Jake

 

Slimy half-chewed tennis balls. Soft, spotted grey fur perfect for petting. Long rides in the back of the pickup truck. Curious sniffs and protective barks. These are all memories I carry with me of my beloved childhood dog, Jake. 

This year I turned thirty, marking nearly fifteen years since I last saw him. But I still think of Jake often, and even dream that he is back on this earth alive and ready to play ball once more. 

Born an Australian Cattle Dog, or, “Blue Heeler”,  Jake was the epitome of intelligence and loyalty. He joined our family as an energetic two-year-old near my sixth birthday, and was adored by us all ever since. 

We lived on twenty acres of backwoods land, full of various wildlife and plenty of reasons for a dog to wander off in curiosity (this is especially true for cattle dogs, who have a high tendency to bore easily). But Jake never did. He never ventured farther than the treeline on our property, and if he ever traveled out of eyesight, all it took was one authoritative whistle from my dad and he’d come trotting back, panting heavily, tongue hanging proudly off to the side in accomplishment.

Aside from his humans, Jake loved one thing more than anything else: riding in the bed of my dad’s pickup truck. Every day my dad would bring Jake along with him to work (my dad owned a car dealership) where Jake had plenty of space to explore and run around. Whenever my dad started heading for the truck, Jake would, without hesitation, bee- line straight for the tailgate. “Load up!”, my dad would command, and Jake would effortlessly leap into the truck bed, ready for adventure.  I’m not sure if it was the wind in his fur, or all the sights and smells along the way, but Jake cherished those truck rides. 

Another great love of Jake’s was playing catch. We’d stock up on those lime-green tennis balls from Wal-Mart and play catch with him for hours at a time, entertaining him effortlessly. He’d run, jump, and slide to catch those tennis balls, impressing anyone who watched. 

During the time Jake was with us, our family moved from southern Oregon to northern California, then on to central Texas. By the time we got to Texas, I was just starting middle school, and was painfully shy and (even more) awkward. For my entire seventh- grade year,  I didn’t make a single friend. I was either shunned, bullied, or simply invisible. But as soon as I’d step foot off the school bus and onto my street after a school day, there Jake would be, running full-speed towards our fence to greet me, tail wagging  in excitement. Once my homework was finished, I’d spend my evenings either playing catch with him or doing yard work, where he’d trail closely behind.  I also remember many evenings sitting on our back porch in Texas crying after a difficult day at school.  Jake would walk up and sit down right beside me, as if offering his shoulder for me to cry on. For that entire year, Jake was my only friend, but he was the best friend I could ask for at the same time. 

We had several other dogs growing up, including a female Blue Heeler, “Gretchen”, who we eventually bred Jake with for a couple of years. But even though we loved all of our dogs, none of them quite compared to Jake. His love for us was undeniable, and he showed it in every way he could. He was a great dog, but was an even greater friend. 

I write the remainder of this post tearfully and with great sadness. Yesterday was National Dog Day, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally face my emotions and honor Jake’s memory in the best way I can. 

I mentioned earlier that we had moved states twice while Jake was with us. However, when I was sixteen, fate did not allow us to stay in Texas, and we had to move for a third  and final time. Our family needed to move back to southern Oregon, and Jake was now twelve and his aging joints were arthritic and tired. 

“We can’t take him with us,” I remember my dad telling us somberly. “He’s too old, and he’d be in too much pain.” 

But the thought of leaving Jake behind was too much to bear. 

My dad continued, “Mimi and Papa have fifty acres where he can live out the rest of his life. He’ll be much happier. It’s just the right thing to do.” 

Mimi and Papa were my grandparents who lived near us in Texas, and had offered to take Jake in when we moved. Even though I knew my dad was right, my heart was broken. I cried for probably a week straight. 

A few weeks later, I said goodbye to Jake, not then knowing it would be the last time I would ever see him. Surely, I thought, We’ll be back for the holidays and I’ll see him then. 

But I never saw Jake again. A few months later, we learned that Jake had run away from his new home multiple times, a behavior completely out of character for him. After about a year, other relatives took him in after my grandparents decided to move as well so they could be closer to us. Jake continued this pattern of running away until, one day, he never came back. My heart still aches with guilt as I know deep down why he ran away. He never wandered past the tree line, I remember. So why would he run away now? There is only one answer that seems to make any sense:  He was trying to get back to his family. 

To this day, fifteen years later, I am still haunted by what Jake must have gone through at the end of his life. The vision of him dying of old age either alone or among strangers is enough to make me physically ill. I would do anything to go back in time and be by his side. I would give anything for Jake to be able to hear me now as I tell him how much we loved him (and still do), and how sorry I am for leaving without him. I can only hope that dogs really do go to heaven, and I’ll be able to tell him one day when I get there. 

A few months ago, the movie Togo began streaming on Disney Plus. Togo was based on the familiar true story of the Alaskan dog sled team famously led by Balto that saved the small town of Nome in 1925. However, this  movie is shared from the untold perspective of a dog other than Balto, whose name was Togo. 

I won’t spoil the movie (although I will definitely say it is a must-see), but there is a quote at the end  that has stuck with me ever since I watched it. Togo’s owner, Leonard Sepalla, reflects on Togo’s life after he’s gone:

“If you were ever lucky enough to know a great one,” he said, “they never really leave. They stay with you as long as you live. Harnessed to your heart, giving their all.” 

If I ever knew a great one, it was Jake. I know that, even though he is no longer with us physically, his memory will live on forever in our hearts. And whenever I have kids, they would only be so lucky as to have a childhood dog half the caliber of mine. 

            Pictured below: Myself, my sister Hannah, and brother Gabe with Jake at Christmas