It is uncharacteristically quiet here tonight. Normally we’d have the television on and be listening to Jack race up and down the staircase at full speed and tossing my old shoes up in the air with unparalleled enthusiasm, but not tonight. Not anymore.
This afternoon, suddenly and unexpectedly, Jack passed away in his kennel. I saw him at lunch and he was as spirited as ever. Edgar says he was just fine during the afternoon as he watched Jack walk into his kennel like any other time he’s done before. Not long after, Edgar went to check on him and he wasn’t breathing. He tried to resuscitate him, but it was too late.
He did throw up this morning, but we assumed it was like the occasional vomit he would have sporadically over the last few months after not eating enough. Today, Edgar had a bit of trouble getting Jack to eat. He also had whitish stool (TMI?) at lunch, which was something we hadn’t seen from him, even though we had to deal with seeing him through a Parvo recovery immediately after we adopted him. We assumed it had something to do with the old shoe and wad of toilet paper he decimated last night. But we didn’t think anything of it since even at lunch he was as playful as any other time.
The only thing I can really think of is that he somehow contracted Parvo from a still-infected area of the house or yard. He contracted the disease after his second shot, and I’ve been reluctant to give him his third and final round for fear that it’d kill him. I had decided to go ahead and have him vaccinated, but we just hadn’t gotten around to it. I can only think that if he did die of Parvo today, that the shot would have killed him as well. But all we can do is guess.
I’ve cried monster tears over Jack. I’ll forever miss his adorable wagging docked tail, the feel of his course hair, his face, his curious floppy ears, his love of everyone and every animal he met, his wet nose, even his bark. I am glad that he was able to meet my family over Easter. I think that was the best weekend of his short life. He brought immeasureable joy to our lives, and I can only hope that we made the last two months of his life far more fulfilled than the possibly-shorter life he would have had in the shelter. Instead of dwell on how we can have him longer, I’m trying to focus on the life of love we gave him while he was here.
It’s still hard, though. This morning he was vainly trying to hop onto the bed with me while I tried to sneak in several more minutes of sleep, so I helped him up. He licked my ears and sniffed my hair before lying down beside me. He tried to climb up my leg at and ensnare my attention while I made lunch. Before I left to go back to work, he darted toward the door and Edgar made note that he learned what it means when he hears the keys.
And now he’s gone. It’s like my life hit a brick wall and something very valuable to me just got stripped without warning, never to return.
But the world won’t stop for me because I lost my pet. I must move on. Crying won’t make him come back. No matter how much I prayed to God and wouldn’t admit that it really happened, he won’t come back.
But he will always be missed. We adopted him exactly two months ago today. He will always be considered a member of this family.
You give and take away
But my heart will choose to say,
‘LORD, blessed be Your name…’