In The Beginning

I have always been a big-dog person.

My first dog after leaving home was a husky-wolf mix, Misha. She was tall, wooly, and quite a commanding presence when walking the aisles of the pet supply store. After moving to our new house in the California Valley, we decided she needs a friend to spend her days with so we rescued another homeless wolfdog hybrid, Jack. This guy was even bigger, even woollier, and looked a lot more wolf than malamute he was supposedly crossed with. This guy had no manners, knew no boundaries, and took over the house as his own. Instead of teaching him right from wrong, we just learned to adapt. As we always said, "It's Jack's world, we just live in it." This phrase was usually followed by a very heavy sigh.

In the summer of 2000, Misha died of bone cancer. It was a traumatic time for us, a raw pain I didn't know I could experience. The only saving grace for my husband and I was the birth of our daughter two months earlier. We found solace and comfort in her. Jack missed his friend but it was hard to tell if he took out his grief with bad behavior, since his behavior was not the greatest to start with. he always played by his own rules and was not about to have a change of heart now.

Fast forward to 2010. Our daughter is ten years old now, and was joined by her brother in 2003. The kids have always known of our house with a big aloof dog in it. He has seniority. Jack is fifteen years old now, a good stretch for a dog his size. His hips have been giving out for some time now, but he always managed to make do. Sometimes we had to help him up by putting a towel beneath him and using it as a sling to help him up. He finally got to the point where even that was not enough; he could not stand for more than a few steps without falling over again. Finally, on the Monday after Easter, Jack made his final trip to the vet. The kids got to say their goodbyes and my husband and I lifted him on a piece of wood into the back of the truck. It was excruciating to see him go. his heart, his lungs, his eyes, all his organs were in perfect working order, his bones had just given up the fight.  Father Time can be cruel that way.

A few days later the kids went back to school, the husband went back to work and I was here in this house alone for the first time ever. The silence was deafening. Jack was not a cuddly dog, never played with toys, never fetched a ball, never came when called. But I know he loved us and his absence felt like a heavy woolen blanket laid across my shoulders. I tried to put a positive spin where I could, like thinking about taking our summer vacation without having to pay the dog sitter to come to the house or worry about him in his pen in the yard in the summer heat. But even I knew those excuses were only going to take me so far.

I miss Jack terribly, and I know he is up there on the couch-he-is-not-supposed-to-be-on in the sky, probably with Misha by his side.

But this blog is not about Jack. This blog is about how Jack taught me all the lessons that would most likely prove to be completely useless in my next adventure.

Fast forward again to September 2010.....The Swiss Invasion.