Ode to Jack

A Great Dane of Distinction

His own couch

Jack was a foster dog.
On his first night, he had come straight to us from getting fixed at the vet.
He had trouble breathing and was not feeling well. I slept with him the whole night.
I was afraid he would die. He recovered nicely, and we decided to adopt him.
I would say Jack was an asshole.
I say this mainly because he wouldn’t do what I told him.
I would call him to come in, and he would pretend he didn’t hear me.
I would step outside, and he would take off across the yard.
He would steal food off the counter because it was easy. He could rest his big head on the counter. He even stole food from the top of the fridge.
He had separation anxiety, and if we left him home alone, he did not do well.

He was sweet, funny, and scary in his bigness.
He terrified me when he would dart off across the road with no regard for traffic.
He was my companion and my walking buddy.
He was floppy, flippant, and galloping.
While walking along our dirt road, up in the distance along the tree line were three figures.
They were undoubtedly up to no good, quite possibly stealing garlic plants, as was a thing that people did where we lived.
As Jack and I approached, two of the figures had taken off up the road leaving one poor old round fella in a check shirt and suspenders mopping the sweat off of his brow.
He looked forlornly at me and said
“They left me behind.”
“And lady, you never have to be scared with that big dog at your side.”
True enough.

That was Jack, intimidating in size and colour, albeit a big-hearted gentle giant.

Thank you, Jack, for the long walks and for keeping me company.

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