When Jake came into our lives more than 15 years ago, he was living on the street, scavenging in trash cans; found by a very kind family that owned 5 cats and couldn’t possibly take him in.  We fell in love with him instantly, although to this day we can’t tell you why.  Can you call a dog “misanthropic?”  He was a bit Benji-looking, scruffy and dirty, and we couldn’t wait to make life better for him.  The vet had no idea how old he was, at least a year or two, she said.

Jake drew family and friends in slowly, and if they didn’t love him right away, they at least respected his distinct, almost ballsy personality.  He became another family member as most dogs do and protected us against strangers, squirrels and finches with the same vehemence.  He got to know us so well that he cried if one of us was upset; and stood by the “injured party” if there was an argument in the house.

As he got older, he thrived on his routine (ok, ok, my husband and I do too), and that is probably going to be the hardest part in the months (and years?) to come.  We had to make the terrible decision yesterday.  Jake was arthritic, cyst-ridden and the vet had just discovered several masses in his abdomen.   My husband, kids (now grown) and I lay on the hospital floor with Jake while he passed.  It’s a moment we’ll never forget.  We’re so grateful for the time he gave us.  We thought we were going to make his life better, never understanding how much fuller he would make ours.

Terry from DE