Yellow Dog — how an illness opened my heart….then broke it into pieces
Jackie wasn’t the first dog we had. My husband has always had hunting dogs. But, hunting dogs have a purpose — they don’t exist simply for the sake of enjoying them.
Don’t misunderstand, they were all treated well and my husband loved each of them fiercely — but they were HIS. He was the one that truly bonded with them. He was the one that spent countless hours training them to behave exactly how he wanted them to, and they made no secret of the fact that he was their favorite.
We’ve had a total of four laborador retrievers since we’ve been married. Our first was a black lab named Suzie. She was the perfect puppy until about 12 weeks old until she started acting strangely and we found out she had liver failure. Needless to say, dogs don’t survive liver failure.
We went back to the breeder and brought home one of Suzie’s litter mates — Sissy. Sissy was a hearty girl, black and stocky. Sissy barked incessantly — despite collar training. My husband was sure she’d calm down sooner or later, but she never did. She was a barker from the start. She was a great dog in the field, but she was hard to love at home because of this. We had Sissy for nearly 3 years before she escaped her kennel and was hit by a car.
After about a year, he was ready for another dog and we got a puppy from a well-known trainer within the “duck hunter circle.” Another black lab and we named her Jess. Jess was smart as a whip. We visited Jess at the trainer one day, a couple hours away, and my husband noticed how fierce she was with her exercises. He also noticed she looked a little thin. However, her stamina was unmatched and she acted completely healthy. Plus, this was July and he figured her appetite may not be as big in the heat. About a week later, the trainer calls us about 11pm and told us two large masses had shown up on both flanks. He was taking her to the vet in the morning. We spoke to the vet and she wasn’t entirely sure what’s causing the swelling as her blood tests did not suggest infection. She requested to do general anesthesia and take a look inside her abdomen. We agreed — not because we were delusional about a good outcome, but because we also wanted to help the breeder know if there’s something he needed to be watching the other dogs for. We received a call several hours later — the vet didn’t even wake her up from anesthesia. Her abdomen and spine were filled with tumor. The two giant masses on her flanks were her kidneys, also filled with tumor. Lab number three — gone — she was only nine-months old.
Three black labs — all with tragic deaths. I was sad, but mostly for my husband as he became incredibly attached to each of them. I did not — they were dogs with a purpose, not pets. But, it broke my heart to see him mourning each of them.
It took every bit of a year before he considered looking for another lab — and he decided this time it would be yellow.
Enter Jackie.
When she was a puppy, Jackie belonged to all of us. But, when training started — again, she belonged primarily to my husband. She was taught how to respond to specific commands, to retrieve, to “climb”, “hold”, and every other task a true duck retriever needs to learn. When she ceased to be a pet, I lost interest in her. I didn’t NOT like her, I just didn’t have a chance to bond with her.
Except for weather extremes, all our dogs have been outdoor dogs. This was actually good after they were muddy and wet from hunting in the water all day. When they were brought in, they had to be on “the climb.” It was part of their discipline. They were always crated at night. We did have occasions where we let them loose in the yard and threw tennis balls and such. But, for the most part, their lives were regimented and my husband was their beloved king. The rest of us were just people that occasionally snuck them a treat or let them get by with a thing or two every now and then. But, if my husband was around — the rest of us didn’t exist.
When she was nine, Jackie came home after hunting one day and had a bit of a nosebleed that would’t stop. We took her to the emergency vet clinic and discovered her platelets (ability to clot blood) were non-existent. The vet thought she may not make it through the night, so they kept her in the doggie ICU with high-dose steroids and watched her closely. The kicker — you’d never even know she was that sick. She was be-bopping around that clinic like she owned it. She had ITP — a disease where the body attacks its own platelets for an unknown reason…possibly a virus? (Humans can get ITP as well.)
After 4 days, her platelets were high enough were we could bring her home — but she’d have to be on medication for the rest of her life to keep this process under control. Given stress can make the disease worse, we kept her in the house, as Iowa winters aren’t exactly mild. She was crated at night and on her “climb” most of the day, save for walks and playing outdoors when the sun warmed up the day a bit.
And this is when Jackie became a dog that belonged to all of us. She was in the house all the time now — she became a mischievous little gal who would high-tail it right back to her climb when she heard my husband’s footsteps. She’d come off her climb and dance around in front of me to let me know she had to potty. When I let her out, she’d do her business then sit on the patio intensely staring at the tennis ball or her toy we threw for her. If I motioned towards picking up either of the toys, she’d leap into the air and start darting across the yard in anticipation of the throw. Her energy was limitless.
Every few weeks, we took her to the vet to have her platelets checked and make medication adjustments. I have no idea how she behaved during her lengthy ICU stay, but when we went for her first check-up, the vet said “ah yes…Jackie…the lab that’s nine but acts like she’s two.” She absolutely LOVED going to the vet, even though she got a needle stick every time.
This went on for another year. She did so well, my husband was even able to hunt her in the cold weather. Still, she remained an inside dog because after only a few weeks, I was smitten. My husband was still her favorite, but she started to show her personality to the rest of us more. She figured out what she could get away with, and with whom. She even learned to tip-toe on the tile floor in the kitchen so my husband wouldn’t hear her break her climb and come in begging for scraps.
Jackie truly became a member of the family and we all fell in love with her more deeply every day. She was no longer just a “working dog” — she was a dog with a certain magic that can put a smile on anyone’s face. In my eyes, she became the most precious canine on the planet. She learned to beg for food from several feet away so we could toss her small pieces and she’d catch them mid air. One day, she was intently watching me eat veggies and hummus and I threw her a sugar snap pea. She caught it effortlessly, chewed, and then sat — awaiting the next toss. I bet I threw her 10–15 of them before I put the bag up. As I rounded the counter towards the fridge, I saw all of those sugar snap peas half chewed and laying on the floor. She’d spit every single one out while still being excited about catching the next one I threw at her. Turns out Jackie didn’t care for sugar snap peas.
About a year and a half after her initial ITP diagnosis she started to slow down quite a bit. We noticed it when she’d retrieve her toys in the yard. In March, she was trail running 2–3 miles with me and by May, she could barely walk a mile. She declined fast. As July came, things weren’t good and we discovered her platelets had dropped again to nearly nothing. We tried increased meds for a day or two and that helped a bit, but not for long. She wasn’t eating, wasn’t moving as much.
It was time.
We took her outside and I threw the toy for her one last time — she jogged after it, slow but determined, and brought it right back to me. It was her last retrieve. We then set out for the vet’s office.
We said good-bye to her on a beautiful, sunny day in the grass beside the vet’s office. (We couldn’t do it inside because of the pandemic.) The whole family got to be with her as she departed this earth.
Before Jackie, I’d not been close to a dog since I was a little girl. I’d completely forgotten how a dog can bring a smile to my face and help family members bond by sharing special moments over random silliness. Truth be told, my children and I were secretly in cahoots with Jackie and her desire to be off her climb and beside one of us each and every second. We loved it. Of course, my husband knew all of this was going on and he feigned anger — but he adored seeing her loved by all of us. He’s commented several times that he regrets not bringing her in sooner — that the training was nothing compared to the love and happiness she brought us all once we finally had a chance to get to know her. All our lives were richer, including Jackie’s. You can see it in the smile on her face in the pictures above.
I’m not sure when I’ll recover from losing her — Jackie…the “dog that is nine but acts like she’s two.” Jackie…the dog that didn’t want to actually EAT the sugar snap peas, but only wanted to catch them mid air just for the sport of it. Jackie…the dog that could tip toe across ceramic tile completely undetected.
Without her diagnosis, I doubt Jackie would have ever been a true “family dog.” She likely would have never been allowed inside the house until she was extremely old and retired from hunting. Had she been healthy, I would have never gotten to know her.
Jackie’s illness gave me the chance to love her — and then it took her away.
