That post reminded me once again of my canine pal Jak, who left this planet more than two years ago but still frequents my thoughts.
My
dog Jak whined his way into my life in 1996 as a scrawny, insecure mongrel pup of
uncertain parentage. His appearance and behavior
gave evidence that his family tree bore no shortage of branches: he sported the coat of an Australian Cattle
dog, the speed of a Greyhound, and the general build of a German Shepherd, with
the traits of a few other breeds thrown in for good measure.
Jak
was never a fan of water. He tolerated
baths with rigid distaste, and his first experience with water outdoors—a step
onto the rain-soaked sidewalk the day after we brought him home—resulted in a
quickly-raised paw and a distressed whimper.
Never
the model of “good dog” behavior, Jak viewed commands as something to be
largely ignored, or, if obeyed, casually executed after some delay. That is, unless the prompt of a dog biscuit
was offered. This was not a sign of
stubbornness, nor, I think, of lack of comprehension. He simply couldn’t be bothered.
He
never did get to be “top dog” in our little household; bullied into second and
eventually third spot first by my Border Collie cross Sneeks, and then by my purebred
Border Collie Emma. Not that he seemed
to mind. He didn’t have a burning desire
to be a leader.
Overshadowed
by the others in most respects, and possessed of many less than desirable
traits, Jak nonetheless shone in one area: his love for his people.
While
Sneeks would greet her human companions with the air of a goddess graciously stooping
to acknowledge mere mortals, Jak was visibly overjoyed when he saw us after
even the shortest of partings, prancing to greet us with a flailing tail and a
broad, toothy grin.
And,
he was unquestionably loyal. Each day,
about half an hour before my usual “home time”, Jak would make his way to the
edge of the concrete parking pad in front of our house, plunk his hind end
down, and patiently sit gazing down the driveway, ears alert for the crunch of
tires on gravel, until my car made its nightly appearance.
Somehow
the years slipped away in the all-too-quick way they do for dogs. As Jak’s health faded, it became clear that
the time for a final drive to the vet was approaching. On a sunny May morning, I found myself on the
way back from that difficult trip, marveling at how quickly time rockets
through the hourglass, and how easy it is to take our blessings—including those
that come to us in four-legged form—for granted.
As
the car proceeded through the springtime landscape, I pondered the possibility
that I might have benefited over the past fourteen years by spending a little
more “canine time”. I thought about all
of the evenings Jak had waited so patiently for me to come home—sometimes, only
to be brushed off impatiently if I’d had a difficult day at work or was
preoccupied by other issues.
Only
then did I realize that I had taken Jak’s love and loyalty more than a little
for granted.
Perhaps
it’s human nature that we are most prone to under-value those who do things for
us in an understated manner. When I find
myself slipping into this pattern in future, I will try to remember that
grey-and-black form sitting in patient vigil at the end of the parking pad day
after day. If nothing else, the memory
may prompt me to be a little more appreciative.
I
think Jak would like that.
Adapted from a column by the author that appeared
in the Creemore Echo, September 24, 2010.
