Summer 2004 

An ode to Jack

For me, the hardest thing is to recall where the last ten years have gone. It was, almost, that long ago when Jack first came into my life and we started our long-running, incredibly close companionship that would see me through one degree, six years of graduate school, a broken leg, the death of my grandmother, three girl friends, one broken heart and an illness in the family, just to name a few of the major events... Over the years, it seemed that no matter how bad things got, Jack was always there to make me smile. And he was good at it.

I recently returned from Hawaii where I was competing in the Ironman Triathlon. When asked how the race went, I tell people it was one of the hardest things I've done in my life for many reasons. The day did not go as planned and it tested my resolve and determination beyond what I'd ever imagined. Given the choice between another day like that and the trip to the vet, I think I'd pick a month with one Ironman a day, maybe more.

Jack was born Dec 2, 1994 a cross between a Golden Retriever and Yellow Labrador. His full name is Jack Daniels, yes, after the whiskey. At the time, it was my drink of choice and the name was nicely abbreviated. There was some rumour that the name came from the fact that he had guzzled a glass full of the stuff as a pup but Jack never took to hard liquor, he was a beer-hound through and through. When he first moved in with us, there were two testosterone-filled fraternity men with two dogs sharing a room. (This was Ross and his dalmation Radcliff) Ross made the comment on the first night, if he sleeps with you tonight, he'll want to sleep with you for the rest of his life. I didn't think much of it at the time, how big could he really get? (he was about 85 lbs as an adult dog) Later on when a girlfriend would complain about sharing with both of us, I started to ease him into life where he had his own bed on the floor. Jack was also a trained ninja and had no problem sneaking onto my bed once we were asleep. When I woke in the morning, his nose would be about six inches from my face, wagging his tail knowing he had beaten me again. I couldn't do anything but smile.

The two-guy, two-dog living arrangement lasted about six weeks when it became obvious we didn't have enough space. So, Jack and I moved across the hall to our own room. Craig Norman was nice enough to paint a mural on my door of Jack, I wish I had a picture of this as it was quite good. Being a student and aspiring cyclist, there were periods where I'd need to leave him alone. He didn't much like being left in my room, so I left him with the run of the house. One of the first times I tried this, I left the front door open and told him to stay on the front porch. To my (pleasant) surprise, he was still there when I came back. In retrospect, Jack was always a very clever dog. After a few trials of this, he had earned my trust and it was a regular thing for him to hang out and wait for me to come home. A few months later, I started hearing stories of Jack roaming the neighbourhood: "I saw your dog about four blocks from the house the other day..." Jack, it would seem, knew my schedule well enough to go on an exploratory mission in the neighbourhood and get back before I returned.

I think this was the beginning of Jack's protective instincts. If he didn't know you, or you were trying to deliver the mail, you weren't welcome. The number of junk mail flyers we received with Jack on watch was next to none. Once he figured out that this was part of his job description, he extended his protection to the car (a 1970 Olds Convertible) and anywhere else he happened to be staying. One night while I was house sitting for my Aunt and Uncle in Calgary when Jack and their dogs were left alone for the evening. Something triggered the alarm system and when the police arrived they found 80 lbs of pissed off, growling dog and they wouldn't go in the house. Another time, my friend Steve tried to pay me back for a prank I had played on him in the fraternity house. I was taking a nap on the couch with Jack when he spied his opportunity. His plan, was to come running with a WWF-esque flying elbow delivered express service to me. Much to his surprise, he was met in mid-flight by Jack who was aiming his teeth for Steve's throat. I had a nice giggle as I fell back to sleep whereas Steve went back to his room to change his underwear.

One thing that most people remember is Jack's love affair with tennis balls. Jack would regularly fall asleep with a ball in his mouth and know exactly where it was when he woke. This all started while I was away on a bike racing trip to Poland and Jack was staying with Kelly and Lisa on their farm near Innisfail. Lisa had discovered that by putting the ball inside an old wool sock, it drove Jack nuts and would keep him busy for hours. He was always a retriever and when we started playing fetch with the tennis ball, it was love at first sight. I wondered if it was anything round but it had to be a tennis ball. Squash balls, gold balls, road hockey balls would fill the gap if absolutely necessary but they didn't last long. Jack would ususally destroy them on principle.

Jack was a very quick learner when it came to most things. As a puppy, he once bit an electric fence at Kelly and Lisa's and was convinced that it was Kelly that had done it to him. From then on, he would do his best Rambo belly crawl when he to pass under a fence, even if the wire was three feet off the ground.

He only ever lost one tennis ball out of the convertible. You see, he used to like to sit in the back seat and hang his head out the side to take in all the scents. Of course, he never went anywhere without a ball in his mouth so as he's hanging his head out one day, he opens his mouth and out pops the ball. I just happened to be driving up a long hill in Calgary (17th Ave) and could watch it roll back down the hill for about a mile. I was really worried that Jack was going to go after it. In the end, he didn't, he just cocked his head, watched it roll away, then looked at me like he was saying: "You mean were not going back to get it?"

The retriever in him was great once I took up hunting as a hobby. Kelly and I thought we see if he was gun shy one day at the farm. First we tried throwing a dummy and firing a 22 calibre rifle just as a starting point. It was windy and you could hardly hear the pop so we switched to the 12 gauge. I launched the dummy into the air, Kelly fired a shot and Jack was off chasing the dummy as soon as he heard the bang. The thing was, that his abilities as a retriever far exceeded my own as a hunter. I was soon getting the: " you missed again, didn't you?" look.

For Jack, the great thing about living in a fraternity house is that there is always some sucker around that would kick the slobber-caked ball for him when he dropped it at their feet. I never approached Guinness but his unofficial record is 11 hours of playing ball. Never an anti-social dog, Jack loved the fraternity keg parties as they provided him with an unlimited source of ball-throwers. This particular party started at a reasonable hour, about 5 in the afternoon, and Jack and I didn't go to bed until about 4 in the morning. I'm pretty sure he achieved a 100% success rate for guests who had kicked the ball for him, he did not stop chasing that ball all night and was in complete ecstasy. Of course, after a night like this, he set an all-time sleep record of about 44 hours straight but not before he put away a deep dish pizza big enough to feed four.

After a few years at the house, I had enough seniority to get the penthouse room when it came available. There were ups and downs to this. Jack had dumped the garbage enough times in the house to be banned from roaming free when I wasn't there. To solve the problem, I left my window open and gave Jack the run of the roof. To me it was an obvious solution; to passers by, it was quite strange to have a dog bark at them from the roof of a fraternity house.

As my involvement in cycling became more intense, there were more races to attend. Initially, I was finding a dog-sitter but then thought why not take him. A friend I was racing with had a dog as well and there was more than enough room in the convertible (the Delta) so it became a regular thing to see four or five of us heading up to Edmonton with top down, two dogs, pulling a trailer full of bikes. I think we really blended in to the scenery although I seem to remember the race organisers cringing whenever we pulled up.

Coming to my final year of Undergraduate studies, Jack and I needed a little more quiet so we moved into a basement suite on our own. I think this was a little tough for him not having the volume of people around. We adapted, taking to the river on an almost daily basis and finding a new park where the ball could be launched down a hill and tire him out like never before. When we first started in the river, Jack would fetch and then destroy the small sticks I was throwing. So, I found bigger ones which he would then bring back. You see, a twig is no challenge, but when we finally got up to fence-post size, Jack felt like he was doing some work. I had trouble getting the post out into deep enough water so we moved to a spot with a good current and I did my best caber-tossing effort. After a long fight and a few head dunkings, Jack would emerge about a half-kilometer down stream dragging the post with him and ready to go again.

After a brief sojourn in the working world, it was back to school for Jack and me. Jack was pretty happy about this because it was the return to a better social life for him. Most graduate students are stuck in some window-less office in a basement somewhere. However, due to lack of space and an increase in student numbers, we found ourselves as the resident "trailer trash" of Civil Engineering. It was great, a portable trailer in the middle of a huge green space which only meant one thing to Jack: lots of ball. My office/trailer mates had mixed reaction to Jack initially, the chinese students didn't know what to think. However, Jack soon made them realise that the only reason they were there was to throw the ball and that their studies were second. After that, we all got along just fine.

About three years ago, when I was offered a full-time position at my current job, Jack came to live with my parents. Regular visits from my nephew Zach kept him in his ball habits. Zach and Jack, it had a nice ring to it. Zach didn't really know what Jack was and decided he was a good jungle-gym. Jack would look at me once and a while with the expression: "Do I really have to put up with this kid?" Patience personified in a dog. He really took to Zach though. This summer when we were at the lake the two of them went in the water together. Jack always had an eye on him and wouldn't leave his side except for the ten feet to fetch the stick that Zach had thrown.

Looking back, there's several things that I was able to teach Jack. The requisite, sit, stay, down of course; fetch the tennis ball, find the tennis ball that I threw out back somewhere in the dark and you have no idea where to look, retrieving ducks and geese, finding grouse and pheasants, don't eat my cycling shoes, protect the car, kill the mailman...

Here's what he taught me:

• Know your friends and welcome them with a wagging tail and tennis ball in case they want to play.
• Always let strangers know who's in charge. (this will work nine times out of ten and the other one time you probably deserve the ass-kicking)
• Be patient with the young ones, they've got a lot to learn.
• Never underestimate the benefit of a good nap.
• No matter how big a frown someone has, there's nothing a big tongue across the face won't fix
• Always have something in life that you're passionate about.
• When times get tough, keep your eye on the ball and never give up.
  

It was about five weeks ago, we noticed a small growth on Jack's gums. With some anti-biotics, it seemed to get better and I wasn't concerned when I left for Hawaii. My mom, bless her heart, watched it grow to the size of a tennis ball while I was away, she didn't say a word until I returned. She had made a couple of trips to the vet with him and was the first hand recipient of the "sorry, nothing we can do" news. With the same opinion from three vets, it really started to sink in. We were out playing ball the other day, when Jack brought it back once, then on the second fetch, he went straight to the garage and left the ball there before he came back. This was always his way of saying he'd had enough.

Jack went peacefully around noon on November 1, 2004. I will miss him. Heart-felt thanks go to Dave McEwen for the help and advice he offered for Jack.

In writing this I've realised that there are an infinite number of stories to be told about Jack and the effect he's had on my life. If, in reading this, you're reminded of a favourite story, I would be more than happy to hear from you. Me, I think I'm off to the video store to rent "All Dogs Go to Heaven"

D