One Last Lesson

ONE LAST LESSON

 

Growing up, my brother and I were like every other kid in this world.  We had a bad case of dog-fever.  I don’t have to tell you about dog-fever because more than likely you had a bout of it yourself growing up.  It usually strikes that first time you go to a friend’s house and notice that they have they have this furry, four-legged friend that lives with them and can do cool tricks like sit and give paw.  You immediately become amazed, but then it hits you.  Wait, why don’t we have one of these at our house? 

 

I became infected in kindergarten.  It seemed every new friend I was making had a dog.  Everyone had a different kind of dog, too.  There were pugs, poodles, bulldogs, golden retrievers, chocolate labs.  You name it.  And they all seemed so darn great. 

 

Luckily, I figured my condition was easily treatable.  All I had to do was ask my parents for a dog, and they would surely oblige.  In fact, I figured my forty-four year old parents would be thanking the six-year old version of me for letting them in on this great secret that dogs were amazing and you could have them in your house. 

 

Much to my shock and horror, when I confidently sauntered up to my parents and asked them for a dog, they said no.  It wasn’t even a “no” with some wiggle-room.  It was an air-tight, no doubt it no.  It was very similar to the type of no I got when I tried to explain to my parents that Wrestlemania X was absolutely worth the $24.99 they would have to spend to order it for me on Pay-Per View.

 

I couldn’t believe it.  Saying no to watch Hulk Hogan battle the Ultimate Warrior in a steel cage match was one thing, but this was a dog they were saying no to.  Didn’t they know how fantastic these things were?  And I wasn’t even being picky.  I would have taken anything from a Chihuahua to a Great Dane. 

 

Every time I asked my parents, I was given the same shocking speech that they had two dogs before I was born, and dogs weren’t all fun and games.  They kept using the word responsibility.  Not all fun and games?  Responsibility?  I told them they must have had alien dogs because the dogs I saw were nothing BUT fun and games.  Who would walk the dogs, they asked?  I told them not to worry.  I was born to walk a dog.

 

Much to my dismay, my case of dog-fever went untreated for years.  Don’t get me wrong.  My parents were wonderful.  Heck, I even think I got my Mom to order me a couple WrestleMania’s.  But a dog?  It just was never happening.

 

However, there was one thing I forgot to count on as a kid.  Parents are people and can get annoyed, too.  And the only thing more annoying than one case of dog-fever was two cases of dog-fever.  Luckily for me, my little brother, who was four years my junior, shared my passion for these fantastic, four-legged friends.

 

Most people will probably remember 1996 for the Summer Olympics in Atlanta or for Bill Clinton being elected to a second term.  Not in the Roszkowski house, though.  1996 will be forever known as the year my brother John and I broke my parents.  I don’t know how it happened.  Most likely, John and I annoyed them to the point that they just couldn’t take it anymore and gave in to prevent any further damage that our years of incessant begging had caused to their mental health.  Or maybe they were finally ready for a dog again, too.  Whatever the reason, John and I couldn’t have cared less.  I was twelve and he was eight, but you would have thought we were planning a world takeover if you saw the daily strategy sessions we held to discuss what kind of dog we were going to get.

 

Rightly so, my parents made sure that we would be adopting our dog from the shelter.  They said there are too many good dogs out there that need saving to spend hundreds or even thousands of dollars on a dog from a breeder (they were right).  So the family hit up every animal shelter in the tri-state area looking for the right fit.  I think less time went into drafting the Constitution than went into our tri-state search for a dog. 

 

For whatever reason, I had to sit out one of these trips to the pound one afternoon.  John and my Dad would have to handle this one on their own.  Getting a dog at a shelter is hard.  There are almost too many good dogs to choose from.  You want them all.  It’s a nightmare for anyone who can fall victim to even the slightest bit of indecision.  I thought their trip would turn out like the all the others.  They would report back that there were a lot of potential great pets, but they just weren’t sure.   Boy, was I wrong.

 

I still remember the day vividly.  I was sitting at the kitchen with my Mom, and John comes sprinting in through the front door to announce to the world that “he found the most beautiful white dog and she was going to be his forever.”  She was a one year old Jack Russell mix who had been a stray.  He seemed so sure and who was I to question the infinite wisdom of an eight-year old.  A few days later on October 10, 1996, Jackie (I know, I know... we’re not a very creative family) joined the Roszkowski household. 

 

John was right.  She was the most beautiful white dog ever.  He just forgot to mention that she wasn’t the most…. well-adjusted dog ever.  All the dogs I had ever met loved to be petted and played with.  Not Jackie.  She had her own rules, and you better not break them.  She would show you affection, but it had to be on her terms.  So every now and then she would jump up on the sofa or on your bed to say hello and let you pet her.  Sometimes she would even let you pick her up and hold her for a few minutes.  But you better not ever violate those terms of hers.  If Jackie was sleeping, you let Jackie sleep.  I can’t tell you the number of times I would try to put a leash on her when she was sleeping and didn’t feel like going out and she would give me the “vampire face”.  The vampire face was what she did when she felt like you were bothering her.  She would curl up her lip and show you that she has really sharp teeth and you shouldn’t mess with her.  It was a pretty frightening look.  If you still tried to approach her while she was doing the vampire face, she would take a bit of a lunge and snap at you.  Now, she would never actually bite down and draw blood, but she wanted to show she was one tough dog who was not to be messed with.  Looking back at it now, Jackie was just bit of a loner.  She liked her space (and I probably was a little bit annoying).

 

Jackie also liked to do her fair share of antagonizing when she was younger.  Every time the door would open just a crack, Jackie felt the need to do her best Usain Bolt impersonation and sprint outside at lightning speed.  She wasn’t trying to run away.  She was just trying to get you to chase her.  Because that’s Jackie and that’s what Jackie did.  She antagonized.  So one winter she bolted out into the snow and down the street while looking back at my brother and I in an almost taunting fashion.  As she is running down Cherry Tree Lane without a care in the world, she doesn’t seem to care that the roads are still a bit icy and there’s a car approaching.  The car hits the breaks and slides into a fire hydrant (it wasn’t going fast, so don’t worry, there wasn’t any damage) and Jackie looks back at my brother and her eyes are extra wide.  It’s like she knew what had just happened and got a kick out of it.  Finally, I was able to chase her down by pulling off my glove and dangling it in the air.  She couldn’t resist jumping at it and trying to bite it.  This allowed me to tackle her in the snow and all she did was just wag her tail at me.  All I could do was shake my head and carry her back to the house.  I learned that day I had a very unique dog on my hands.

 

And that’s the thing I realized I loved most about Jackie.  I think she was everything and more that a first pet should be because she never stopped teaching me lessons.  She taught me that my parents were right twenty years ago and dogs really aren’t all fun and games and a lot of responsibility (but always worth it).  She taught me that maybe I lied when I told my parents at six years old that I was born to walk dogs (sorry Mom and Dad).  She also taught me things like the person who came up with the expression “let sleeping dogs lie” must have had one of Jackie’s relatives as a pet, and that you should never ever try to take a bone from a dog unless you want to lose a finger or four. 

 

But Jackie’s most important lesson came at the end.  It took about fifteen years, but Jackie finally became that friendly lap dog we all had envisioned.  She calmed down and just liked to lay around and would let you pick her up and pet her without any commotion.  In fact, she actually started to enjoy the affection.  She would wag her tail and everything.  Sadly, the last few months of her life were difficult to watch.  She was almost twenty years old and you could tell the end was near.  She wasn’t able to make it outside to go to the bathroom (although, in all honestly, she never perfected that one when she was younger) and it was a struggle for her to walk.  She had to be carried outside.  But she was eating and hanging in there the best she could.  It didn’t seem like she was in any pain.  Unfortunately, things took a real turn for the worse the final week.  She had stopped eating and really didn’t want to move from this one spot on the floor.  On Tuesday night of that week, I went down to pet her and just sat and stared at her.  I started to cry my eyes out because it hit me that Jackie wasn’t going to be around much longer, and I couldn’t remember a time when Jackie wasn’t around.  She was there when I was seventh grade, she was there in high school, she was there when I was in college, she was there when I had a seizure in my twenties and she barked to wake everyone up, she was there at every family party or holiday.  She was just always there.  And now she was not going to be there much longer.  After I left an incoherent message on my girlfriend’s voicemail at 2AM explaining all of this, I decided I was going to save her even though I knew that was impossible.  Cancer is tough enough to beat for a young dog.  Jackie was approaching twenty.  But I didn’t care.  I was going to find her something that she could eat.  For the next three days, I fed her apple sauce and milk and made sure to pet her as much as possible.  I knew it wasn’t working, but the strange thing was that on Friday night she ate that apple sauce with the most fervor and energy I had seen from her all week.  I thought to myself that maybe she’s rallying.  She is the toughest dog I had ever seen.  She had been diagnosed with cancer multiple times, but she somehow kept beating it.  A couple hours later I was leaving the house and went to pet Jackie goodbye.  But Jackie had gone to sleep and stopped breathing.  I think that last cup of applesauce she ate out of my hand with maximum effort was her way of saying goodbye to me.  She knew I wanted her to eat so desperately, and she gave her it all for me one final time.  I was devastated and cried for two days.  I didn’t know what to do.  Jackie was always there, and now she wasn’t.

 

But like I said, Jackie taught me one final lesson that week.  She showed me just how precious every second of life is.  I shouldn’t have needed that reminder, but I think I did.  Every experience and every moment needs to be cherished.  Nothing is forever like my brother said when he said she was going to be his dog forever, but you can value every second of every experience and make it as special as possible.

 

And I know if she could, Jackie would try to teach me another lesson right now.  She would want me to be tough like her and remember that she lived a long, happy life and to dry up those tears and do nothing but smile when remembering her.  She was the toughest dog I knew.  I mean what dog do you know that almost makes it to twenty?  I’ll do my best for you, Jackie.  Thank you for curing my dog-fever and all the life lessons you taught me.  I will always remember you as my wonderful first pet and as “the most beautiful white dog ever”.  You were family.  Rest in peace.