There's a hole in my heart

I got my dog Jake when he was eight weeks old.  He fit in the palm of my hand.  A short-haired red mini Dachshund, his disposition was sweet and mellow from the start.  I was told by the breeder that he wouldn't weigh more than 12 pounds but he quickly grew to around 15.  He wasn't fat, just solid.  I didn't care if he was too heavy to be registered in the "mini" class at a dog show.  Although he supposedly came from a proud bloodline, he was no show dog.  He loved to wrestle with other dogs, he rooted around in the dirt, chased after squirrels and chewed the squeaker out of every toy he encountered in less than five minutes.

He loved to go for car rides and walks.  We would walk for miles and miles and his little 3-inch long legs rarely got tired.  It was during a 5K charity walk that an apparent dog expert approached us with two small Dachshunds and commented that he hadn't seen many of the full-sized variety.  "Oh, he's a miniature," I said.  The man scoffed at me and looked at Jake like he was a mutant.  "He's much too big to be a mini!"  I didn't know dog classifications were such serious business.  "Don't listen to him," I told Jake and we headed in the opposite direction of the man with his two perfect 8 pound wieners.

I often thought Jake was one of my childhood dogs reincarnated--a big black Labrador Retriever named Zeke.  Jake was like Zeke in many ways.  Both had big brown soulful eyes and very expressive eyebrows.  When they stared at you it felt like they knew exactly what you were thinking.  Both loved the outdoors.  In the summertime, Jake would stay in the back yard all day if he could.  He always found a sunny spot in the grass where he would sleep for hours.  Both lived through their noses and if allowed to set the pace of a walk, Jake would likely only make it a few blocks with his face to the ground the entire time.  Both were intensely loyal.  Given the opportunity to escape a fenced-in yard on many occasions, Jake chose to stay where he was most familiar.

He was my first dog, my best friend, my trusty companion.  He was by my side through everything--the ups, the downs, the zigs and zags.  Everything life brought my way.  He loved me unconditionally for nearly 14 years.  I adored him.  Today, after several weeks of contemplation, I put Jake down.  It was the most difficult thing I have ever done.

My fondest memories of Jake...

As a tiny puppy, just a few months old, he was left out of his crate while I was at work and chewed the arm off a chair almost completely.

He was obsessed with toilet paper as a puppy, and if he could reach it, would undo an entire roll and sleep in a nest of it on the bathroom floor.

His smile was crooked because he only had three canine teeth--the forth never came in when he lost his milk teeth.

He never barked or wagged his tail until he was a year old.  He scared himself and jumped when he first heard the sound of his own voice.  As a pup, his version of tail wagging was wiggling his entire body, hoping his tail would follow.

He loved buttons and chewed them off numerous comforter covers, pillows, shirts and cardigans whenever he got the chance.

Like most Dachshunds he loved to burrow under blankets and pillows, and could often be found asleep under his dog bed instead of on top of it.

He hated wearing doggy clothing.  Whenever I tried to dress him in a winter coat, he would convulse and wiggle like he was possessed until he made his way out of it.

He was a small dog who loved big dogs.  He thought big dogs wanted to play with him and whenever he saw a big dog, any big dog, he would let out a little grunt, wag his tail and get really excited.  If the dog wasn't interested, he would just stare it down, wagging his tail happily, hoping to get some play time.

He was almost always mellow but when he wanted attention he became very intense and would nudge your arm or shin repeatedly with his powerful little nose.

He never whined to go outside, he never whined for food, he only whined when his water dish was empty.

His favorite place to sleep was squeezed between my hip and the arm of the sofa or chair.  Even if there wasn't enough room to accommodate him.  His second favorite place to sleep was on my side whenever I laid on the sofa.

After a bath he would roll and wiggle around on the floor like a bug on its back for what seemed like hours until his fur was almost completely dried.

He loved popcorn.  As it was popping he would just stare up at the microwave wagging his tail.

Every day, for most of his life, he would dance in circles the first time he saw me each morning or when I came home after being gone a while.  He was always happy to see me.

I will miss him every day.