Jack is in Doggy Heaven.

Jack

Age 13, ~2002 - March 21, 2015

My heart goes with you. Thank you for all the beautiful memories you left behind. RIP, Jackaboo...

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Nickname: Jackaboo, Jackal, Jackallabal, Blackjack

For me, it was love at first sight. I found Jack’s profile on a rescue website. I had seen him posted by another pet rescue earlier. I was looking for a black lab companion that year, 2007, and wanted to adopt a dog in need of a loving home. The rescue group I adopted him from was the third shelter he’d known since being picked up by Animal Control that year. He was found walking along a road with a piece of rope around his neck. Jack’s age was estimated by my vet to be about 5 years, back then. He was a very large, muscular purebred lab with a glossy black coat, perky velvet ears, and bright smiling eyes. He held his head high, which gave him a regal bearing. Jack was the name that he came with, so we kept it.

From the day he came into my home, Jack was friendly, loving, and sweet-natured. He soon became a velcro lab, unwilling to let me out of his sight. He was a constant reassuring presence, 90 pounds of black teddy bear splayed on the floor of whichever room I was in.
Jack was a special needs dog , having had recent heartworm treatment. He had hip dysplasia that required exercise and supplements. He also had shelter trauma, and bore teeth marks on his side from another dog. He would prove to be unable to socialize easily with other dogs for the rest of his life, although he got along beautifully with the two other large dogs in the household.

In his younger years, Jack loved to play. He would fetch balls and frisbees from the yard or pool, where he enjoyed swimming alongside me. He loved to wade into the lakes in the park, and resolutely guided me there whenever the opportunity arose. Together we would watch the ducks glide off across the lake at his approach, and I would savor the view as Jack swam as far offshore as the leash would allow. I wasn’t allowed to let him off-leash at the park, as some people found his size to be menacing.

Jack formed close bonds with my three cats, as well as the dogs. He became particularly close to my tiny gray tabby cat Ming, who cuddled with him throughout the winters for warmth and comfort. Whenever Jack found cats roosting on one of his orthopedic dog beds, he would graciously sprawl on the floor alongside it, so as not to disturb them.
Jack especially loved children. When my grandson grew old enough to crawl, he found he could climb all over Jack and use him as a large, overstuffed pillow. Whenever he came to visit, locating Jack was one of the first things on my grandson’s agenda. He liked to feed Jack treats, and Jack would carefully free the carpet of the cracker crumbs my grandson left on each visit.

Up until his final months, Jack was a perfect gentleman in the house. He never had accidents, and took his responsibilities seriously. He liked to welcome my return with deep sonorous barks from the window that overlooked the driveway. When I was away, he stretched out in front of the door and waited patiently for my return. When I began working remotely from home, he kept me company from his nearby bed.
Despite the exercise and the supplements that I gave him, Jack’s hip dysplasia slowly worsened over time. His back legs grew stiff, and then weakened to the point where they failed him often. His arthritis grew worse. He lost his hearing. His eyesight dimmed. The medication that he was prescribed for pain management eventually took a toll on his kidneys, causing him additional discomfort.

It’s a testament to the stoicism of dogs that we can never know the extent of their discomfort; they rarely complain. I had to rely on the visible signs of Jack’s physical decline, because he remained unfailingly brave and sweet-natured. I needed to hear confirmation from the vet that Jack’s misery would only worsen in whatever time remained. He was losing the ability to stand and to walk, as well as going into acute kidney failure.
With Jack’s passing, a piece of my heart is gone forever. He was my best friend. I know I’ll continue to see his shadows for years to come. He was my constant loving companion for eight wonderful years. I will never get another dog; he was one in a million. He’ll live on in my heart until the day we meet again.

RIP, sweet Jack. Thank you for all the lovely memories that you’ve given me and our family.