Remembering Jack

A tribute to my first dog

Jack at Honeymoon Island June 2024

I have a confession to make: I didn’t always like dogs.

Growing up, our family never owned a dog, just cats, so they became my default pet preference. As a kid, I was attacked by a neighbor’s German Shepherd on two separate occasions. This left me gun-shy about trusting any other hounds.

However, my love of cats, wildlife, and science inspired me to become a veterinarian in spite of that fear. When I was getting animal experience to apply to vet school, I worked with a local facility that trained service dogs to help people who were deaf or had epilepsy. Most of the pups were Golden and Labrador Retrievers, and those big, gentle goofs slowly warmed me up to doggos.

As a DVM student and intern baby doctor, I actually preferred dogs as patients over cats, because (most) were easier to handle and work on. Still, I didn’t feel any particular desire to get a pooch of my own.

Jack was the one who won me over and converted me into a full-on dog person.

I met Jack in 2013 when I started dating my then-girlfriend (now wife) Lenore. He was a Dachshund/Miniature Pinscher mutt with a few other breeds mixed in for good measure. Or, as we usually referred to him, an “Alabama street dog.” Jack had originally been brought to the ER at Auburn after being hit by a car. Luckily, the damage was confined to a forelimb fracture that did not require surgery. He bonded intensely with Lenore, and she couldn’t say no to adopting him.

Jack had a big personality and left an impression on everyone who met him. Little dogs are notorious for being territorial and picking fights with other animals—even though he only weighed about ten pounds, he routinely humped our friend’s pitbull who was five times bigger—but he could be surprisingly gentle; he snuggled with our eight-week-old kittens Bert and Ernie, and when he rolled around playing with his stuffed toys it could melt the heart of the most cynical person. Jack didn’t always have the best manners—he once brazenly stole meat off a charcuterie plate during a party. He enjoyed sitting on the bow of our kayaks and low-key hanging out at breweries in Seminole Heights. Jack even had an international adventure: We smuggled him into Canada during a camping trip in the Thousand Islands!

Like any good veterinarian’s pet, he racked up a number of health conditions over the years. Dachshunds are prone to the hormonal disorder Cushing’s Disease, and of course he developed that years ago. The increased levels of cortisol gave him a pot belly, thinner muscles, and led to diabetes. His chronically elevated blood sugar caused cataracts. We thought he was slowing down and attributed it to age, but once we had those cataracts fixed surgically, he was a brand new dog again, full of vim and vigor.

Another common health problem in Dachshunds and related breeds is intervertebral disk disease (IVDD), often referred to as a “down dog” emergency because it can leave them acutely paralyzed. I was always terrified Jack would slip a disk when Lenore was out of town on work and of course that happened in 2022. He actually had IVDD in his neck that prevented the use of all four legs and required a surgery called a “ventral slot.” I rushed him to a neurologist a few hours away for the emergency surgery. His indomitable spirit could not be kept down for long, the procedure went well and he was wagging his tail after discharge:

One of the cruel ironies of medicine is that even if we are fortunate enough to prevent or treat fatal conditions like heart disease or cancer, we all will eventually succumb to the frailties of aging. Despite our success managing Jack’s many health conditions, over the years arthritis in his spine and knees made it increasingly difficult to walk. In addition, he developed canine cognitive dysfunction (CCD), essentially the equivalent of Alzheimer’s Disease.

We knew the end was approaching, so last summer we took Jack to the beach on Honeymoon Island for a senior pet photo shoot with a local photographer. He was a little more tired than in his youth, but Jack frolicked through the sand and ocean, enjoying every minute.

We (barely) made it through Christmas and New Year, but his health problems became increasingly hard to manage. At the end of January we made the difficult choice to euthanize Jack. A hospice vet came to our house and was able to perform this last kindness while we held him on our couch. He slipped into a deep, peaceful, final sleep in our arms. We both sobbed our eyes out.

The hardest thing about the period right after losing a pet is the silence. Even with other animals in the house, the absence of Jack’s tap-dancing on the hardwood or his bark is deafening. I’m reminded of the beautiful song about grieving from Hamilton, “It’s Quiet Uptown.” There are small reminders of him in every corner of the house. A sweater here, a favorite bed there. Photos on the wall. As we have slowly processed the loss, grief comes and goes in waves. Some days we’re fine, then other times a memory will trigger pangs of heartache.

I don’t claim to know what happens after death; that is the realm of religion, philosophy, and metaphysics. But after we said goodbye to Jack, one of my best friends from vet school texted me this beautiful thought that a colleague shared with him after a similar loss:

“The first law of thermodynamics is that, in this closed system that is our universe, energy can’t be created or destroyed. It can only be transformed. When we lose a companion we have lost their energy as we have known it, but it is still out there. It should be our intent going forward to watch for that energy for the remainder of our travels and cherish it when it presents again.”

Some days I still feel Jack’s presence, so maybe there’s something to that.

We all miss you dearly, Jack. Take care until our paths cross again ❤️ 🌈