Jackson

Tuesday mid-afternoon I get a frantic call from my mother. Our 11 year old dalmatian, Jackson, was whimpering in pain and shivering. At first, my parents believed it was just something he ate outside (he's prone to eating bizarro plants in the back yard), but when it kept up longer than they deemed appropriate for weird plant eating my father scooped up the dog and took him to the vet.

The vet does all the necessary vet-like testing... and determines our dog has bladder stones. LARGE bladder stones. Two of them to be exact. He said they were both the size of large olives. Since they were so large, they were going to have to be removed surgically. Since the next day was the day before Thanksgiving... the dog would have to have surgery, be transfered over night to the emergency vet's office.. and my parents could retrieve him Friday. My mom balked at the cost of the emergency vet boarding.. but I reminded her how much *I'd* want to be paid for working a major national holiday away from family... and that seemed to make it more understandable.

So, by lunch time Wednesday I'm getting a little concerned that I haven't heard from my mother. Jackson was scheduled for sugery first thing in the morning. If you know my mother.. she's all about the updates, by phone, email, town crier, and sometimes a bizarre email/phone combination to make sure I got said email. In calling my mother over lunch I know immediately something wrong. The first words aren't "how is your day going?" they're... "Oh, I was hoping you wouldn't call while you were at work". Shit. Shit. Shit.

Apparently, when the vet opened jackson to remove the bladder stones, he discovered the dog was riddled with cancer. (abdomen, intestines, pancreas, liver) The dog had shown no signs of pain before Tuesday, went for his walks twice a day with my dad, and never missed a meal. My parents had noticed he was slowing down some, but hell, he was 11 !! They decided the only humane thing to do was to end the poor dogs pain. The hardest part for my parents was not getting to say goodbye. The vet didn't want them to drive in and see the dog the way he was post-surgery attempt. They agreed to cremate the dog.. and are taking him up to our mountain property, which was his favorite spot on earth.

Needless to say, I lost it at work. Fortunately, I was eating in the back with a co-worker so no patients saw me. I was horribly busy for the day or I would have cancelled patients and left. But, I wasnt about to call people an hour before their exam so I could go home and cry. I explained to my 3pm patient why I was a little quiet... and he understood. It seems almost every person I talk to has lost a dog at one point and most understand how traumatic it is. They really are family members.

Jackson was a huggy, smiley, full of energy dog. Yes, he had his shit-head moments... but don't we all ? My father is taking it the hardest. Jackson is his walking buddy, his pillow, his partner in crime (and while I was living at home.. the only other testosterone in the house). He will be truly missed .. and I still tear up every time I think about him being gone.