zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Default)
2012-02-02 12:01 pm

trying to find the in-between

This is not a looking-for-sympathy post.

Hell, this isn't even an actual post.

This is a memorial.

I have weird reactions to bad situations. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I feel a faint pang of loss. Most time I feel nothing.

But that is not the case, right now.

Fuck, I spent a fuckton of time on my makeup to make sure I wouldn't cry and mess it up, but that lasted all of a minute.

This is my dog, Jazz. She passed away last night after eleven years of loving us, unconditionally, the way only the best of dogs can. They do not make them better.

We got Jazz when I was eleven, after moving to a new home. It was a huge change for everyone, and we felt that our first dog, Jambo, needed companionship.

My mother took us to see Jazz at the Animal Shelter, when she was nothing more than a pint-sized ball of curls and affection. The night we brought her home, we had to pick her up at the vet, after she had been spayed. She was drugged to the gills and probably scared out of her wits, but she didn't hesitate to curl up on my lap so I could scratch her ears.

They had told us that she would not get any bigger than the miniature poodle-size that she was. They had no idea what they were talking about. A week into our relationship, Jazz started to teeth. We didn't have a back fence, yet, but since she never showed any interest in running off (unlike Jambo) we allowed her to roam the front and backyard. We didn't get a newspaper for months, because our 'done-growing' puppy kept eating them. Lawn ornaments, trees... nothing was safe.

She got bigger, and so did her heart. She never needed a leash when we took her for walks. She avoided sprinklers like they were carnivorous. She was never happier than when she would get rubbed down with a towel after a bath or a haircut.

Jambo passed away several years ago, and she will always hold a place in my heart as a little girl's first puppy. But Jazz was something extraordinary. She was one of the smartest, friendliest, and gentlest dogs I could every hope to know, and I am proud to have been a part of her life, and a member of her family.

I know some religions believe that one needs a human soul to be admitted into heaven. I call bullshit. And I think my mother puts it the best:

"Do dogs go to heaven?
Some will tell you no, because they believe that God only imbued humans with souls, and the soul, the spirit, is the part that goes on after death. Some will tell you no, because their idea of heaven is a members-only club with strict initiation rituals and regular dues. Some will tell you no, because attaining heaven is a conscious choice, and animals aren’t equipped to choose.
I tell you yes. What is a soul but the capacity to love and think and put the welfare of others before the basic instinct of survival? If service, humility, and obedience are the criteria, the average dog is better fit for heaven than the average saint. And a dog makes a choice whenever he gives his loyalty and his love.
Every shining virtue mentioned in the Bible is exemplified by a good dog. If you ask me, the question is not whether dogs go to heaven. It’s whether we humans deserve to be there with them.
Enjoy heaven, Jazz. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to meet you there one day."

I love you, baby. Give the deer in heaven absolute hell.