Jasper came into our lives nearly 10 years ago, after
discussions about finding a friend for Basil the beagle, who seemed a bit
lonely when left all day while we were at work or school.
One weekend the RSPCA “Pet of the Week” ad in the newspaper
showed a photo of the sweet face of Jasper, who was looking for a new
home. Rather sneakily, they had called
Jasper a beagle, but further enquiries showed that he was a beagle-kelpie cross
(beagle face and ears, kelpie body, deemed by us to be a “Belpie”), with the
best guess being that he was about 3+ years old. We duly took Basil out to the RSPCA for a
meeting, thinking that maybe two adult boy dogs might not get on together, but
after some extremely personal sniffing, it seemed that they were fine.
It was a little confronting to be asked by the woman from
the RSPCA “Do you own your own home?”
Then the truth came out – Jasper was a serial escape artist who had
already been handed back to the RSPCA several times, and they were concerned
whether we would be willing and able to alter fences in order to keep him
in. He had even managed to escape from
the RSPCA compound by climbing a wire fence, and it seemed that if he was
handed back again, they would regretfully have to consider euthanasing him.
So of course we took him home. Jasper explored the yard with interest, and
raced around, trying to get Basil to join in.
Basil decided quite quickly that running madly around playing “chasey”
was not for him, so would stop, sit, and watch Jasper run around him. But they seemed to become good mates, with an
agreement that Jasper was “the leader of the pack”. Jasper appeared to teach Basil to lose his
beagle baying, and to bark instead.
Jasper settled in, going with us for walks, and generally
being an outside dog with Basil. When I
sat with the dogs outside on the deck, however, Jasper would sometimes come and
stare at me with a puzzled look, as if he was wondering “well, am I staying
here, or not?”
That adventurous kelpie spirit couldn’t be denied, and the
steep retaining wall that had been an adequate fence for Basil was no challenge
at all to Jasper. We eventually ended up
with various wire screens resembling a fairly downmarket prison enclosure along
the side of the yard adjoining the street.
After that, we discovered that he was climbing the ladder into the old
kids’ cubby house on stilts, and using that as a launching pad to take a flying
leap over the fence about a metre away, into a neighbour’s yard, and out from
there. We took the ladder away, but then
he just leapt up into the cubby house, so we screened in the open sides.
Jasper still practiced his escape artist talents, finding
ways to create a hole and go for a wander.
He would always come back, sometimes wet, and only looking a bit guilty
when he was accused of being a “bad dog!”
He had on his name tag with home phone numbers: one day I got a phone call from a girl who
had just finished work, and had discovered him in the car park of the local
supermarket. I offered to collect him,
but no, she was happy to bring him home, and he duly arrived, sitting up in the
back seat of her car, and looking enormously pleased with himself. Another time I received a call on the mobile
when I was out, explaining that he had been found in a street near home – she
was about to go out, so said that she would leave him tied to a tree in the
shade of her front yard with a bowl of water until I could get there. Jasper leapt up, wagging his tail when I
arrived, and when I asked “and who’s been a BAD DOG”, dropped his head, looking
suitably guilty. I wasn’t fooled.
We often stopped at the local plant nursery during a walk,
where we could sit with the dogs outside and have a coffee, and we joked with
the owner that Jasper should have been called “Houdini”. She told us later that she had seen him
wandering one day, and had been waving a piece of chicken to try to lure him
in, but could only think of “Houdini”, and couldn’t remember his real name to
call him! Anyway, he refused to come –
kelpie adventuring was more attractive than chicken.
While Basil would sit calmly, only excited at the prospect
of stray food, Jasper appointed himself guardian of our yard, and particularly,
of me, and barked ferociously at any imagined threat. In middle age, attempts at escape had ceased,
but Jasper still enjoyed leaping onto the table on the deck, from where he
could survey the horizon, and sometimes bark at the early morning hot air
balloons over central Canberra, at least 10 kilometres away. If I was sitting outside with a coffee, I was
treated to a doggie grin from the top of the table, complete with doggie
breath, and an offered paw.
Time wore on. For
various reasons, the two boys were designated as “outside dogs”, and often
shared a one-dog bed. However Basil
sometimes disliked sharing (was it the snoring, or the farting?), so would rush
to the top of the stairs leading down from the deck to the yard, and bark
ferociously. Jasper would leap up, and
charge down the stairs to defend his yard and family from potential invaders, while
Basil claimed the entire bed. Basil’s
cunning plan worked a treat, and Jasper was sucked in every single time.
Jasper became very ill, and the vet very sensitively said
that he only had a 50/50 chance of pulling through, and were we prepared to pay
the money that continuing treatment would cost.
We were, and Jasper pulled through, but came home an insulin-dependent
diabetic. On a visit to the vet, the vet
commented that Jasper must hate him, as the vet had stuck so many needles into
him. At that point Jasper sat and
offered his paw to the vet. Aaww, even
the vet thought that was sweet.
Quite quickly Jasper got back to his old self, but developed
cataracts as a side effect of the diabetes, and went blind. He still bravely guarded his yard, got up and
down the stairs and ran towards me if he heard my voice outside, even if he
went headlong into an obstacle. He had
become an inside dog after being so ill, and despite his blindness, would
happily jump up to his spot on the couch.
He behaved impeccably inside, and would politely tap his paw on the door
to ask to come in.
The veterinary eye
specialist told us the cost of cataract removal, and after several sharp
intakes of breath, we decided that Jasper was the type of personality to
benefit, so it was a trip to Sydney for the operation. Jasper was again a really happy, boisterous, outgoing
dog. During the earlier veterinary
treatment we had joked that we were going to change his name to “Darwin”
(cancelled a trip to cover the vet bills), but as time wore on we further joked
that his name should be “Business Class to London”, and then “First Class
Around the World”.
But Jasper got three more years of happy dog life. All the staff at the vet clinic made a fuss
of him, and asked after him, and knew not to offer an itemised receipt for the
veterinary bills.
Then, one weekend, he had a “hypo”, and collapsed, leading
to a trip to the emergency vet, and later our own vet. Pancreatitis and other worrying symptoms
pointed to major organ failure. But even
when he came home and was clearly unwell and weak, he still wanted to go onto
the deck and bark at imagined threats.
We wouldn’t let him go down the stairs, as we weren’t sure whether he
would be able to get up them again, and he seemed a bit puzzled about that, but
enjoyed the sun out on the deck.
He couldn’t jump onto the couch, but would climb up with the
aid of a stool, sit calmly and “ask” for his paw to be held. When he had to stay on a drip at the vet’s,
we could hear him barking when he was left alone. He didn’t seem to be in pain, but it was
clear to the vet and to us, and seemingly to Jasper, that the end was near, and
despite everyone’s efforts, the end came.
Old Basil doesn’t seem to have pined, but has become a bit
“smoochier”, and seems to think that he should occasionally guard the yard
now. He has gone back to baying like a
beagle, not barking.
So what’s all the fuss?
Jasper was just a dog. He loved
us, tried to take care of us, and he trusted us to take care of him. Good dog.
