The Best Dog Ever

Never let it be said that I never wanted kids. In April of 2002 the alarm on my biological clock went off. I marched into the office of my long time friend and boldly announced, "I want a baby!" Ever so slowly he pushed his chair back from the desk, rolled the pen back and forth that he was holding between the thumb and first two fingers of each hand, looked at me over the top of his Martin Luther King, Jr. glasses, and cleared his throat.

"I think you should get a dog."

Not exactly the answer I was looking for. Ever the smart guy and ready to squelch any other notions I might have had about wanting a kid, he had a name and number for me to call by 3PM that afternoon. I did call and the next day I had an appointment to go check out two litters of Boxer pups.

I knew in selecting a puppy there were certain qualities to look for and there were several dogs that fit my requirements, in particular, one girl and one boy. The female absolutely loved me and climbed all over me. But there was something about the male. I made arrangements with the breeder to return again a few days later and see how the dogs responded upon a second visit.

It's hard to explain the butterflies I felt in my stomach when I left that day. I had wanted a dog for so long, but I had a schedule that was anything but conducive to owning a pet. This was big commitment, not just of time, but of work and money too. And my parents weren't too keen on the idea. I even remember my mom telling me, "This is going to change everything." Boy, was she right!

Over the course of the next few days I read every piece of literature I could find on Boxer dogs, focusing mostly on "Selecting Your Puppy" and "Preparing to Bring a Puppy Home." Despite the fact that most breeders try to have the puppies in their new homes at six weeks, I knew it was best to leave them with their mother and litter mates until they were eight weeks old. This was perfect as eight weeks for the dogs I was interested in would fall on the first day I was out of school for the summer.

When I returned to look at the litters, I was once again drawn to the same two pups. Like my previous visit, the female wouldn't leave me alone, but that little male (who wasn't so little at the second biggest of the litter) was special. He was a beautifully marked flashy-fawn and in the end, he was my choice.

Picking a name was easy. It had to start with a "J" and I really wanted something with four letters (it's a family thing). "Jack" would have been the obvious choice, but something about signing Christmas cards "Love, Jack and Jill," was just a bit to portentous. Years before I had worked for a private caterer, Jackson Hicks, and thus I had my new puppy's name. I asked that the breeder start calling him that and made arrangements to visit Jackson several times over the next few weeks so that he'd be familiar with me when it was finally time to take him home.

The next month passed quickly as I was winding down the school year and "puppy-proofing" my home. I bought a new car because a full grown Boxer would never fit into the two door sports car I was driving.

Puppy supplies were ready, school ended, and on Monday I was taking my dog home. But that Friday before, as my friend Jen and I were signing out for the summer, my excitement got the better of me and we decided to go get him right then. He rode home in Jen's lap and at that moment she became his "God Mother" and agreed to care for him if anything ever happened to me.

Jackson adapted quickly. He was a bit timid about his crate in the beginning, so I crawled in it first and he followed. By the end of the first week, he could sit, shake and lay down on both verbal and non-verbal command. When I left him for the first time a week after picking him up, he cried like crazy. (I know because I have the video tapes to prove it)! I was afraid neighbors in my apartment complex would complain, but fortunately they didn't. Still, I knew we could not stay in an apartment forever. A dog his size would need a place to run and play, so I began looking for a house and by the end of the year I was a homeowner!

Now I know what you're thinking, but I'm going on record and saying that my step-dad thought it first. I was the only person he knew "that bought their dog a luxury SUV and a house." Of course I adamantly denied this accusation, but he was right! There was absolutely nothing I wouldn't do for my dog. Here I was, a dog owner for only six months, and "everything had changed."

Yes, Jackson was/is spoiled, but he's deserving. While I was helping Jackson grow up, he was helping me to simply grow. He's taught me patience and to appreciate the little things in life. For eight years he has given me something to come home to. He's offered me purpose when so many times I've felt lost. He's travelled with me and been the dugout mascot of my school softball team. He's the "social dog" of the neighborhood, sitting at the foot of neighbors' driveways until they acknowledge him with a "Hi Jackson!" He can get the mail, or bring me my shoes, or pick out his "ball" from his "toy" from his "bone." He knows the difference between a "biscuit" and a "chicken nugget." ("Biscuits" he knows are kept in the cabinet; "chicken nuggets" are kept in the freezer. Duh)! He has made me laugh, but he has also made me cry.

It's no big secret that Jackson has always had health issues. However, when he was five I began to notice some serious changes in his behavior. None were more disturbing though than the trail of blood I found across my floor one afternoon. The vet suspected a UTI and kidney stones, yet when he failed to adequately respond to treatment, I knew the problem was far greater. After more in depth testing, Jackson was diagnosed with prostate cancer in April of 2008. He had never been neutered, (I had tinkered with the idea of breeding him), so he was scheduled for emergency surgery. It went well, but a small patch of cells still remained meaning he would need further treatment.

Chemo and radiation for a pet is costly. I still haven't fully recovered financially, but not doing it was never a consideration. All I cared about was "making my dog better." Because of the vet's and my quick and aggressive response to a horrible situation, I'm happy to say that Jackson was cancer free four months after his original diagnosis. Life slowed down for us after that, and we both began to enter another phase of our lives. I struggled with having to accept Jackson's mortality, but the vet reminded me I could either embrace my pet's journey into his senior life or I could wake up each day questioning how much longer do we have together? It was a startling realization, but the latter was no way to live, so again the choice was easy. I continued with Jackson's regular check ups and he continued to remain in remission and grow healthier and healthier...

...Until two weeks ago. I had noticed a black mass on his belly and asked the vet to take a look. The cells revealed abnormal growth, and as we speak Jackson is undergoing yet another surgery to remove that tumor and another that has emerged since our visit.

I'm going to be honest. I do not feel these are life-threatening tumors. As usual, I have done my "research" and there is a one in three chance they are malignant. Jackson is stronger, has more energy, and is more playful than he has been in three years. Just like I knew before something was gravely wrong with my dog, I know this time he is going to be fine. My faith in a greater power will get us both through this.

Jackson is my life. It was meant to be that I selected him that day in April, 2002. I cannot imagine my life without him. I love him. He loves me back. He's the first thing I ever really did right. He's the best dog ever...the best dog ever...for me.