J.J. (a black lab) belonged to my best friend. The dog lived in the back yard, but was allowed in the house. When coming into the house, he knew to go get his towel and bring it to you. He would then roll over on his back and let you wipe off his paws. You'd hand him his towel back and he would go put it back up.
J.J. had a toybox by the fireplace. You could tell him to fetch whatever toy you wanted to play with and he would bring it to you. When J.J. was through playing, you'd tell him to pick up his toys and he'd scamper through the house, picking his toys up and putting them back in the box.to
My wife cooked J.J. breakfast most Sunday mornings. You could ask him what he wanted - multiple choice, since dogs can't talk - and he'd let you know. Usually, he preferred pancakes and bacon, although he occasionally would rather have eggs and sausage. Or maybe biscuits and gravy. Every now and then, waffles. He had his own plastic plate, since dogs aren't good with china. You could set his plate in front of him and he wouldn't eat until after he bowed his head and the blessing was said.
My friend died with CHF. For the last several months of his life, J.J. spent a lot more time in the house. Usually lying by the recliner, usually getting fed too many of his favorite treats, vanilla wafers. My friend's son moved into his house after his dad's death and while he's a good man, he just doesn't love animals the way my buddy did. Oh, I'd drop by occasionally and take J.J. down to the pond in the summer (he was a terrible swimmer for a lab, but he loved the water) or maybe I'd pick a bucket of figs off the old fig tree and throw a few over the fence to him, just to let him catch them in the air and eat them. But J.J. didn't get near the attention he used to get and he never had anymore Sunday breakfasts.
I got a call one day from my friend's son...He'd found J.J. dead in the back yard. I went over there with the wife, and J.J. was curled up on the back porch, just as he'd slept there most of his life. There are some things I really regret in life. Not burying J.J. was one of them. I was too close to post-op to swing a pick and muck out with a shovel. I probably couldn't have picked him up, he was a big dog. I patted him on the head and said good-bye, closing another chapter in life. I guess the son just chunked the body in the woods, I didn't ask. I don't want to know. I let J.J. down and it bothers me.
He was a good dog.
