RIP Jack

We lost another dog. Little Jack died at home of what the vet thinks was a pulmonary embolism related to his Cushing's disease. So last month, after Willie died and I said Jack was not dying, I was completely wrong.

All I know is he'd been miserable for a month, had been to the vet three times and had blood tests and urine tests and X-rays and medications, and was still miserable. The vets (Dr. John and Dr. Larry) were struggling to figure out why his mild Cushing's made him feel so bad, and how to make him better. He's not suffering any more, and I'm grateful.

Jack was simultaneously a sweet little guy and a tragic figure.

C. adopted him and his mother, Jasmine, from a dog rescue in 2010. She'd just lost her Pomeranian, Jasper, and kinda freaked out. She ended up bringing home four dogs: Willie and Rudy, the Poms, and Jack-Jack and Jasmine.

Jack (we dropped the other Jack) was about 5, and half Maltese, with some poodle and Shih Tzu. He was quiet and mellow, and always let his mother the tyrant beat him at play. He liked people but didn't have much to do with other dogs. He decided he was my dog, but I resisted – I've never cared for little poodles. Yes, shallow. I was better after C. quit giving him the poodle haircut.

He got into a fight with our big red hound dog, Badeaux, and lost an eye. It was horrifying. We found Jasmine guarding his eyeball when we got home from the vet.

Badeaux had never done anything like that, and had to be separated from the other dogs.

Checking out the country place, in back, Kewpie the peke;
middle, Annie and Willie; front, Jazzbert and Jack.

Jack loved his homemade dinners, and he loved living in the country. He blundered into the crawlspace once, and we went nuts trying to find him. We called him, checked with neighbors, looked in the barn. I finally stuck my head down the trapdoor and saw him going back and forth, looking for the way out. He never barked or cried, the idiot. (Jasmine did the same thing when we first moved out here.)

Then Earl went after him and he lost the other eye. Earl had never done anything like that, and had to be separated from the other dogs. I have no idea what happened – Earl is bigger and always played a little rough with the little guys, but is not and has never been mean. C. will never forgive him, which is why Earl is my dog now.

Jack got around pretty well, and stuck close to me (C. would laugh about the halt leading the blind). He used to sit on my lap and lick my leather recliner until I poked at him and made him stop. He was pretty cuddly, and liked to sit with me.

I could have been nicer to him.

He was a good dog.