Today is the anniversary of my beloved dog, Jackson’s death. Jackson has been gone for two years today. He may not have meant much to the guy down the road, but to me, he was pure gold. To anybody who has ever had a loving companion with whom they have had the privelege of sharing a part of their lives, know that this is a tribute to your special fur-friend, and that part of you that left with them when they went away.
Jackson was pretty special, and he came to me at a time when I needed him the most. It was love at first sight, in that pet shop window, that was for sure. And the feeling was mutual. He pranced out of there on the end of his little red lead like he owned the world. He was a bobbing, five inch high powder puff as he strutted with his head high just in front of me, moving through the mall as fast as his little legs could carry him. He was on his way to better things and he knew it!
My husband was harder to win over. The puff ball wasn’t a real dog as far as he was concerned, this was some kind of toy – he just couldn’t find the battery slot anywhere. His tune changed the day he discovered that Jackson was categorised as ‘very cute’ by any female that came within ten feet of him. And so the die was cast for future strolls and time on the beach. I hadn’t realised that the ‘win-ee’ had finally been won, until the day of one very heated argument, when my husband interrupted my ranting, reached for Jackson and held him to his chest, screaming ‘if we get divorced, there’s no way YOU are getting MY dog!
Game, set and match.
Jackson grew a little in stature, but a lot in heart, good temperament, and good looks. He was well mannered, quiet, friendly to all, loving to family and chief chicken taster. He enjoyed the finer things in life just as much as we enjoyed indulging him, but the benefits of his kind and generous soul that we received in return still make my heart grow light and sad at the same time, whenever I think of him.
He was with me throughout my illness and spent most of his time by my side when I was recovering. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight until I began to do things for myself again. He was there beside me and my computer when I began my study, and he was there the day I graduated, although he was a little miffed at missing the formal ceremony. We moved around a lot, so he did too. He enjoyed a good holiday as much as we did. As long as we were around, he was happy.
We were with him at the end, my husband and I. It was a short illness, but severe. The doctor did all he could do, but it was his time to leave us. I will never forget my last moments with him. There was hardly any time to say goodbye, but a part of me died too as I held him. I’d lost my best little friend.
Sometimes I think I see him around, or I feel his nose on the back of my leg, trying to get my attention like he used to. Sometimes I still cry, like today. But mostly I’m happy because I know I that was extremely lucky to have had the opportunity to have known such a special little being, and I’m a better person for it.
Goodbye my dear friend. I hope we meet again.