Jack by Susan / Jack’s companion.

Jack, The Finest Dog, came home to live with me on December 5, 1996. It was a suprise to me, and my partner, that a puppy would come to live at our house. But Im getting ahead of myself.

On a particular Sunday, I went to buy cat food. I saw this goofy looking puppy, too big for the cage, and I had no idea that I’d found the Finest Dog. I looked. He looked at me and cocked his head. “What’s up Jack?” I asked. He stood up and wagged his tail. I thought: Oh. Dear. I need to go home. No dog for me.

But I couldnt get him out of my heart or head. So, a week later, I went back. He wasn’t in the same spot. Oh No. I asked the staff: “Where’s that goofy looking pup?”. He’d been moved to the back corner, which is the “go to the kill shelter” place. I looked, and he was standing, looking at me 40 feet away, wagging. “Good. He’s going home with me” I said. In the car he went, and sat looking at me in the passenger’s seat. His next move was to crawl over to my lap, and throw himself against my chest. “Howdy Jack, Let’s go home”.

It was the start of a beautiful relationship. He was 4 months old, with wispy fur over a black black coat. Who knew what kind of dog this was?

The Finest Dog. Did I mention that my partner was studying for National Boards in their field at the time? Hm. So in order to keep peace in the house, The Finest Dog (from the beginning) would tiptoe out of the room if you picked up something to read. “OOh. Sorry, Didnt see you were studying. Ill just go over here and have a little nap”, he’d say. And off he’d go, til you put the paper down.

The Finest Dog. He never tried to leave the fenced yard. He always walked well on a leash. He caught the first frisbee thrown for him, like he’d been waiting for me to understand what to do with it. He never — NEVER — had a potty accident in the house. Never ate a shoe, or anything that wasnt’ his except for doughnuts on a coffee table were fair game. Never chased a chicken. Kept all bad critters out of the yard. Got caught by one skunk once. He would go to the local school fields (3 or four football fields in size) off leash with me, and would run like a crazy dog, with one eye on me at all times. “Let’s go to the car” I’d say, and he’d run back to me, and wait for me to walk with him. He didnt need the leash, but when it was required by law, he’d comply.

He was The Finest Dog. Handsome, mostly black, sort of medium sized, Aussie with a tail, Cocker Spaniel ears, feathered tail, brown feathers on his feet, brown fur in his ears. He never did a thing that required stern voice. Ever. Ever. Ever. “Now Jack, don’t do that” or “c’mon now, knock it off” if he started to go after kleenex or cat food. Cat food was a downfall, but only every so rarely. He’d look at me like:
“Oh. All Right, I’ll quit.”

He was the Finest Dog. Every morning, he’d climb in my lap while I had coffee. He would wag his tail in time with the song: “I love a dog named Jackso jack, he’s the best dog it’s a fact, he’s as good as a dog ever gets, he is just the best dog yet….” There are many verses.
But you get the idea.

He was The Finest Dog. He was diagnosed with a frontal sinus cancer in November 2007, and was with me until April 2008. I promised him I’d take care of him on that first day with him, and, in the end, that meant euthanizing him. What an unkind word. Unkind. It means he is gone. And my heart is broken that he is gone. Broken. If someone reads this, please know that I loved The Finest Dog with every bit of love I had to give. And he did the same. We were so well paired as companions. I will never be the same, I miss him every day, and
that he truly was The Finest Dog.


Signed, with love,