Little Dog, Big Spirit

"I'm sorry".

The veterinarian pulled the stethoscope from his ears and gave Chris and I a grim nod. We were both holding back tears, my hand still on Rex's paw as the vet confirmed that the lethal cocktail had indeed ended his suffering. This loss was a blow - he was the first dog we had had as adults. He was loving, sweet, and a 75 pound cuddle bug, spending most of his time laying on our bed and patrolling the cats. We jokingly called him The Sheriff as one quick bark from him would get the cats in line. Despite this, he was dopey, lazy, and ultimately, a big baby. He loved in the way that people could learn from - without reservation, and unconditionally.

Even more devastating, Rex's death from lung cancer came two weeks after Chris's mom had died from pancreatic cancer. March of 2018 will forever be marked as the saddest month of my life. Two huge losses, from serious illnesses, both having died before their time. It was horrible.

Moving forward a few months, Chris and I began to heal from the losses, and I began feeling an emptiness without a dog in the house. I was working a challenging job in a psychiatric hospital while working through my first semester of nursing school. I was tired and busy and missed the feeling of happiness I would find when a dog would greet me at the door after a long day. I knew there were thousands of dogs out there that needed homes, but I didn't know where to start my search.

My mom was big in dog rescuing communities. She donated to charity auctions for veterinary bills for suffering animals. She worked part-time at an animal hospital in addition to her full-time job as an addictions nurse. She herself had 5 dogs at the time, rescuing from as far as Spain to her home in Pennsylvania. She had shown me some pictures and stories of foster dogs, but none of them seemed right. None of them, that is, until I saw Fat Jack (and yes, that is his real name).

Fat Jack is about 8 inches tall and 30 pounds with eyes that could melt the coldest of hearts. He is mixed breed, predominantly chihuahua and Corgi. He was living at a rescue in Georgia where my mom had adopted a dog from in the past. As soon as I saw the picture of him, it was over. I arranged the adoption during my nursing lab period (Professor Adams, if you're reading this, I'm sorry), and agreed to meet a driver from the rescue in North Carolina within a few weeks. I paid the adoption fee and found a hotel for the overnight stay in North Carolina. I hadn't told Chris yet - he was at work - figuring that if he didn't agree, I would make the trip by myself and bring Fat Jack home. Naturally, being the type of person he is, Chris didn't tell me no. Within two days we drove 19 hours and 1100 miles, and, just like that, Fat Jack was making himself at home in New Jersey.

Chris and I have referred to Fat Jack with several word choices: funny, peculiar, strange. He tries to eat rocks outside. He barks at every single person he encounters. He sits in chairs like a serious old man who has seen it all. He sprints in huge circles in the backyard before rolling on his back in the grass. He gives a thousand kisses a day. And, like Rex, he loves in the way that only dogs seem able to do. He has been able to love me through some of my hardest moments, and that has healed me when things have been especially challenging.

Life since 2018 hasn't been easy for me. Nursing school almost broke me. I suffered with PMDD (pre-menstrual dysphoric disorder) and BPD (borderline personality disorder) without knowing the name for either and without relief from a proper diagnosis and treatment. I felt suicidal. I self-harmed. I would spend days in bed so depressed without knowing why. Now, in 2021, Chris and I are going through a divorce, brought about when I (finally) came out as a lesbian. I have moved out of the house we shared for 10 years and moved in with my new partner. While our relationship is amazing, I ended another long relationship and there will always be grief that goes along with that. However, through all of that, someone laid in bed with me when I was too depressed to crawl out. Someone licked away the endless tears I would cry. Someone would jump on my lap, snuggle up, and fall asleep on top of me, the weight of his body feeling like a hug.

Now, I don't get to see Fat Jack daily. I'm recovering from my PMDD and BPD, but in the throes of my illnesses, I knew taking care of another living creature would've been near impossible. Luckily, Chris didn't mind taking the reins. Fat Jack stayed behind with him when I moved into my partner's home. He feeds him, gives him medicine for GERD (even though, as Chris recently found out, he seems to be keeping a stash of pills off to the side of his food dish), walks him, and gives him the love he deserves. I miss him every single day. Chris sends me pictures, but of course, it's not the same as having him with me in person. I love that peculiar little dog, and his strange little habits. I miss the noises he makes when he rolls around on the bed or on the grass. I miss him vehemently guarding his meals against Othello the cat, when he could just eat and be done with it. I miss him falling asleep behind my knees, curled up perfectly, and then kissing my face when we would both wake up. When I'm feeling okay, he comes to visit me, his constant love reminding me that someone will always be happy when I'm around, even if I can't be happy with myself.

Fat Jack was there for me when I was sick. He (metaphorically) held my hand through everything. When my partner was hospitalized and I was so scared, worried, and sad that I would spend days in bed, he was there, right next to me, every day. He never demanded or expected anything from me, and never gave me anything but love. While he is certainly strange, he is loving. And now that I live without him a lot of days, I constantly think about his healing presence, and how, even though we're apart, a picture or a video of him can brighten my darkest days.

When I see Fat Jack these days, his reaction is always the same. He whines and cries, jumps up on me for attention, and licks my face when I pick him up. If I dare turn my attention elsewhere, he cries more until I pay attention to him again. He doesn't hold a grudge against me for not being home every day. He is happy when he sees me. He loves getting scratched behind his ears, going for rides with me in the car, and sleeping in bed with me, just like he always has. I gave him a new chance at life, and it seems as though he appreciates that gift every day. And, at the same time, he has given me a new chance at life. He was there for me when I was struggling to seek help from other humans. He is happy with what I can give and doesn't ask me for anything more. Most importantly, Fat Jack continues to give me the simplest and loveliest of gifts. That is the gift of pure love.

He loves me - simply, unconditionally, without reservation.