Jasmine left this world yesterday. It was an agonizing decision for all of us. It was clear that she was failing, suffering the degenerative effects of diabetes. She hobbled around the house much of the time, finding obscure corners to lie down in, seeking solitude where in the past she rarely missed an opportunity for sociality. Her eyes were starting to cloud over, the early stages of blindness, and even the most delectable of dog treats were no longer met with enthusiasm and gusto.
Yet she was still very much alive, and as we contemplated the decision, each time we saw her break into a trot, or her tail wag, or give a hearty bark, we wondered if our dreadful countdown was really synchronized with our moral compasses. Yet the bad times were beginning to dominate the good, and my heart ached for her when she uncontrollably urinated in the house, right in front of us, then slinked away in embarrassment.
Before long I will only remember the good times, of which there were plenty. She was the perfect dog for our family. Scruffy-looking with an under-bite, she was full of enthusiasm and always up for an adventure, but also content to sit on the couch and watch a movie with the family. She was great with children, as many passed through our house over the years. And she showed a special affinity for the grandchildren, and extraordinary patience as they pulled her tail or sat on her, and occasionally poked her in the eyes in their clumsy efforts to pet her. Jazzy seemed to understand their innocence, and also that Layla and MJ were family and deserved her most tender treatment and attention.
She made friends easily, which contributed to her never-ending wanderlust through our neighborhoods. More than once she was “rescued” on a busy street away from home, and returned with an offer to keep her if she was available. Almost universally, our neighbors loved her. Steve Littlefield, who lives next door, bought treats for her, and even Christmas presents, and was delighted when she came over to visit and walked nonchalantly into his house. The mailman took pleasure in her greetings, and let her come in his truck into visit.
I remember fondly the times we took her backpacking. Even in the hot Utah canyons she would keep up with the group, although when we climbed we sometimes had to give her a lift to the next level. But surprisingly, she usually found a way, with her short little legs and long body. Whenever we encountered a pool of water she would enthusiastically jump in, swimming and splashing and barking, her little Yorkshire/dachshund body under the surface, and her nose sticking out, looking a bit like a muskrat just learning to swim. Her frenetic yelping in the water caused strangers to think she was drowning, and once in Orlando someone called the fire department to rescue her when she wandered in a nearby pond for a dip.
Jazz was perhaps most famous for her daily task, which was to retrieve the newspaper from the end of the driveway. It was her job, and I think made her feel worthwhile, knowing she was making an important contribution to the household (especially given her rather dubious watchdog talents). First thing every morning we would let her out and she would race down to the end of the driveway, do her business, and return with the paper in her mouth, for which she usually received the reward of a single Milk Bone, a fair wage in her mind for an honest task performed. (And doubled when we started getting the Wall Street Journal.) She wasn’t always perfect at it. Sometimes she would be distracted by birds, squirrels or chipmunks, or hampered by the weather. In Park City when the snow reached as high as her head she sometimes struggled mightily to climb the steps. But she was always enthusiastic about her duty, and persevered when she could, which is more than most people can say about their jobs.
With so many fond memories it was hard for us to say good-bye. But yesterday afternoon Sam took her to the vet for the injection, then brought her body home and buried her deep in the garden. We planted an apple tree above her, which was both sentimental and fitting, since apple cores were always one of her favorite foods. This morning when I walked down the stairs I thought I heard the tinkling of her collar, and I suppose every day when I retrieve the paper I will think of her.
Jasmine was a good dog, and I think that being kind to all and loved by many is an epitaph all of us could aspire to. She was our family pet, so fulfilled the measure of her creation. She had a special relationship with each of us. She remembered all the children and was excited when they would return home. And perhaps one day, depending upon how the eternities are organized, she will greet us again, tail wagging wildly, jumping enthusiastically to our thighs, happy to see us return.
