Jake's death has left such a hole in my heart that even now, four months later, I cry as I write this. I've been working through the feelings by working on a video for him. I'm finished now, with the video anyway. It doesn't come close to saying everything about him that I'd like the world to know. But for now, it's enough.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The first 24 hours
In the first 24-hours that I've learned that Jacob is dying, my mind and heart have been swimming with memories and emotions. Most are hard to sort out and I'm too tired to try. There's one thing that seems important right now though, and that is to try and capture his physical presence somehow. I want to have all of my senses absorb every detail of him before I can't do that anymore.
I try to memorize the feel of Jakes fur. I bury my fingers deep into his white chest fur- it's soft and slightly curly. Then I touch the whispy fur on the top of and beneath his ears. It's silky soft there, and always looks scraggly. On his back, his fur is still soft but coarser and very curly. Funny how it's gotten curlier with age. His vertebrae are noticeable when I run my fingers along his spine. They always have been though, regardless of his weight. His tail-nubbin streams a long, multi-colored flag. (I wonder if I could make a bookmark out of that fur. Would that be morbid?)
Jake's lifetime of living with reactive dogs have earned him some unique features. There is a chunk of his left ear missing and white tufts on the top of his head from scars. I'm noticing again the way his hollow cheeks are accentuated by the missing molar on one side in the the back of his mouth. The molar was removed a couple of years ago because it was cracked; the result of being a power chewer and us giving him bones that were too hard. (I’m so sorry- we didn’t know they were bad for you.)
I bury my nose into his fur, breathing as deeply as I can to take in his scent. I’ve always loved the way his fur smells but today it’s diluted by the chemical smells of yesterday’s visits to the vet. I keep trying anyway.
I touch at his feet and notice how long they look. A lifetime of running agility courses with me (hurry up Mom, you're late again!) have caused his ligaments to breakdown. I am tempted to brush him and trim his nails and yet I know how incredibly stupid that is right now. Plus, Jacob hates being brushed. What true cowdog needs to be pretty anyway, right? Maybe it's the primate in me, wanting to demonstrate affection.
I decide that the best thing to do, and the simplest for both of us, is to lie out on the deck next to Jacob and just watch him. The sun is warm and soothing. We watch for squirrels together. I notice he's breathing a little too fast. I think he hurts. Then he turns, reaches out to bump my nose with his and I start to cry again.
I try to memorize the feel of Jakes fur. I bury my fingers deep into his white chest fur- it's soft and slightly curly. Then I touch the whispy fur on the top of and beneath his ears. It's silky soft there, and always looks scraggly. On his back, his fur is still soft but coarser and very curly. Funny how it's gotten curlier with age. His vertebrae are noticeable when I run my fingers along his spine. They always have been though, regardless of his weight. His tail-nubbin streams a long, multi-colored flag. (I wonder if I could make a bookmark out of that fur. Would that be morbid?)
Jake's lifetime of living with reactive dogs have earned him some unique features. There is a chunk of his left ear missing and white tufts on the top of his head from scars. I'm noticing again the way his hollow cheeks are accentuated by the missing molar on one side in the the back of his mouth. The molar was removed a couple of years ago because it was cracked; the result of being a power chewer and us giving him bones that were too hard. (I’m so sorry- we didn’t know they were bad for you.)
I bury my nose into his fur, breathing as deeply as I can to take in his scent. I’ve always loved the way his fur smells but today it’s diluted by the chemical smells of yesterday’s visits to the vet. I keep trying anyway.
I touch at his feet and notice how long they look. A lifetime of running agility courses with me (hurry up Mom, you're late again!) have caused his ligaments to breakdown. I am tempted to brush him and trim his nails and yet I know how incredibly stupid that is right now. Plus, Jacob hates being brushed. What true cowdog needs to be pretty anyway, right? Maybe it's the primate in me, wanting to demonstrate affection.
I decide that the best thing to do, and the simplest for both of us, is to lie out on the deck next to Jacob and just watch him. The sun is warm and soothing. We watch for squirrels together. I notice he's breathing a little too fast. I think he hurts. Then he turns, reaches out to bump my nose with his and I start to cry again.
I'm going to miss you, Jacob.
Watching squirrels
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