Jake

A good friend of mine lost a dear pal of he and his family. Jake was somethin' else, and like most of us could be a pain in the you know what. But I was lucky to be a part of his circle. Here are some thoughts of mine on him-geno

That first time, I met him, his voice was resonating through the windows. Coming up the walk, apprehension was escalated by the blinds on the front window that I could see shaking and hear rattling, giving me a sense of his size.

Ringing the bell escalated the frenzy, (which later I would learn wasn’t menace, but simply meant, “Oh, boy, somebody’s visiting”, and that there would be some one new to play with) until a human voice would yell, “Jake! Be Quiet!” which stilled the voice, but never the enthusiasm.

Entering his domain, his size could put you uneasy. I am taller than some, and Jake’s head would come up to my lower ribs. I never stooped to greet him, but I always bowed to his magnanimity. At my first introduction, I extended my hand, palm down. I read somewhere that dogs, especially ones that are unfamiliar with you, look at a hand with the palm up as a threatening gesture. Jake, however, so secure in his demeanor, just gave a cursory nod to my hand, and immediately began the investigative sniffing that dogs do. After four or five snorts Jake had assessed my genealogical stock, school GPA, the reason I never returned that overdue book to the Multnomah County Public Library (Albina Branch) and if I had sex recently. Once assimilated, I was permitted to enter.

Having passed the entrance requirements, you were now officially accepted into the Friends of Jake, which was only open to bipods. The Chairman now went off to search for the nearest item of what’s important, the end all ball or chew toy. As a member of the organization, it would now be your sworn duty to occupy his time by throwing or tugging on said item until either he or you tired of the game. There was never a question of who would tire first.

Slowly, while doing your duty, a visitor would understand why the Feldman family played their music or TV so loudly. The clatter and clacking of Jake’s nails on the tile and the hardwood floor would drown out conversation and a normal audio volume. One worried about the Chairman, whether he would hurt himself or break some furniture, as his momentum of his large body would prevent quick stops on the slick floors. I’m sure in his youthful enthusiasm (which remained long after the youth had left) that there were some hair-raising crashes, caused by this lack of braking and the slides across the ice like surfaces. No matter the severity, nothing would hinder the back and forth scurrying that was Jake’s game. You were reduced to the mindless machine, like a tennis cannon, that continually delivered the object to chase. Which, after a few tosses, began to become downright swampy from his slobber, which mattered not one whit to Jake’s.

On my last visit, there was a noticeable hitch to Jake’s giddy up. No doubt that some of his aches and pains, like a veteran basketball player, were caused by his mad scrambles across the hardwood. It never dampened his gusto to play, however. It was his connection to you, his wordless communication that he liked you. What better way to show somebody that you like him or her then by playing? Play is a social skill that needs no language. Jake could speak it fluently.

Jake’s excitement to see his pals was so great that sometimes he had to spin in circles to release it. Like a dervish he would go round and round, making the observer dizzy, but seemingly, never him. But as happy as he was to see you, was just as sorry to see you go. He would ask you to take him along, using his big eyes to look imploringly at you. When that request was denied, as it had to be with me, and the door would shut, he would immediately head for his observation post, pragmatically nosing the window blinds aside for an unencumbered view of the departure, maybe hoping there might be some reconsideration.

Well, like all those other times, I’ll say now what I always said to him then, as he looked through that glass. “See ya, Dogface!” No less fondly then the previous, definitely more heartfelt now.