Horribly, my brother had to put his dog down today. He is devastated. I am devastated, too. I have been crying all afternoon, and I am sure he has, too, because, no matter how much we tease each other, my brother is not a “heartless, unfeeling iceberg.” It’s an ongoing family joke. It goes like this: A woman and a man are on a date. It’s a sad movie and she is sobbing, thinking what a jerk he is because he is not crying. “Heartless, unfeeling iceberg.” Meanwhile, the man at the movie is struggling not to weep. He doesn’t want her to think he’s a weakling. My brother is not a weakling, either. He is also not a jerk…or an heartless, unfeeling iceberg. That’s how I know he was probably crying today. A lot.
Jack, named after our favorite teacher of all time, Mr. Jack Bibb, was a slobbery, handsome bull mastiff. Bull mastiffs live 8-10 years. Jack was not quite 10. Not a long enough life for a human companion, and my brother will probably not live long enough for his sweet, broken heart to ever be repaired. His dog was his other love, second only to his human family. Jack, of course, was his family, too. They always are, aren’t they? Jack wasn’t really “second” at all. He was family, too. He was His Dog.
We always had dogs when I was a kid, but I have never had a dog as an adult. In college, you don’t have a dog, because you live in apartments, etc. (Or at least I didn’t have a dog.) Later, I moved around a lot. I moved across the country. I moved out of the country. I moved back…and so on.
I like dogs, though, I just haven’t had one for a long, long time. It was a long time since I was a kid. Now, my husband and I live on a busy street, so we still don’t have a dog. Unfortunately, we have already lost two cats, thanks to the fact that people drive like assholes. I have decided that I would like to have another dog myself, eventually, because, with the exception of yap-yap dogs, I like dogs a lot. I just don’t have one. I think I will wait until I’m about 85, though, because I couldn’t stand the pain. The cats were bad enough. I would want to outlive the dog, for sure.
Jack was the closest thing I’ve had to a dog since I was a kid: my older brother’s sweet, slobbery, beautiful dog. I loved Jack. Originally, he was our neighbor’s puppy. Then he became my brother’s puppy. My husband and I drove him from Chico to Sacramento to deliver him to my bro. The entire trip, he squirmed around on my lap, and he wriggled around on my feet. Even then, he was sweet. I fell in love with him immediately.
It didn’t take very long for Jack to get bigger. More slobbery. I didn’t mind his slobber that much because he was so cute, even whe he tripled in size. Slobber is gross, and bull mastiff’s produce a lot of it. I actually thought it was kind of funny; with a slobbery dog like that, you just have to have some paper towels at-the-ready for when he would shake his head. Then the spit would fly around, almost gallons at a time. Jack’s spit was much less controlled than high school Monte Moser’s spit, but equally spitty. Well, MUCH more spitty, actually.
In high school, Monte Moser had a rare talent to let spittle, well, no, loogies, actually, to drizzle down, almost falling on the unlucky target/victim until he slurped the loogie back up. Monte was the only one I know who could do that. It was gross, but, like Jack’s gallon-sized saliva, it was also kind of funny. Monte could get away with his weird slurping “trick”because he was popular. Monte was kinda cute, too. Not as cute as Jack, of course.
Today my heart is broken. I hate that Jack is dead. I hate that he’ll stay that way. I am glad I got to have Jack in my life, even for ten short years. It still isn’t long enough…and I don’t know that it ever could have been. I hope, somewhere in heaven, Jack can be reunited with his namesake. Rest in peace, Jack Jack. Rest in peace, Mr. Bibb. I love you both.