Raise your glass, to Jeremy

Jeremy was the epitome of the underdog.  He was a mutt.  He wasn't much more shepherd than I am.  But he had a smile for everyone and a survival skill that probably saw him through some very bad times. 

He was an old guy when he came into the rescue and he looked like hell.  He had tested positive for heartworms and had been treated by the Fluvanna SPCA, but he had only very thin, sparse hair on his body and a skin infection probably left over from a bad flea infestation and allergy that had gone untreated for far too long.  I sometimes wish I could read dogs' minds and know their past, but I'm not sure I would have wanted to know much about Jeremy's past.  I'm sure there were plenty of hard times and quite a bit of trying to make it on his own.  But he knew he needed people and he did his best to seek them out and find his place in the world. 

I don't know if he ever did.  I never could find him a real home.  He wasn't what anyone was looking for, but he was wrong in all the right ways and Jeremy fit in around here.  He made himself at home and maybe that was enough.  I should have done more to make him a home here.  I sure hope this sweet little guy had some good times in his early life;  he deserved more than he got out of life. 

There's a poem by Rupert Brooke that I first encountered on a dog calendar.  It tells the story of a good little dog who goes out and raises hell one day.  It stuck in my head because it reminded me of our little dog, Vito.  It is equally applicable to Jeremy.


All in the town were still asleep
When the sun came up with a shout and a leap.
In the lonely streets unseen by man,
a little dog danced. And the day began.
.....

When the blood-red sun had gone burning down,
And the lights were lit in the little town,
Outside, in the gloom of the twilight grey,
The little dog died when he'd had his day.



I called the vet's office this morning and was relieved to learn that he had made it through the night.  I really didn't want the end to come for him when he was alone.  When I spoke to the vet later, they had determined that he had both blood and bacteria in his urine, and fluid in his abdominal cavity that was full of bacteria.  Surgery would have been required to find and possibly repair the problem.  He was a very sick dog.  A post-mortem identified a large tumor that would have been inoperable in any event. 

I was grateful for the chance to go to town and lay down with him for a while and stroke his head.  He was glad to see me and lifted his head and looked up at me if I paused in the petting while we were together.  I was grateful to the vet who gave me a frank and honest assessment of the dog's condition and prognosis rather than leading me down a path of false hope and prolonged suffering for the dog.  I was grateful to the staff who showed kindness and compassion to both me and Jeremy.  I was especially grateful that Jeremy seemed to be normal, healthy, and happy right up to the end and only had a couple of bad days instead of a prolonged illness.  I was grateful to Jeremy for sharing part of his life with us, for forgiving me when I was stressed and short, for always having that happy, optimistic look on his sweet face. 

So raise your glass, all my underdogs, to Jeremy.