Obituary for a dog

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.