We tried so hard to teach him well. We taught him that peeing inside was less than desirable, that the cat prefers to bathe himself, that food was not to be eaten off the counters, that ice cubes on the floor were fair game, and that he had to walk directly beside us with his head no further forward than our leg. He spent all our walks staring up at us with his big, beautiful eyes which said very clearly, "I love you. What can I do to make you proud and happy?" He also spent our walks rubbing his head against us, which strangers thought was a sign of how much he loved us, but which we knew was his way of letting us know that he did not like his head collar.
Jackson was pure, unadulterated joy. He was love that asked only that you love him back. Which we did. Endlessly. When we lost him, we were at home, we were with him, we were playing, and when it happened, we were holding him. I try to take comfort in that, but it's hard to let feelings of comfort outweigh the images and the pain of the 20 minutes between Jackson being totally fine and the vet telling us that there was nothing they could do. He was gone.
***
Jackson bounded into our lives and changed us forever. We tried to teach him, but we learned so much more from him. We will be a better family for the next perfect puppy in our lives because we were lucky enough to be Jackson's family first.
When this happened, I went through a lot of stages.
I didn't believe this had really happened. It couldn't have. He was fine.
I shouldn't have tried to measure him. He got scared of the measuring tape.
I should have driven faster, known more about pet CPR, run red lights, insisted that the vet try harder, try again.
I was so angry. He wasn't even 9 months old. Nine months.
And now, I am sad.
I miss my dog. I want him back.
***
I've decided a few things as I process this, slowly, painfully, with two steps forward and one step back. Most of them center on how grateful I am for my husband, our life together, our ridiculous cat, and the precious puppy that blessed our lives with his lap-sitting, apple-loving, banana-craving, ice-cube-chomping, long-tongued, big-eyed, huge-hearted presence. But there is one other thing.
Go home. It's easy to stay at work. Especially when you have a loving spouse who takes good care of you and brings you food so you don't starve and takes care of the puppy and the cat so you don't have to worry about them. But go home. Do a good, honorable day's (or night's) work, but then...go home. Whatever your family looks like, you're never going to get 40 years down the road and wish you'd spent less time with them and more time with your badly lit, badly ventilated office. It's easy to think that what you're doing is that important, but unless your hands are performing a surgery saving someone's life, what you're working on can keep. Until tomorrow morning. So go home.
Our lives will never be the same for having known him and having lost him.
We love you, Jackson. And we miss you.
