Jake

We’d been married a little over a year and a half, we’d lived together almost five years. We had two great cats and a ferret. A dog seemed like the next logical step. We decided on a rescue, and an internet search located one of the few kill shelters remaining in our area. It was a bit of a drive, about an hour and a half, but we made it having no idea if we’d find our dog there. In the end, he found us, watching us silently from behind bars while the rest of the shelters occupants went crazy at the sight of us. He barked only one time (and has probably only barked about 10 times in all the years since), and that was when we were turning to go. Don’t leave. You’re my people. 

And we are. 

He is 16 years old now, and he’s slowing down. He moves more slowly, hears much less, and often sleeps deeply enough to make me catch my breath as I watch anxiously for his, but he’s still got a lot of pep in his step for one his age, and we’re met with disbelief at the dog park when we assure people that he’s geriatric. 

This morning he was stretched out in the sun at my feet while I had my morning coffee and cuddles, and as he looked up at us with his ears perked up and his tail wagging slowly I was struck by how very much of our lives Jake has been here for. He joined us almost five months before Michael left for Basic Training. He’s moved cross country more than once, and sat patiently while I cried into his fur during 3 deployments. He was at the door when every new baby came through it. (Though I think Mabel is his special favorite.) He’s the perfect dog, and I’m so happy we made the trip to save him from death row way back when. We are so lucky to be his people, and I hope we will be for years to come.