Good Boy, Jake…

My brother’s dog Jake died today. He was a good boy.

Jake was a rescue from Hurricane Katrina and when he was found, there was buckshot in his side. Sometimes people are worse than dogs. Jake’s injuries left him with a limp and some (usually mild) pain for all of his life–but also with a heart full of love for anyone who was ever even a little kind to him.

Today when Jake woke up, the pain was off the charts. This time, the kind thing was to let him go.

Jake was a sweet dog. He was good with Dave and Valerie’s kids. He was protective of the people he loved. He was dumb as a rock, but that was part of his charm. I had the pleasure of dog-sitting with him through a tornado a few years back. For obvious reasons, things like thunder and fireworks freaked him out a little. He basically had the dog-version of PTSD. So when the sky turned green and the power went out, I saw the “I went through Katrina and I need you to keep me safe” version of Jake. So I kept him safe. And I don’t think he ever forgot that–he’d always sit right by my feet and practically beg me to pet him every time I’d come over–and I always did.

It’s strange how these stupid little balls of fur can make life feel better. And it’s stupid how much worse it feels without them. But if you’ve ever known a dog, you know what I mean.

Rest in peace, Jake. It is an irony that as I write this post it is pouring rain. For you, the storm has passed.



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