Baby Jane Doe -- a bus stop dog on a great journey...

             We knew the end was coming for Baby Jane Doe. She’d been on special kidney food for nearly six years and had lately run into some rough patches.
            Still, the end is always a beating.
            And, the end always reminds you of the beginning and, of course, the journey.
            She and I had a lot of journeys together – most of them from the house to the park.
            That's Baby Jane in her later years, when gray took over her black coat. We have puppy pictures, but they're on photo paper -- snapshots -- that's how far back we go with this dog. Before everybody had a digital camera.
            For us, the Baby Jane story began when she was about 5 weeks old – too young to be dumped, but, nevertheless, there she was, sitting in the southbound traffic lane of Marsalis Avenue at Colorado Boulevard in Oak Cliff. She was square in front of a bus stop and blocking the right hand lane, a little black puppy as effective as any orange traffic cone.
            I was on my way home from work one August evening rush hour in 1997 and the cars ahead of me slowed dramatically and swerved around something. When the traffic cleared I saw a big ol’ puppy with giant. Uncontrollable ears paying absolutely no attention to anything except sitting on her furry bottom and letting the world go around.
            I stopped my ol’ Bronco II, got out, walked up to her with my spare leash, slipped it around her neck and bent down and picked up this jet black pup – in later years, she grayed like, well, like an old newspaperman. She probably weighed six or seven pounds, most of it those big ears and a magnificently coated tail.
            (Before I left the bus stop that day, I looked around figuring that people might have dumped a litter and not just one puppy. I was pretty careful with my search. No other pups were there. The next morning, on my way to work, I saw the body of an identical puppy – a boy – on the grass behind the bus stop. I don’t know why that dog died or wasn’t clearly visible to me the evening before, but I know that all puppies are innocent and the hereafter probably was designed for them, the Happy Yappers of Heaven.)
             Now, Baby Jane Doe got her name because she was a foundling. No tags, no collar, no nothing. Just a dumped dog. Baby Jane Doe seemed appropriate. (She always seemed to have a tolerance of other dogs. In this 7-year-old photo, she's putting up with baby Annie, the heeler mix who is the daughter of Calamity, the dog in the photo with me at the top of Readlarrypowell.com. Calamity, finally trapped because she'd had puppies and  now fixed, lives with my brother and sister-in-law, Garry and Brenita.)
            Martha had just sold her business – PetPowell Petsitting – and was enjoying her first day with just our one dog, Nicki, and a handful of cats and no schedule to meet with other peoples’ dogs’ bladders.  One of Martha’s ex-clients was a wonderful, big terrier mix in Kessler Park, just a real sweetie named Baby Doll whose ears and tail had been mutilated by some jerk. Baby Doll was special and sweet. I loved Baby Doll so much that I thought naming the new pup in honor of her would be good karma. It was.
            Baby Jane Doe’s nose was one of those long pointy muzzles that inspired my sweetspouse Martha to write a song. Martha, who talks to animals, also sings to them – this will not surprise anyone who knows my zanyspouse. In this case, she wrote and sang (to the tune of Second-Hand Rose) a song that starts, “O, everyone knows, she’s got an anteater nose.” She’d sing it as she was putting on makeup and Baby Jane was sprawled on the bathroom tile. Baby Jane seemed to know at an early age that she was a special dog.
            When I brought Baby Jane home, I got out of the Bronco and lifted Baby Jane out and put her on the front lawn. Martha heard me arrive and came to the front porch to greet me. She saw Baby Jane and said, “I can’t believe you’ve brought me another dog to housetrain.”
Baby Jane caught on pretty quickly.
            The first time I took her for a long car ride she thanked me by hurling all over the front seat, the console and the floor-mounted gearshift.  Good dog, I thought. But Martha said it was indicative of my driving and not the dog’s weak constitution.
            In the hours that have passed since we watched our Baby Jane go on, I’ve thought about the assorted aspects of her life. She was an undeniably gentle dog not given to disputes, though she would hold her ground.
            And she had shrill bark that she used to wake me every morning. Honest, it made my ears bleed, but there was no doubt that it was time for me to get up and feed her.
            It turns out that Baby Jane was with me at several key points in my life. She was with me walking in Kiest Park when I found Hambone Jack who would become the third member of our walking party. For years we rode to Kiest Park, got out, and hiked the loop. Sometimes it was a smooth walk. Sometimes it was “yank-the-arm-out-of-the-socket” time because they’d spot something to sniff or want to go in a different direction.
            Jane was with me and Hammy when we found nearly hairless Inky, now the Cocker Laureate of the State of Texas. And she was with me and Hammy when we rescued Rosie the Chihuahua from some kids who were throwing rocks at the mange-stricken dog. She was stinky and hairless but she managed to ride home with us without passing along the mange.
            Other things you should know about Baby Jane Doe:
            --She is the only one of our dogs who was ever treated for ringworm.  She caught it from our rescued kitten Griffin who came into the house at about 12 ounces and now weighs about 27 pounds or something like that. He’s huge. He was cured, Jane was cured – they spent time in quarantine but both got lots of treats and I think every now and then kind of longed for quarantine again. (FYI: When her original vet, Dr. Catherine Marr, and her staff at the now-closed Cabeen Clinic bathed Baby Jane, they declared in awe that “We’ve never seen such a clean dog.” Nothing but pure water rolled out of that dog’s coat – we can’t explain it. But she was known as “the clean dog.” And she was adored.)
            --She was the reason Martha had special business cards printed for me. They read, “My name is Larry Powell. Please do not give me a dog.” (They didn’t work. And that's a photo of Jane romping in the Feb. 2010 blizzard -- she's involved in a chase with younger dogs -- all gleeful in the snow.)
            -- Baby Jane chewed up one book in her life. One book – she had plenty of opportunities in our house but chose only one book. She gnawed a big corner off a hardback copy of Matthew “Uncle Matty” Margolis’ best-seller Good Dog, Bad Dog. Makes me tear up thinking about it – I’d love to watch her gnaw it up again.
            -- She was easy to love. Too bad humans couldn’t follow her example. But she was such an easy-going dog. She loved her grub, but she wasn’t all that yippy about it until recent years when food was the only thing that made her feel better and she thought she ought to be fed first. She was, just never fast enough.
            --Baby Jane was a great counter-surfer. But a couple of years ago we came home to find that one of the cats had shoved a round box of oatmeal off the kitchen counter and when the lid popped off, Baby Jane stuck that pointy nose in and her face went all the way in up past her eyeballs. We don’t know how long she’d been trapped in the big round oatmeal box, but she was patiently waiting for one of us to come take it off her head. When we did, she expected a treat. (She weighed about 100 healthy pounds at her peak – never fat, always fit. Another good example I can’t follow.)
            -- In the old days, when I would grab the leashes for our walks in the park, Baby Jane and Hammy made a beeline for the door. Hammy caught on later that he could beat Baby Jane to the door by watching me and if he saw me putting on my walking shoes, he’d immediately go to the door and sit waiting while Baby Jane sat waiting for me to motion toward he with the leash. They were a pair and I’m hoping that in the hereafter they’re showing some angel with elastic arms how great they can be at walking in a park where nobody dumps dogs.
            --As her health began to fail, we watched her carefully. We cut many a social event short to keep from leaving her stressed inside for too long. Our animal friends understood and our other pals accepted such behavior as “just the way they are.” Yeah, we’re “animal nuts.” A good dog like Baby Jane will elevate your heart to “animal nut” status.
            -- Every now and then, in a backyard romp with the other dogs, she’d throw out a ligament or tendon or something and we’d confine her to her kennel. Inactivity healed the hitch in her gitalong and she didn’t mind it as long as we kept the treats coming and she was able to look out into the general area where the other dogs and cats played and offered better entertainment than basic cable.
            -- Baby Jane had been diagnosed years ago with failing kidneys, which we monitored and treated with a proper diet. She had a cancer that worked its way into her bladder and, apparently, into her hips and lower spine. At the end, she could barely stand long enough to eat. And she had trouble standing after a night asleep in her spot next to my side of the bed. No longer will I reach down and pat that anteater nose or stroke those big pointy ears. I may need the Kleenex box.
            -- Over the weekend, the “spark,” as Dr. DeJong calls it, had gone from her eyes, except when she thought she might get a treat. She never lost her desire for a treat – not even at the end as she lay on the table at Vet Stop, Dr. Vladi DeJong’s office. She’d been tranquilized so she wouldn’t feel panicky at the end and Martha and I each gave her treats which she took with enthusiasm until the tranquilizer made her too drowsy to chew. Then, she put her head down and we petted her and our wonderful veterinarian gently found a vein and administered the fluid that would end her suffering. Swiftly. Mercifully. Just, by God, indeed, mercifully.
            As Martha was petting Baby Jane’s head and talking to her, I was petting her shoulders and side and I rubbed her big ol’ pointy nose with my hand so she’d know I was there.  It was wretchedly difficult. Martha and I both grabbed the Kleenex.
            This wasn’t our first farewell. Dr. DeJong has cured our animals and he has helped us with those that can’t be cured. He knows how we are. We know how caring he is.
            He knows the depth of connections between people and their animal friends.
            As he put his stethoscope to Baby Jane’s chest and softly said, “She’s gone.” Martha looked up and, mindful of the way this gallant dog had lived her life, said, “That was a great heart that just stopped.”
            The perfect summation for a wonderful dog.
            We humans can talk and write the words. Our dog Annie, a 7-year-old heeler mix who had never known life without Baby Jane, was able to demonstrate the loss.
             Usually when I work at my computer, Baby Jane Doe curls up against the front door and enjoys the cool entranceway tile. Annie will find a chair or flop in the hall.
            Today, Annie would sit on the hallway threshold and look at that front door for a few minutes, then get up and walk to Jane’s spot, nose around and lay down. A few restless minutes later she would get up and return to her spot at the threshold, sit down and watch the door.
            Later in the afternoon, I looked around and Annie was curled up asleep on the threshold but with her nose pointing toward the door, as if she were expecting to see her old friend come home.
            I told Martha about this and, at that moment, I wished we’d kept a couple of those tissues from the vet’s office.
            When we’d go away from home for an afternoon or just a few minutes, Baby Jane Doe would go to her favorite spot at the door and nod off.
            In later years, as we tried to open the door to come in, she’d lay there waiting to be coaxed out of the way or waiting for us to gently push the door and slide her across the tile.
            From now on it’s going to be easier to come home – it just won’t be the same.
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Comments

[Martha Hofmeister]

Oh, Larry and Martha, what a wonderful dog. What a wonderful life you gave her. And what a wonderful tribute to her.

[Melissa Singletary]

I am sorry for your loss but I have no doubt Baby Jane Doe and Hammy are living it up at the Rainbow Bridge. Thank you for giving her such a wonderful life. She knew how much was cherished.

[jodee wilson]

Larry & Martha: My heart is aching for you both. For those of us who love animals so much, we also know that at some time we have to let them go when their suffering becomes too much. As hard as it is, this is the last loving thing we are able to do for them. She knew she was loved and she loved you both and left you with many cherished memories you will never forget. She sounds like an amazing dog and you were all lucky to have found each other. Just wish that saying goodbye did not have to hurt so much. My prayers are with you both.

[Roxanne]

Ah, how empty a house can feel, despite the other critters and people in it, when a great soul departs! Praying for those who remain in your home to be comforted in this time of grief. What a privilege to have known and loved such a worthy being! God bless all in your house!

[mary garrett]

Sending heartfelt hugs to you and Martha and your furkids. Mary

[Jim]

What a wonderful tribute to a beautiful spirit. As one who has lost two of my beloved rescued loved ones in the last year I know how hard this is on you. Please remember what a friend of mine once told me-perhaps it will give you some comfort: "As long as you keep their memories alive in your heart they are always with you".

[Vicki]

First Hammy, and now, Baby Jane. I'm sorry Larry and Martha; I know there is little anyone can say or do to make it hurt less. I feel your pain, too.

[Katanna Usrey]

It just never gets any easier. I also feel your pain. I too have a senior. A scared little guy I rescued out of the street one hot day in August four years ago. Not really sure how old he is...but for sure a senior. My sweet little "Jack" (chihuahua) has brought such joy to my house. Has totally changed my husbands (who before really did not like dogs) HEART. Jack meets him at the door before I do...and they love each other! Not looking forward to that dreaded day when he is gone. Larry and Martha I am so sorry you have lost your Baby Jane.