It’s one of those times that I admit that my heart is broken and my soul lost a part of itself. I’ve heard it said that humans will pack-bond with all manner of creatures, but I will steadfastly stand by the old phrase: “Dog is Man’s Best Friend.”
How do I know this? By spending over ten years of my life with Jojo being a constant part of it.
Joseph “JoJo” was born on March 22, 2012. Joe was special all on his own, of course, but for me, he held a truly unique post in my life: he was the first dog that I, and I alone, actively sought out and chose to take into my world. I worried that Casey would want a companion around to play with, as at that time I was still a hopeless bachelor. I decided to go out looking for a second dog to have around. JoJo came up in my searches. I met the folks who were selling his litter, talked it over with them, and asked for who would become Joe.
In May, he was brought down to Louisiana, and I got to meet him for the first time. He immediately clambered into my lap and curled up for a nap.
It’s selfish of me to say it, as he meant so much to so many, but he was my dog.
There were worries given to me that I brought home a second male puppy when I already had a male dog under my roof, but those folks forgot that these were Goldens. They bonded with each other and we were our own little pack for years.
I had planned to take Joe camping and hunting with me, but life always disagreed with this wish, leading me to never have that experience. In an ironic twist, it was probably for the best; Joe hated water. I never figured out why, though he loved sinks in his younger years (preferably dry).
As the years passed, and family grew, Joe was always at my side, ready to play, to walk, even to defend us from the perceived threats of squirrels or birds in the yard.
Jojo had one of the purest souls I’ve had the privilege of witnessing and was welcoming and patient with our children as they grew. But as they grew, he grew old.
Jojo had a tumor on his leg that had ruptured before his twelfth birthday. Surgery was not possible, as the tumor was right at an elbow joint and wrapped around major blood vessels. Amputation wasn’t an option, as it would have ruined his quality of life, at his age. I decided to go with palliative care, treating him at home helping him manage his pain until the end.
When that end came, I knew I wasn’t ready. Not again. But I shoved that selfishness away. It was his time, and he couldn’t go quickly like Casey had. He needed… help along the way.
On April 9, 2024, we took Jojo to the vet after having made arrangements. I took the day off to uphold my promise to not leave him until he had left us. We all took the day to say our goodbyes.
From the moment we entered the vet, Jojo did not leave physical contact with me, and I was happy to reciprocate.
When the time came, Sarah and I were sitting with him, telling him all the while how good a boy he had been, how grateful we had been that he was in our lives, and that we’d miss him.
“You did great, old man,” I said. “You can rest now.”
He gave one last sigh. He was gone. I broke again.
It’ll be a long time before I recover from these months.
Thank you, Jojo, for the last twelve years.
I’ll miss you, buddy.
Swift's Corner 