Jacob: A Life worth Loving

There are some things in life that truly suck. Flat tires, speeding tickets and realizing you don't have enough money to buy your $8 low-fat, extra hot, no whip, vanilla soy latte with an extra shot all fall in that category on a normal day. They make you swear, clench your fists and wonder why you got up that morning. But those are really just annoyances when compared to yesterday. What really sucks is getting a call that your dog cannot stand. What really sucks is realizing that less than four months after your Grandad died, and you promised him on his death bed that you would take care of his dog, you have to put him down. The same dog that you saw everyday after school; the same dog you were afraid would eat your new puppies when you brought them home, but instead he nurtured and indulged them. The same dog that you had to convince your grandparents to keep after he bit you shortly after they adopted them. The same dog who loved your grandparents without limit and reason, and loved you the same. That dog.

My grandparents adopted Jake in 2007 from the SPCA. He was not what any of us were expecting, considering they went to look at small, white dogs and came home with this giant, black beast. They told us that they just couldn't leave him there. He had been curled in a ball as everyone walked by and then as he saw my grandparents, he uncurled and just sat there, staring at them. He reminded my Grandad of my Uncle's Bouvier des Flandres, Jessa, my Grammie fell for his hang-dog face, and after hearing that he had been there for 3 months after being transferred form another shelter, they brought him home. He got off to a rocky start. The shelter had no idea how he was with other dogs, kids or cars. They also had no idea how old he was. One person said six or older, another said he was closer to two-years-old. My Aunt thought my grandparents were insane. How could they bring this thing into a house that routinely saw children of every age come through the doors? It didn't help that Jake had decided if my grandparents were going to be his people, he was going to protect them at any cost. He stared people down and backed them into corners, growled and barked, and one day he bit me. That was almost the end for him, my grandparents were going to take him back. I had to convince them that it was my fault. And it was. I had reached over Grandad's shoulder to get his attention while wearing a puffy coat. Jake saw it as a threat to his person, so he bit me. If I hadn't been wearing the coat, it would have been a bad bite. He immediately knew it was wrong and I have never seen a dog hit the floor so fast. He came over to me to seek forgiveness and after that, he was like a different dog. My grandparents weren't his only people. Now, he still wasn't perfect, but who is? He would beg for food at the dinner table, rivers of drool pouring from is mouth. He would bark at any sound he heard (thanks, Jake, for teaching Mia that one...). He would also steal loaves of bread off the counter and leave every piece of the plastic bag behind in minuscule bits. But we loved him. He tried his hardest to teach Brynn and Mia how to be dogs, and was marginally successful. 

This past few years had been difficult for him. Gram had knee surgery in February of 2015 and then broke her ankle that June , so trips to the park to watch the ducks had been few and far between. Grandad had surgery to insert a pace-maker, so their long walks were much shorter. But he adjusted to both. Then Gram died suddenly in her sleep last July and there was no one to share their morning toast with him, or call him the world's most beautiful boy while giving him a massage. Again, he adjusted. When Grandad started having trouble moving his one hand, and was ultimately diagnosed with a brain tumour, Jake stuck to him like glue. He slept at Grandad's feet and moved from room to room with him. When Grandad had to be pushed in a wheelchair and had to spend most of his day in bed, Jake stayed with him. He adjusted. He was cursed for being in the way, for not moving fast enough, for shedding too much, but he never wavered in his loyalty to Grandad. Ever the faithful hound. 

Jake had a few medical problems of his own that we were dealing with at the same time. He had surgery to fix a twisted stomach a few years back which left him without a spleen. As a result he had to have regular blood work, which showed he was hypothyroid. Easy fix; just a pill twice a day and he'd be fine. He also had multiple lumps that had to be monitored for excessive growth or irritation. One had grown between the muscle layers of his back leg and made it difficult to bend. Another was on his chest, right in front of his leg, again causing mobility problems. His hearing was practically non-existent. The only sound he seemed to hear was Mia when she barked. As he aged it was clear that his mobility would be the deciding factor in how long we could wait before making the ultimate decision. Not only were his lumps impeding his ability to get up and walk around, his hips were arthritic and painful. He had trouble on slippery surfaces and his appetite was waning, choosing to only eat canned food and turning up his nose if he had eaten the same thing the day before. I knew his time was coming to end, but I had wanted to have one last holiday with him. Life lesson: you don't always get what you want. I have been living at my grandparents house since Grandad died, sparing Jake from moving to our house with it's hardwood floors and losing his home. He had always been a late riser, preferring to stay in bed until 10 o'clock or he got hungry, whichever came first. So I thought nothing of it when I couldn't get him up before I left for work at 6:30am. He's just being lazy, I said to myself. Then when my dad couldn't get him to stand up at 8:00, my panic level rose a bit more. But it was okay, it wasn't desperate yet. Then my brother got him up and outside a few hours later. Finally! The relief was short-lived. He fell while outside and couldn't get up again. That was it, I was leaving work to see what was going on. By the time I got home, Jake was back inside and resting, but I could tell he wasn't comfortable. He was ravenous though, so I gave him his breakfast and made the decision then and there that he couldn't keep living with legs that refused to work. He needed to be free. Phone calls were made, tears were shed, an emergency trip to McDonald's was made, and his people rallied around him to make his last hours full of love. One of our vets came to the house and we said good-bye as he rested peacefully on his bed. I wasn't how I had planned it, but it turned out just as I had pictured it. Our old man, surrounded by his people, heading off to find Gram and Grandad in whatever realm our souls go to. As we drove him to the cremation facility today, I was hit by a realization that this was it. There would be no more semi-disgusted exclamations of, "Oh, Jake!", when he was drooling for food. There would be no more popcorn covertly thrown his way, or absent minded pats as I passed him in the hall. This was it. This was good-bye.

Life sucks sometimes, but we have to remember that those moments aren't what defines us. It's how we deal with life's shitty bits that defines us. Unfortunately, we have become accustomed to loss this year. We deal with it every day, but we can't let it take over all the time. It's been hard for me to admit, but it's okay to be sad. I just can't let the sad be everything. So I as I looked back at Jake one last time, I did so with a smile as I remembered all the good times, and the bad. Life isn't worth living if we don't have both.

Jacob Alexander
A life worth loving, 2007-2016