Jasmine – continued again

Jasmine grew like a weed.  She made us proud with the dog she was becoming.  Even at 6 months old, she graduated puppy class and became my protector.

She was a cute little puppy, still, full of excess skin.  But when put into a situation where she was alone with me, she turned into a protective guard.  One night I went to pick Jon up at the rental car place late at night after he came back from a business trip and I decided to bring my little Jasmine with me.  She was barely 5 months old.  We pulled in to the empty parking lot and I turned off the engine when Jon called and said he would be about 10 minutes late.  I turned the music on and looked at my little puppy.  My little puppy was just over 45 pounds at this point.  Jasmine was staring at the cars that would pass by us and she let our this really low growl.  Even I was scared!   Jasmine was protecting me.  She acted like a total mush around Jon and I, but when Jon wasn’t around, Jasmine took it upon herself to protect me, a weak human.  I gushed over her.  I was always gushing over her.  My amazing puppy.

And then it happened.

Jasmine was just over 6 months old and healing up fast from her spay.  We decided to get her extra claw removed while she was under and were currently undergoing some extra treatment for her skin thing that was making it all dry and marked up.  We were positive that Jasmine was worth every effort and every penny that we were putting into her.  She was our baby.  Our third baby.  Our, probably, last baby for quiet a while.  3 dogs was a lot and we knew we’d have to stop after Jasmine.

I went away to Las Vegas for work and my two girl friends joined me on the trip to keep me company.  We had a wonderful and relaxing time.  Jon texted me pictures of the puppies every day because I couldn’t believe how much I missed them all.  And I was especially eager to see Jas because she seemed to grow every day.

I came back on Saturday night and was gushing over how much she’d grown.  Sunday Jon had a family thing that he went to do in Western MA.  I stayed home, tired and slightly jet-lagged.  Jasmine was hyper beyond belief.  Jon and I were big believers in Caesar Millan’s philosophy of exercising the dogs.  And I had every intention to do so.  But not this early in the morning.

I opened the door and let Jasmine out into the yard like we did on a daily basis.  She had never left the yard before because she was too young.  We planned on starting the training for invisible fence the following week.  I had the order queued.   I went off to do something and then heard Travis and Cailey barking up a storm.

The two small dogs were going insane, jumping up on the back of the couch where they are no allowed and barking non-stop.  I tried to calm them, but inside I already knew that something was terribly wrong.  I looked out the window and saw a pile up of cars outside.  They were all standing around and some of the people were outside of their cars, running toward my yard.  A panic chill went through my body.  I shooed Travis and Cailey off the couch and bolted outside, still in my PJ’s and a jacket.

The cars were all standing with their owners outside, honking or just looking.  I followed the cars to what seemed to be the center where one of the car owner was outside of her car, bawling.  My eyes followed to the small carcass laying in the road.  I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t Jasmine, but inside, I knew it was her.  I ran toward the road, panicked. 

Jasmine, all 50 pounds of her, was laying in the road.  There was blood around her and the owner of the car that hit her was standing over her, crying.  She reached out to me but I was in sheer panic.  My sweet, sweet, sweet baby was laying in the street. Cold and alone.

I felt like my breakfast was coming back up, the tears welt up in my eyes, and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness took over.  I slowly backed away from the scene and back tracked toward the house.  Jasmine didn’t follow.

I ran toward the house and called Jon.  “Jasmine is dead.” I sobbed into the phone.  It took him minutes to understand what I was trying to say.  It took him seconds to tell me to go back in the house and get on the road to travel back home.  I sat down on my stairs, bawling, not knowing what to do.  I have never been in this situation before.  In fact, I have never had to deal with death before.

When my hamster Alice died, my dad took “care” of her before I knew she was dead.  When my grandpa on my mom’s side died, we were only informed as children and then ignored while my parents took care of things.  When one of our friends died in college, I chose not to go to the funeral because I wasn’t ready to accept his death.  I’ve never dealt with death.

So here I was, sitting on my front steps, watching the cops show up and talk to the owners of the car that hit my precious baby, not knowing what to do.

The police officer finally walked over to me and asked me if the dog was mine.  I nodded and began to hyperventilate cry again.  He informed me that I was lucky.  I stared at him.  “You should be happy that she didn’t try to avoid your dog and hit a pole instead.  Then she could be suing you.”  I stared at him.  He asked me if he could pull all my information via my car license, I nodded and he left after writing down my license plate.

I went in the house and sat on the couch, crying my eyes out, waiting for Jon to get home.  He finally arrived almost 2 hours later.  The nice man and the cop brought Jasmine into our yard, wrapped in a blanket and dumped her body on the edge.  Jon asked where she was and I pointed, starting an out-pour of fresh tears.   He nodded and went off into the yard to dig a hole.  While I watched, Jon dug a hole in the yard, got the wheel barrel and put Jasmine in the ground.  I stood around and cried.  He let me bring a stuffed animal that we got her for her puppy class graduation to bury with her.  I threw it in the grave and sat back, exhausted.  I cried while Jon held me and said our good byes to our lovely dog.

To this day I find it hard to believe that Jasmine has passed.  There were days when I would lean over from my bed and wait for her to lick my hand, but it didn’t happen.  I cried.  There were nights when I couldn’t stop myself from wishing she was there, cuddle up in bed with me.  As time went by, these feelings were more spread out but they’re still there.  To this day, almost 5 months later, I still cry sometimes, wishing my puppy to be alive.

RIP my sweet, sweet baby.  I miss you every single day.