Over the Rainbow

         She just showed up one day. It was raining outside and we heard a noise at the door. I pulled the curtain away from our glass framed door and there she was. A skinny black and white American Pit Bull, with some Boxer mix sat alongside the door, looking as if to say “I’m so sad and miserable in this wet weather. May I come in?” When I opened the door, she walked boldly into the living room and had a seat on the couch. She transformed quickly from an Oliver Twist character into an old diva movie star with a “bring me my dinner, boy” attitude. Our beagle, Jack, was in pure ecstasy. He’d never had a girlfriend before and, despite her being twice his size, had obvious romantic intentions towards her. She WAS quite the beautiful creature. But I was having none of it. My father-in-law “just knew” she lived down the road about a half a mile, and I dutifully loaded her up in the car and took her home. She obeyed, enjoyed the ride, and got out again like she knew the place. I knocked, but no one was home. I reluctantly left her there. She ran around to the back yard as if she belonged. I bid her goodbye. 

     The large girl was back the next day. Jack was very happy. I wasn’t. We didn’t need another dog. After talking to my father-in-law again, we determined that she must have belonged to the people across the street from the first family I’d taken her to, because Max, my father-in-law, “knew he’d seen her there”. So, I loaded her up again and took her to the other house, just to watch her bound around the house to the backyard again, as if she’d grown up there. She came around and scratched on the door, as though she was regularly let inside. Again, no one came to the door and, again, I left her there. Glad to reunite the family.  

          She came back the next day and I gave up trying to take her “home”. She’d already decided that our house was it. She was home. We were family. So be it. She stayed for the rest of her life. Nearly twelve years.  

The pitiful look from the weary, wet puppy quickly gave way to a very self-centered (but loving) diva who enjoyed being looked after and paid attention to. She ignored everything around her except when it came to being petted, fed, played with, and taken outside. She tolerated Jack, which made him very happy. They played tug of war and “two-headed monster” as often as she would allow him to. Ask your parents, kids. I’m not going to spell it out completely for you. She was a seventy-pound lap dog who gave her whole heart away and expected supper to be on time. She heated your lap up during long naps. She ate couch skirts, pillows and books on occasion. She scared the bejesus out of many a delivery, mail or repair person. Her deep, loud bark belied a desire to be loved upon, but also meant she’d chase you for as long as you decided to run away. We’ve never really worried about burglars or salesmen since.  

Laura Gail named her Jill. Get it? Jack and Jill. The name fit and so did she. Even as our family grew and our children married and brought our grandkids into our home, she treated them all as family. We worried about crawling children around her, especially when they went near her food, but she never once hurt, or threatened them. She tolerated them just because they were loved by us. We still watched. Jill was a bit jealous and petty about her toys, but she allowed those humans to climb on, slobber on, and pull on her as often as we couldn’t get to them on time. Just like any good Aunt would.  

She survived parvo, fought with liver disease and a thyroid condition for a couple of years, and grew weaker after each struggling year. Our hearts broke, wishing there was more to be done. Love is immortal. The body is not. We bid farewell to our girl, our family, our Rescue Dog that did the rescuing herself.  

Jack met her on the Rainbow Bridge last Thursday. I bet Jack leapt for joy. They were meant to be together and I have no doubt that they are playing in the tall grass and sunshine right now. I’m grateful Jill chose us to be her family. She took our love and gave us hers like it had been like that for all time. And she was right. She didn’t even hold it against me that I tried to take her for a ride. She knew she’d always come back home.  

See you later, Jill. Play nice. 

God bless Y’all.