Tribute to My Dog, Jake (1992?—August 19, 2003)

I don't usually get attached to animals. In fact, I usually think those who do are kind of silly. But my dog, Jake, was different. We put him to sleep today, to ensure he wouldn't be in pain from the incurable prostate cancer he had. I'm going to miss him. I don't think I'll ever find another dog like him.

We got him from the Humane Society when I was about 13. He was already probably 1½ or 2, and as we walked the rows of cages, I picked him out. My Mom thought he looked mean, but he looked sweet to me. I named him too, but he ended up being closest to my mom, since he was around her the most. He always protected her.

Curled up next to my mom's bed

Cavorting around the Farms in Kentucky, his favorite place

In the car with my niece, Zoya

Jake was the smartest dog I've ever encountered. He had an incredible sensitivity to human moods and knew just when you needed to be left alone and when you needed him around. Most of the time, you could just talk to him and tell him what you wanted him to do. He'd figure it out.

He was also extremely clever. He'd snatch houseflies right out of the air. He liked to lay on the couch upstairs, but he knew we didn't want him on it, so when we heard us come in, he'd pretend like he hadn't been in there. The only way we found out was the hair he left on the cushions.

Maybe the best thing about Jake was that he was easy to be around. He never barked, but he'd let you know when people were coming. He never bit anyone, nor did he ever show the least bit of aggression. He was the gentlest dog I've ever seen. He was consummately clean, grooming himself almost like a housecat. He loved to have his belly rubbed, and when he was young, he loved to scamper around the upstairs hallway and wrestle with me.

In the summer of 2003, he was diagnosed with prostrate cancer, an extremely rare affliction in neutered dogs. It is very aggressive in canines, and we knew he had just a few months to live. I savored that time with him, especially the last two weekends I was home. He was not his usual self, but we made the best of it. When I packed up and said goodbye to him, he would not look at me. I'm certain he knew I was leaving, and perhaps he even knew it was the last he'd see of me. He turned his back on me and wouldn't look me at me while I rubbed his belly.

The vet came and put him to sleep on August 19, 2003. He died the day before my 22nd birthday.