Jess

I’ve always wanted a dog. Don’t get me wrong, I love my cats, but a dog has always been the holy grail. Unfortunately it was never going to happen – with all of us being out of the house all day, it was no environment to bring a dog into so I grew up settling for draping myself all over friends’ dogs and running after random dogs on the street.

I know a few people with dogs now. My sister has Rowan the Irish Setter who is totally nuts. I love her but she isn’t half a handful at times.There’s Frank, my Auntie’s Dachshund, who is very lovely but kind of yappy and a little too small for me. I don’t particularly mind small dogs but I need them to be bigger than the size of Fred and Lily.

Jess in January this year

And then there was Jess. Jess arrived in my life at a kind of awkward moment. After 4 years of not speaking to my father, we were attempting to cobble together some kind of relationship. And as well as fashioning a father/daughter bond, I also had to find a way to make room for the woman my father was in a relationship with. Although none of this was easy, I can’t deny that the transition was made a little smoother after I was introduced to Jess, my future Step-Mum’s dog.

Jess was the perfect combination – she was not too big and not too small. Not too excitable but puppy-ish in a way that belied her 14 years. She was the most obedient dog I’ve ever come across, no need for the lead, she would pad along beside you and stop at the road and wait for you to tell her to cross.

Jess in France 2010

Her absolute, ultimate, best of the best, favourite pastime was playing fetch – she would run and run and run for a ball until you gave in and begged for peace, I never knew her to tire before the person who was throwing the ball for her did.

I have dog-sat for her on many occasion when Dad and Step-Mum have been away in France at their house and I was actually kind of sad when they eventually sorted out a doggy passport for her to come away with them.

Jess models the patchwork blanket, France 2010

I feel like she’s been around forever – she has played fetch with The Americans when they came to over to Hull for a visit when we were all at uni. She was there when I finally worked out how to crochet. She was there when I was in France last summer and she was there (literally beside me) when I woke up from my blackout last Christmas.

It really never occurred to me that there might come a point when she wasn’t there.

Dad's back garden, summer 2009 (taken with Fisheye)

So when I got a call last Thursday to say that she had suddenly died, playing fetch in the park with my Step-Mum I found it hard to keep a grip on things. My voice was wobbling when I spoke to my Dad and I shed more than a few tears that evening as I sat on the settee. I felt thankful that I had gone round on the Sunday before and been greeted at the front door by her as usual. I felt thankful that she hadn’t suffered a long and drawn out illness like some animals. I felt thankful that she died literally doing what she loved.

But mostly I just felt beyond sad. The hugest of holes has been left. I won’t get to laugh at her holding a yoghurt pot between her front paws as she licks out the dregs. I won’t have her trying to get in the bath with me because a firework has gone off and I happen to be in her usual hiding spot. I won’t get to sit on the floor and give her tummy a good ol’ scratch.

Sometimes I love that I love animals so much and other times I wish I could be a little more heartless because this royally sucks.

RIP J-dog.

Me and the J-dog, 2007