gave out an anticipatory whine every time we drove by the nursing home.
I could say many more things about my canine buddy, including how he disappeared from a sitter during a thunderstorm. He had been left in a crate while the sitter walked other dogs. Jack broke out of his confinement and out the bathroom window. We searched five days on dusty back roads and had many “Jack sightings”. At one point, Nancy pulled up to him in our car,but he took off. The flight instinct had taken over and not until the adrenaline wore off days later did he allow human contact.
Jack leaves a hole in our lives. He was more than just a dog. But I am thankful for the gift of him. He was not what I would have chosen, but he was what I needed. I still get emotional thinking about his last day. I sat in the back seat of the car with him when the vet came out to perform the procedure. Jack rested his head on my arm and went to sleep.
Ned led out with such a quick pace that the others had difficulty keeping up. Several times he turned to them urging them onward with the excitement of a child. They continued to the maze of stone hills through which Ned navigated with skill. With the last of the hills behind them, they looked out on a broad green valley–the same valley Annie and Ned had crossed following the man in white.
Grace gaped at the glorious scene. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as this. It’s beyond beauty.”
Josiah answered. “Abby and I have. This reminds me of Am’s castle that we visited.”
Ned turned to face them. “Of course. It’s all part of the same country.”
“But that was in the middle of the desert.” Josiah tilted his head.
Ned smiled, “Am’s country is not limited to time and space as we know it. Come with me at least as far as the gate.” He turned back to the beautiful valley and started to walk down the gold colored path without waiting for the others to follow.
As they entered that blessed valley, the last traces of Ned’s advanced years melted from his face. Small animals walked past the troop exhibiting no fear of the intruders. In the distance they saw a lamb nuzzling up to a lion who laid down beside it. Hummingbirds hovered among the many exquisite flowers of unknown variety.
They had not walked far when a large dog ran toward them. His red coat shined in the crystal-clear air. He pranced like a puppy, stopping in front of Ned who hugged him warmly. “Jack! You’re here too. I wasn’t sure I’d see you again. But no surprise really. If Adon let you in before why not again?”
(Excerpt from Land of Adon: Battle For Truth available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Land-Adon-Battle-Truth-Three-ebook/dp/B0882LP9FH )
Permalink
I’m sorry about Jack. It’s a very relatable pain to anyone who has had a pet for a prolonged period of time and then lost them.
I loved reading your post. It’s a great homage to your dog, and to our connection with our pets in general.