JASPER AND ME
Jasper and me were buddies. I rescued the incorrigible mutt from the shelter almost eight years ago.
I was feeling lonely the day I met Jasper. It was moving day for my “then-girlfriend” of two chaotic years. I figured it was best to be out of my apartment by the time the Uhaul arrived.
So, I took a drive to the suburbs eager to test once again the advice my mother had crammed into my thick skull since childhood:
“Feeling sorry for yourself? Go do something nice for someone who needs it.”
Instead of visiting Gran, which was my honest-to-God intention, I saw a sign that read: “King of Hearts Animal Shelter.” I put on the breaks, did an illegal 3-point turn on the road, and pulled into the gates of the shelter.
I registered at the desk, with the sole purpose of playing with an orphaned dog. I figured I would cheer up a pup or two, and then head over to Gran’s house in time to bring her lunch. (That didn’t happen).
I walked the long aisles of the cages, I oohed and aahed at the dogs—large and small, and then I saw Jasper. He was aloof, sitting in his enclosure and merely glancing at me as I walked by. The other dogs ran up to greet me, barking, jumping, and all excited. Not Jasper.
I admit I’m a sucker for the hard-to-get relationship; I love a challenge. To be fair, I’m cocky. After all, who could resist my charms? Who wouldn’t love me?
I requested playtime with Jasper and waited while they brought him out to the picnic bench where I parked myself in the shelter’s yard. Jasper was low energy, and there was something in his look that told me, “not interested.”
The volunteer left us together, and I got down on the hard ground to be at Jasper’s level.
“Hey, buddy – how do you like this fellah?” as I rubbed him behind his ears and petted his tangled coat.
His immediate response was to raise his hind leg and wee-wee right on my kneeling thigh.
Yep, Jasper was like that – he never suffered any fools.
Wet and embarrassed, yet mightily impressed by his attitude, I made arrangements to adopt him.
We had a lot of laughs together, and more good times in the years we spent together.
This morning Jasper and I went for a walk. As usual, Jasper insisted on the off-leash experience while he explored the neighborhood.
An ordinary gray squirrel got the best of my friend. Jasper chased him up a tree and patiently waited for his next move. The squirrel leaped into the street, and Jasper followed. The next thing I saw was a delivery truck slamming on the brakes…too late.
Jasper was critically injured. He whimpered softly and attempted to lick his wounds. I went to him and scooped him up in my arms.
“It’s okay Jasper. You’ll be fine. We’ll get help.”
But I was losing him, and we both knew it.
Soon it was me who was being consoled. Jasper started licking my tears, and I let him. With every swipe of his ever-weakening tongue, I cried harder.
The driver of the truck asked me how he could help. I shooed him away.
My focus was solely on Jasper, and what I knew would be our last few minutes together in an earthly realm.
It was a peaceful passing. God released Jasper from his pain, and I waited as my brave dog ascended to meet his Maker.
When you’re feeling blue, do something nice for someone who needs it.
I think I’ll take a ride to the suburbs and visit Gran. I should be able to make it by dinner time.
By Susan Diamond
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