Homegrown

By Stephanie Stevens

My sons’ dog Jake, a Jack Russell Terrier, is heading over the rainbow bridge today.

I feel awful for my sons, and for their dad Mike, who loved the little rascal for many years, and have had to make the decision together that it is time to end his suffering and let him go. If I could spare them the pain of final goodbyes I would, but I know I cannot. Best I can do is just be here for them.

And I know they are making the right decision.

I was going to write a tribute to the Jakester, but thought instead I would reprise an old bit I wrote about dog sitting Jake several years ago. It makes me giggle when I remember that event, and Jake was nothing if not a source of smiles.

Rest well little dog. You were a damn fine pup. And don’t worry my darling boys… all dogs go to heaven. That is a given.

April 22, 2008

Well.

It has been quite a day and a half. My two ex-husbands Mike and Ian planned some time ago to take all our assorted children to West Edmonton Mall for some rollicking fun. Minus me of course, which suits me fine as I was loving the idea of some solitude.

But of course, this arrangement resulted in the arrangement that I would care for Mike’s and the kids’ Jack Russell Terror, Jake. And no, that is not a typo.

Now, first of all, as Mike and I share custody of our nearly grown boys, he gave me a key to the house so if ever they needed to get in I could open the door. However, he recently had to change his locks, and in doing so, entrusted the key he had cut for me to my darling 18-year-old Justin.
Justin promptly lost said key.
But thinking he knew where it was, we didn’t bother to tell Mike so as to avoid the whole lecture about not losing keys.
So here is a brief point form outline of my last 48 hours:
Sunday afternoon: Mike leaves, I head to his house and let dog out. On my way out I lock the door

Sunday evening: I go to let dog out for last pee, realize I have no key, say several bad words, and climb in through side window, incurring several scrapes on the way in.
I say more bad words. And lock door on way out.

Monday morning: I realize I must let dog out again. But again face a locked door. I consider having myself checked for Alzheimer’s. One kid goes with me and I send him through the window. Younger children take bus to school.
I let dog out, collect items for trip to Edmonton for youngest son, and take oldest son to school… this time leaving the door unlocked.

Monday afternoon: make frenzied trip to get tires balanced before weekend conference, renew my car insurance which ran out 10 days previous (oops) and run around doing various chores before deciding dog should just come home with me for the next two days instead of being all alone. Head to house, collect dog and dog food, walk out door and lock it. Realize I left daughter’s Ipod inside. Immediately realize my error in locking door. More bad words. And another break and enter.
Take dog to my house, walk in, take him off leash.
Dog sees cat. Cat sees dog. Much insanity ensues. Did not realize cat could fly. Did not realize I should get out of the way.
Cat finds hiding place, dog is quivering with excitement regarding cat, I wash much blood from wounds on both arms incurred in cat meeting dog incident.
More very bad words.
Find cat, put him in my room with door closed and all necessities. Find dog. Discuss finer points of interspecies manners and pecking order. Cat was here first.
Go pick kids up from school. Break into house for a fourth time and ponder the legalities of actions.
Get stuff. Make sure we have all stuff. Triple check that we have all stuff. Go back for dog bed. Lock door.
Kids and men leave.

Monday evening: make dinner, write, watch some TV. Ensure cat/dog segregation complete. Go to bed.
Dog whines.
Dog cries.
Dog gets into garbage.
I sigh.
Pat the cat on head and take blanket and pillow downstairs to sleep on couch to shut dog up… but clean up garbage on kitchen floor first. Have serious discussion with dog about interspecies manners again.
Lie down on couch. Dog leaps up, snuggles under the blankets and lies down on top of me.
I sigh.
Dog is happy.
Dog sleeps.
I do not.
And that concludes today’s episode of Adventures in Dog Sitting. Stay tuned. The little runt is here for another night.

– Stephanie Stevens is a Columbia Valley-based writer who finds herself chin deep in animals.

Article Share