Once upon a time, there were eleven. Then, somehow, just one. Now, far, far too soon, we are empty nesters. Jasmine, the last of our litter—our kids, the family we spent the last 16 years raising—has passed away, just a couple months after a very Sweet 16.
What can I say about Jazzie, that would capture her bright, feisty, sweet spirit, without somehow diminishing her? What can I say about losing her, that honors her, and doesn’t put the burden of all our losses onto her? For I am only now, finally, beginning to feel the magnitude of what we’ve lost. She was a precious unique soul worthy of an entire heartbreak on her own accord, but as long as she was still here with us, in a way, so were her mom, and her 8 brothers and sisters. It was never quite over, until now.
I have a lot of thoughts about the experience of shepherding our family of dogs into old age and into the undiscovered country—thoughts about hospice and suffering (or not!) and how to say goodbye—but those will come later. Right now, I want you to know about Jazz.
She was loud. She had Strong Opinions. She kept abreast of all the neighborhood, family, and household goings-on–a true Newshound! She had a short, sharp bark that she employed freely, liberally, and with abandon. She was the inspiration for Pilot, the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed dog in my book A Curse Dark as Gold. She was an excellent communicator; a much better communicator, sometimes, than we were interpreters! (It took us ten years to realize she barked at us during dinner because we weren’t making eye contact with her!!)
With Gracie Pigeon, who we lost in 2015
She was sweet—so, so very sweet! When you saw her, you could not help the first words out of your mouth being “Hi, Sweetheart!” It came so naturally, that she grew to think it was her name. You could holler “Jasmine! JAAAAZYYYYY!” until every dog in the state got tired of listening, and she’d totally ignore you. But one quiet “Hi, Sweetheart,” had her trotting right to you. I can remember one of the very first times it happened, when she was a tiny pup. She’d woken up in the middle of the night (definitely not for the last time!) and CJ got up to let her out. Instead of going back to her crate, she wandered into our bedroom. I heard a little rustle by my bedside, switched on the light, saw her bright little face, and automatically said, “Hi, Sweetheart!” I guess she never forgot it, either. She never knew a stranger, because everyone knew her name the first time they met: “Hi, Sweetheart!” they’d say, just looking at her.
At 6 and 8 weeks old, already alert and watching! (She learned to sit on command by watching me train her brothers and sisters.)
She was even sweet to other animals. If she encountered a baby rabbit or fallen bird in the yard, she would stop several paces back, with a friendly tail-wag; or accidentally wander nose-to-nose into a visiting opossum. Never aggressive, she’d stop, say, “Hello!” and then go on about her way again. Last summer, I heard her barking worriedly from the back yard, and went out to discover the family of fledgling starlings who’d just dropped into the yard. She made sure I found all three babies—even the one hidden behind the deck screen—and got them all to safety again. (She got that from her mom.)
…But it’s just not possible to tell you Jazzie’s story without including her family. She got the name Jasmine because she was one of three black-and-tan sisters, who were almost indistinguishable as pups. Only when one of them unexpectedly grew a long, luxurious black coat at the age of 3 weeks could we tell them all apart. Grandma Judy named her Jasmine, after the princess from Disney’s “Aladdin.”
One of the rare times she was actually asleep.
Of all our pups, she was the least intimidated by our greyhound, her Uncle Whistler. The others regarded him as a god, to be worshipped from a respectful distance–but Jazzie instinctively knew what a gentle soul he really was. She’d walk right up to him to share dropped cookie crumbs or kibbles she knew he didn’t want. He probably just said, “Hi, Sweetheart,” and let her.
She had the most beautiful smile, which seemed to be her natural expression between barks, as if she wanted you to know she was barking at everything happily! She was happy to tell you what you should be doing! Happy to tell you that one of her sisters was at the back door! Happy to tell you Daddy was home!! The mail was here! Happy to direct your attention at dinnertime!
The Twins, Jade & Jasmine, with big brother Flint at foreground
She loved a belly rub, from the time she was a tiny baby. She hated having her nails done (unless it was by her pal Doc). She was a night owl and an early bird, an introvert who was happiest in crowds. She hated the rain, and yet always seemed to end up going for walks in the very worst weather. She liked her own space (and had her own room) when she was younger, but when she got older she loved to snuggle. When she was excited—which was often!—she’d do pirouettes… while barking.
As her own family dwindled, her life got quieter. Except for that voice! It was still going strong literally ten minutes before she left us. She’ll be letting everybody in Heaven know what’s what. Here’s a tip: She answers to Hi, Sweetheart, and she wants you to look at her.
The Good Life: with her new birthday beds, showing how it’s done
‘Bye, Sweetheart. Thanks for everything.
Consequently, she missed out on early socialization and ended up at the bottom of the pack, picked on by her sisters and shy around people. She didn’t want to be petted, picked up, cuddled, or held. She’d struggle and try to bite, and she was afraid of everything. I spent her first year trying to figure out how to reach her. It crushed me that this gorgeous dog didn’t love me like her littermates did.
