Family and friends, our “Captain of the Homestead Guard,” Jackson, has passed.
After his cancer-wrecked, bony frame chased one last delivery truck early yesterday, and I then found him for the first time ever hiding under a bush, I brought him inside and told him that his mission to “protect our house” was complete. How many harmful incidents in his 8+ years here did he perhaps prevent? He also helped train up the other dogs, showed us much love and respect, and became an iconic part of a “Homestead greeting.”
So. It was emotional for me to take off his collar. I thought of the acre of ground he stewarded, fenced in by invisible wire — and the way he came to know and love that piece of ground. “Your work is done and it’s time for you to Rest, my friend,” I found myself repeating to him.
Jackson was by my feet in the library or on his favorite mat in the sunroom connected to our bedroom for his last two days, not willing to eat or drink, but seemingly in no pain. The other dogs would come near him, sniff him and stare at him, linger a bit, and then walk slowly away. It’s as if they knew, too.
He’s moved less and less but when I come to him, he always met me with his eyes: those Old Soul dog eyes I don’t think we’ll ever forget.
The Scriptures teach us that all the creation reveals to us something of the Lord who made all things. There’s something in the steadfast lovingkindness of a faithful dog that reminds me of God’s covenantal love and kindness toward us. No wonder C.S. Lewis would talk so often of “the Hound of Heaven.” That’s but one reason I’ll always be a Dog Guy.
Of the 25 or so dogs I’ve had in my life, Jackson was the first dog I feared — for a time. If never experienced the strength or adrenaline in a dog that he possessed. Ever. So, I determined to show him who was boss. And I tried to taunt him in some particular way almost daily for about two years as he came into his prime to see if he might react, wanting that to be a reaction I would bear instead of a child, grandchild or guest. But he was always, ALWAYS, tender, forebearing and respectful.
He went out with such dignity. Throughout his rapid two-week decline, I never once heard him even whimper, even in his final days when he could not eat or drink a thing.
He looked me in the eyes for long stretches in those days. He cuddled up his bony frame alongside me and loved to have his ears scratched like usual, pressing into me with his big and handsome head.
And when we let him outside that one last time, after our vet had arrived, he went to his favorite spot, overlooking what we named Camp Jackson, in part in his honor.
Even after he received a shot to take away the pain and put his body at rest, his ears still perked up when a delivery truck drove by, as if to tell us he was on watch until the very end.
Once his body had gone still, our vet gave him a shot to put him to Rest. Throughout all that, his eyes were fixed on mine, up close, in a way I’ll never forget.
What a Gift.
Rachel, my hero, was there all the way, encouraging both of us and helping make things end in a way that was peaceful, and somehow beautiful and honoring of all the service that dog had given us for years.
We dug a hole in the center of Jack’s Wall, named after another beloved Homestead dog, where his bones will settle into the ground alongside the remains of other dogs who’ve made their mark here. Wrapped in a white sheet, we put his head on our GIVE THANKS pillow, facing East, as we were considering what it is to anticipate the redemption of all things in the New Heaven and the New Earth, where everything sad will come untrue.
We say together, today, with glad hearts: “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord!”
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