Remembering Jett

Jett was a quick learner, aside from resisting to heel during our daily walks. He knew were he was supposed to be, but he always wanted to walk about half a body length ahead of where he should be. But he knew where he was supposed to be, because if I stopped walking, he quickly backed up and got in a perfect heel position next to my leg.

He was a happy boy who very quickly came to love me and my other dog, 3-year-old Jenny. And Jenny, who doesn't much care for other dogs, loved Jett from the moment they met.

Jett loved meeting up with his friend Ralphie, a medium-size black dog we would sometimes see during our daily walk. He loved meeting Ralphie. His other canine friend was an 8-year-old yellow Labrador retriever named Aspen.

I used to call Jett ‘nosy Ned’, as he loved to stand on his back legs and look over the back yard walls to see what the neighbors were up to.

Jett could never, ever, get enough attention. He was the personification of a Velcro dog. He never got a lot of attention during the first 16 months of his life, and he spent his time with me trying to make up for the lack. 

He loved his morning walks, driving me a bit crazy sometimes if I didn't get ready quickly enough to suit him. He would pant. He would pace. He would whine. He would run in small circles.

Jett didn't know the meaning of personal space. He followed me everywhere, even when I was sitting on the toilet. He would come in and sit very close to me until I told him to back off a little bit and give me some space. He was usually stretched out on the bathroom floor just outside my shower, so he could keep an eye on me and make sure there wasn’t a secret exit in the shower.

Jett was an extremely gorgeous blond golden retriever. He had the softest, silkiest ears of any dog I’ve ever known. He was my seventh golden, and none of them ever received the complements he did as we would walk through the neighborhood. One woman driving by actually stopped her car, rolled down the window, and told me what a gorgeous dog he was.

Jett died at home last evening. A good friend came over, and she took an old blanket I had and wrapped him carefully and gently just where he lay. It may sound strange, but after I kissed his head, as I did every day, I left a light on for him in the living room all night. This morning, as I took my other dog for her daily walk, I left the radio on for Jett, as I did every day. He didn’t really like being left alone. 

My friend came over again this morning, and together we struggled to get my 62 pound dog from my living room into the back of my car. It was not an easy task, but working together, we got him loaded in the back of my little SUV. I commented that if this weren’t such a sad and tragic situation, it might be funny to onlookers to see two elderly women struggling to get a body wrapped in a white blanket into the back of a car.

My plan, my hope, was to give Jett a lifetime of love and companionship for many years to come. Sadly, I won’t get that chance now. I hope he knew how loved he was.