Anecdote | Lifestyle
A Life-changing Dog
The love of a special dog, and the impact of grief when she passed
I remember the day I brought her home like it was yesterday. She was so tiny, so innocent, so sweet. I was a bundle of nerves; suddenly my carefree life vanished and I was responsible for this vulnerable little being. What if I failed? What if we did not bond? What if she was unhappy?
But I need not have worried, it was love at first sight and all my natural, maternal instinct went into overdrive to care for, protect and raise the most precious little girl I have ever known. It did not matter to me that biologically she belonged to another. To me — she was the most perfect daughter I could wish for.
On the first night in her new home, she cried for half an hour, I cried for an hour. The second night, she cried for 15 minutes and I cried for half an hour until gradually there were no more tears and we all adjusted into our new family unit.
She grew up so quickly, full of intrigue and mischief, a coiled spring with immeasurable energy and enthusiasm. In her early years, she loved nothing more than to play in the park with her friends. On the odd occasion she got a bump to the leg she would limp up to me, hold up her “ouchie” for a kiss better, then sprint off to re-join the fun and games with the rest of her gang, as if nothing had happened.
Oh yes, Jasper was a Princess. It was not long before she was addressed affectionately as Princess Jasper.
I loved her to my core
When listening to my proud gloating’s and loving anecdotes, it’s not surprising many people confused my Princess with a human child, rather than the most striking, Hungarian Vizsla dog I have ever laid eyes on. But I feel the physical form she took is neither here nor there. What is important is the love I held for her, and the love I can still feel deeply, in the very core of my being. What is important are the seven years, two months, and five days that she graced my life with her being.
How do I put into words the bond that we shared? How do I describe the unconditional love and understanding between me and my soul mate? We had no words, yet Jasper knew exactly how I was feeling and responded appropriately — and me to her. She was my wing lady, my personal comedian, my running partner, and my confidant. For the seven years, two months, and five days that I cared for her, she doted on me. She bounced like Tigger and sung in celebration whenever I returned from work, she then listened patiently to tales of my day.
We plotted and executed adventures together; running along the West Highland Way in Scotland, swimming in the sea in Torridon in North West Scotland, and playing tag on every single beach near to our home. Oh, the beach, there was no place that captured her playful spirit quite like the beach. Princess Jasper in full flight running along golden sands is the most beautiful and captivating thing I have ever seen, with her big tongue loping out and a huge smile on her face.
Who was with me when life was tough? Through the breakdown of relationships, family troubles, house moves, job moves, ups and downs of starting a business, and general life anxieties — Princess Jasper. Who was with me when I bounced off the walls with excitement for some random plan I had hatched or wallowed in my bed, licking my wounds for something that is now so insignificant that I cannot even remember — Princess Jasper. She emulated my enthusiasm; she did not curb my excitement nor caution my spirit. She had empathy, she did not mock my tears, she licked them away and snuggled into me. She did not belittle my emotions, she listened, she assessed and provided solutions, the answer was always the same, a run and a game of pass the ball or paws.
I miss our games of paws. This was our game, a game we made up and we both knew the rules. Jasper would adopt the bow position with her front paws outstretched; I would rest on my hands and knees. The aim of the game was to touch each other’s paws or hands (Jasper with her mouth and me with my hand). Each time I tapped her on the paw, I would say “paws”. She got so good at the game she would be able to mouth my hands whilst hiding her own front paws under the safety of her own body. All I needed to do was ask her if she wanted to “play paws” and that was us …. starting position adopted.
People often say that dogs are like their owners. Jasper and I were the double of each other. We shared so many traits, I am surprised I did not birth her. Both chatty, energetic, and always on the go. Social butterflies at times but also relishing our own company. Principled and upholders of rules; Jasper was forever telling off Zac; her long-suffering brother. We could be accused of being attention seekers, but good company energized and excited us both. We both loved to run with such deep passion that we glowed with happiness whilst running together on the trails.
In all her years Princess Jasper only ever did one naughty thing, although she may well have been the cheerleader for all of Zac’s rebellious antics. Princess Jasper was perfect, except for 5 minutes of her life.
We were staying with friends, in a lovely holiday cottage. Dogs were not allowed upstairs. Princess Jasper took complete umbrage to this. She snuck up the stairs, I called her down, she looked back at me and I could see the defiance in her eyes. She then sent me a telepathic message saying, “screw you” and bolted upstairs. I called her, she ignored me, so I was hot on her tail. By the time I got to the top of the stairs I saw her jump up, onto what was my bed, she turned around and looked me straight in the eyes whilst she squatted and peed all over the bed. I did not know whether to laugh, cry or call the vet, as clearly there must have been something wrong health-wise for her to misbehave so badly. As far as naughty things go, admittedly, that was bad, but given that is the only naughty thing she ever did, it was easy to forgive her.
It went downhill from here
My Princess Jasper took ill very suddenly. She went from being one of the fittest dogs in Edinburgh one day to be in the hospital the next (Vizsla Inflammatory Polymyopathy). I was worried, but I was optimistic. When stressed, I tend to bury my head in the sand and go into denial, but still — even on day seven of her being in the hospital, in my head, it was never an option that she wouldn’t be coming home.
On day seven, the vet told me to buckle in for the weekend, she told me to prepare to make some tough decisions if Princess Jasper did not improve over the following days. She alluded to the fact that Jas may not make it. These words echo in my head, round and round. This was never an option, this was not part of the plan, this was never part of the big picture. We had it all worked out. Jas and I were going to live a long and happy life together, full of crazy trail running antics, all over Scotland, with cozy cuddles afterward — such simplicity and such happiness. Jas had only just started going grey, in fact, so had I! I was saddened to see the greys coming through to her beautiful ginger face, yet I was looking forward to growing older and wiser together.
Can anything ever prepare you? I remember every single detail of that day. On 21st January 2018, I was on my way out, I tucked Zac into bed, and he looked at me with big sad eyes. I turned to him and said “It’s ok, Jas will be fine and she loves you” he looked at me harder, trying to tell me something. Two minutes later the vet phoned, and the whirlwind began.
The snow was falling and a hazard warning light for some stupid engine thing came on the dashboard of my car, all I knew was I needed to get to the hospital to be with my girl and I needed to get there 10 minutes ago.
On the drive to the hospital, I still thought she would make it. I had hope, I still thought I would wake up, from this terrifying nightmare and feel Jas’s breath on my cheek. But I would never feel her breath on my cheek again.
As I drew closer to the hospital, the reality hit me. “Is she still with us” I muttered to the vet as I was led through to the intensive care unit. I looked to my right — to her kennel, it was empty. My stomach churned when I saw her laying on the table in front of me, covered in tubes. She was calm, sedate, peaceful. I nuzzled into her nose, I tickled her face from the hair whirl between her eyes down to her nose and back up again. I listened to the machines breathing for her and I felt the warmth of her velvety ears, both between my fingers and against my lips. I told her over and over that I loved her and that she was a good girl, the best girl, my everything. I desperately wanted something, a sign, an acknowledgment. I think the fantasist in me expected her to jump up to her feet and then everything would be fine, but I have since learned things do not always work out the way you have planned.
I do not know how long we spent together, delaying the inevitable. I caught eyes with the vet and begged her “Is there anything that can be done” she shook her head sympathetically. I wailed and buried my face into Jas’s neck, well as far as the tubes and lampshade would allow me.
Ah, the paperwork, it was sensitively handed to me. I understand there are formalities even at such desperate, heart-breaking times. But I cannot get over the heading of this form “Request to Euthanize” it struck me to the pit of my stomach. I asked to go to the toilet. Did I think stalling procedures would change the outcome? “Request to euthanize,” played over and over in my head. I was not requesting this. I was accepting the advice from an expert that this was the kindest and only option left available. I was not requesting it; I was giving my permission. “Permission to euthanize”. I appreciate to some it may simply be semantics, but to me it made me feel like I was ordering the killing of my baby.
Procedures took place, I continued to tickle Jas in the way she loved, the machines kept her breaths regular. I kissed her on the nose and screamed so hard in my head I thought I would explode. Her breathing slowed until it stopped. She was gone.
Grieving for a pet is raw and real
Numb. Lost. Empty. I could not think, eat or work. I was dazed and broken. My world had literally crashed all around me and I could barely function. What do you do in these circumstances? Zac was as bad, he woke up in the middle of the night, 2 nights in a row, and was sick with bile, anxious sick; something he had never done before.
After 2 months of grieving, I was able to function again, but I still felt like an empty shell. I was apathetic and the twinkle in my eye and bounce in my step had gone. Princess Jasper was the sunshine in my life, she was everything that was rosy, fun, and silly. She was my energy and spark.
There are those who do not understand the attachment and connection between humans and dogs. Yet, studies have shown that losing a pet can be as difficult as losing a human loved one. There are those who will undermine our pain and grief at the passing of our K9 children. Whether or not you can relate to someone’s emotions does not make them any more or less real. Whether or not you agree with someone’s grief over the passing of, what to you may only be a …. (I can’t actually bring myself to finish that sentence), is immaterial. The fact remains, my world was devastated, my heart heavy and for an exceptionally long time a mountain of sadness lurked beneath the surface of my smile. The soul I loved most in this world, the soul I cherished and giggled with, cried with, ran with, had adventures with, cared for, raised, and snuggled with for seven years, two months and five days had gone. Taken, prematurely.
It has been three years, one month and two days since my soul mate, my partner in crime, my sweet, precious little Princess Jasper has been gone. The waves of grief still visit me at times. I am grateful for experiencing a bond like no other. But I miss my Princess every single day. My Princess Jasper is not over the rainbow; she is the rainbow. I will always love you, Princess Jasper!
