Jackson - The Wyoming Pup

Jackson, the yellow lab of nearly 11, has been in my family since he was two months old. I remember the night we got him. Well, almost. I remember it being dark, me being tired and the family SUV pulling over to some outdoor place, and in pops a tiny handheld pup. We named him Jackson because our family had been to Jackson Hole, Wyoming a dozen times and it was the tradition of the time.

A dog’s obedience comes in many forms. Jackson is not the type of dog you can take to a park (or even the front yard) without a leash. He’ll book it every time, and I spent my damn childhood, and a good bit of my early adulthood, running around neighborhoods for him. One very specific, very sour memory I’ve kept goes back to when I was living at a condo near a golf course. Jackson got out somehow, big surprise, and made his way onto the green. I don’t hate running, but chasing after a dog who thinks you’re having fun always has a bit of sting to it. So I’m running my hardest, Jackson’s running his hardest, smirking. And this old bastard yells across the open, wide lawn to me, “no dogs allowed.” Oh! You don’t say! Gee. I guess I’ll just get my dog and be on my way!

Despite the rebellious freebird spirit, Jackson is obedient. He knows who his family is and he’ll even lick your chin if you’ve got the right last name. I read that dogs only do that when they consider you part of their pack, and have always taken pride that he did it to me. He’s protected my niece from other dogs and he’s never bitten any of us. Jackson’s ours and we couldn’t have asked for more. I’ll never let it be forgotten that it was I who taught him how to “shake”.

So this week, I wasn’t expecting to wake up to a text about going to the vet. “Probably just some check up” I muttered as I sat up to grab my phone, in a groggy fog. In my lazy first-thing-in-the-morning stupor, I regrettably wanted to reply I was too busy. I’m glad I didn’t.

I was picked up in a much different SUV, than from a decade ago, to drive to my dad’s to get Jackson. I wasn’t about to drive him in my compact because he always sheds like crazy. Going in through the back, we hear that oh so common jingle of his name tags hanging from his very loose, red collar as he clomped up the stairs. Greeting with scratches and baby talk, like one does, it took no time at all to notice the small apple-sized bulges coming from his throat. The lymph nodes in his neck were clearly enlarged for some reason. Despite this, his behavior was his usual dopey, excited self and the walking collar slid on fine. Stranger yet, I noticed this green-yellow, I don’t know if I should call it puss or what, rimming the bottom of his eyes. It didn’t look like your typical morning eye-boogers and this shit was very sci-fi. We figured it too could be answered for at the vet so we laid the blanket in the back and off we went.

The habitual whines and tail wagging accompanied the drive over. Jackson was behind the back seats of the SUV in the hatchback area with ample space. At one point, I lowered the back left window at a stop light to give him some air. It was a mistake because he tried to lunge at it and couldn’t just enjoy the breeze. He’s always eager for his next adventure. “Be good boy Jackson” and “Almost there” kept echoing out while I took wider turns than I normally would, making the journey as smooth as possible.

It was all pretty much how you’d expect and we were soon in the vet’s office. He weighed in at 69.9 lbs, though I’d argue it was hovering over 70.0 longer. But either way, he’s been losing weight in his old age. The vet tech took us into a room and that’s when things started to shift. The tech went to take his temperature in the special doggy way but noticed he had a slightly perforated rectum, likely from constipation. So we’d forgo the thermometer this time and the doctor would come in to complete the inspection and let us know what was up. The waiting periods between when the vet tech leaves and when the doctor arrives always feel twice as long as they probably are.

After giving Jackson a pat down, starting with the throat, then moving to the hind legs, the doctor begins naming the specific lymph nodes and how “In the state of Utah” tape worms aren’t prevalent. I’m thinking, okay…? But then he says it. Cancer. Lymphoma. Peculiar enough, the way he said it made it sound like it was no big deal, like there was a blanket of denial on the fact that it would ever happen to our dog. And what was weird was it felt like I wasn’t supposed to worry about it, like it was a ruse. Even when he said they give him 2-3 months, he didn’t give off the impression it was much less than neutral news.

It feels like a slap in the face from mortality. The sad, super common truth of animals and all cell-dividing biological creatures, that means you, will eventually have cancer if something else doesn’t take us first.

This time, the waiting period for them to collect the medication felt much longer. I was pacing before long and we used the time to hug and cry before being sent home with prednisone, famotidine, NeoPoly-something ointment cream for his eyes, a stool softener and some jelly for his rectum (with the heavy recommendation to use a plastic glove, I assure you). A new toy from PetSmart was non-prescribed but my sweet mother couldn’t resist. A rope with two tennis balls that lasted a solid 30 minutes before being torn up and the squeakers dissected. Jackson is in good spirits, good energy and even after the first dose of prednisone the swelling on both ends seem to go down significantly. The doctor didn’t comment on the eyes, or if he did I couldn’t hear past the haze, but the cream cleared him right up and he resembles the same pup named after that town in Wyoming he always has. We will aim to make him as comfortable as possible, though the doctor was adamant at reminding us of the band aid effect of it all, that this will not reduce the underlying condition. When the time comes to do the humane thing, that’ll be another discussion. Even though his strength may fade, his impact on our family and his memory will not.

I am dedicating this piece to my brother.