Ron brought Jasper home today. The hospital staff was very considerate. They closed the abdominal suture and placed him in a towel and then in a plastic bag. We unwrapped these items to see him. He was curled up like a sleeping little lamb, nose resting on paws. He often slept that way and the familiarity of the pose cut deep inside me. He really did look like he was just resting, but I knew he was not.

I stroked him and cried. He had two coats - a soft undercoat and a wild and wiry top layer. He shed like crazy and the next housecleaning will be particularly hard. I brushed back the long hair that was forever obsuring his gentle, now-closed brown eyes. I made one final Jaspersaurus - twirling the fur on top of his head until it stood like a unicorn’s horn - and then smoothed it out.

We brought Skeeter out to see him. No one knows what animals think or sense, but we thought it would be better for Skeeter to see and intuit in whatever way he might that Jasper was gone. He already sensed something was wrong with us. Dogs know things.

Ron brought out Japser’s favorite toy, his small blanket, knitted by our friend Karen, and a clean sheet. (Desirée had also been buried with her blanket from Auntie Karen.) We gently bundled him and then held the bundle and cried. We carried him to the top of our terraced yard and gently placed him in the space that Ron had made in the ground. He faces the house so he can always see us even if we can’t see him. Ron prayed.

Like a couple who each keeps taking a progressively smaller bites of the shared dessert, we gently returned the mound of earth to the void,  slowly working around the blanket until the dirt began to topple down from the sides and obscure the whiteoval with moist, dark brown soil. Only a sliver was left. As if on cue, the local church bell began to toll for noon. We looked at each other and waited. “You,” I said. After all, Ron was the dog person. He lowered another shovel-full and all was dark.

We worked more quickly now. Ron paused. He steppen on the soil to compress it. “Sorry, buddy,” he said, much like the innumerable apologies one of us would offer when we accidentally step on a paw. He raked in the last clumps of loamy earth and torn grass and it was done. We held each other in tears and gave thanks for the joy of twelve years.

“Don’t anthropomorphise your animals. They hate that!” Not sure whose joke that is but it is one we used again and again. We spoke for all of our critters. Sometimes to say things out loud we weren’t willing to say in our own voices, but mostly to deepen the love, the fun and the pleasure of being in communion with God’s other creatures. We have been deeply blessed by all our companions whom Jasper has now gone to join - Miss Phredde, the sky-diving hamster; Oscar and Harvey, the transcontinental guinea pigs; Mary-Ann, Mona and Anna, matriarchs of our mouse colony; and my girls Desirée, Griz and Annie. We miss them. Each has given us something unique and special and we are grateful.

Now we are three. Skeeter is thirteen, but small dogs tend to have greater longevity and, except for his socially-inappropriate Maybelline problem, he is in good health. We’ll be loving him extra hard from now on.

As a guardian of a life, you never want to favor one of your children over another - whatever the species. That said, Jasper was somethin’ special. A cuddler, a love-puppy, a gentle soul who hated loud noises and loved bits of raw vegetables. His favorite spot was in bed between us where, for a small dog, he could get incredibly long and would stretch and push until we were hugging the edges of the mattrass and he was the cross-bar of the H. If you held him, he’d nestle completely into your chest and then twist his head upward until he could look you in the eye. He napped a lot and we think he chased rabbits in his dreams. He understood the concept of a doorknob and probaly coud have used one if he had thumbs. He loved W-A-L-K-S, of which whenever got enough, and like his more delicate daddy, was prone to car-sickness. On the rare occasions when there was “an accident” in the house, he was abject in his embarrassment.

I don’t know what made me a cat person early on. I don’t think I’ve lost that - the way I lost my feeling for Christmas or rhinestone jewelry - but I’ve definitely become a dog person as well. I guess that makes me bispecial!  What I do know is no other creature on earth can be a better embodiment of the existential, unconditional love that humankind aspires to (or should) than a dog can. If you experience that gift in your life - the joyously dancing, licking, barking greeting everytime you come through the front door, whether you’ve been gone five weeks or five minutes - you are a lucky soul. Among the many life gifts that flow between Ron and me, I shall always be especially grateful for the gift of Jasper.

Dogs rule!