Professor Jiggs
Dunkirk Lord Bothel
1 January 1996 - 14 September 2009
Dunkirk Lord Bothel
1 January 1996 - 14 September 2009
He loved the beach. Everything about it.
Playing in the surf. The birds. The smells.
I had thought of moving to the Oregon coast years ago -- just for him. But we lived an hour away, and we could go whenever we had the time and it suited our fancy.
I should say, if it suited my fancy.
Jiggs was a dog. He did whatever I wanted to do. What he did not know is that I often chose to do things for his sake -- knowing he would enjoy them.
And enjoy he did. He was one of the most wilful of dogs. But that is what made him such a good friend.
It started early. I brought him home when he was three months old. One of his favorite haunts was the Oregon Archives Park.
On one outing when he was no more than four months old, he grabbed the retriever toy I was using to teach him how to -- retrieve. With it firmly gripped in his teeth, he turned around and headed for home at a slow walk. I started to run after him. He ran. Between the park and our house is a very busy road. And it was busy that day.
But drivers saw what was happening. They stopped. While the little golden dog, with the charmed life, kept right on going. When I covered the two blocks home, I found him sitting at the back gate -- as proud as any dog could be.
It was just the start. But every test of wills ended in a greater bond between the two of us.
Readers of this blog know that I struggled with the idea of bringing him to Mexico. I did not believe that he would live long enough to make the trip.
But he came through a series of serious incidents -- each one accompanied by the soft thrum of death's wings.
I came home in December of 2007 to discover that he was having trouble walking on his left rear leg. It was the start of a process that eventually involved both legs. And, eventually, his ability to breathe.
On Sunday, I spent most of the day driving around Melaque and Barra to provide air conditioning for him. It was not enough.
He died lying next to me on my bed this morning around 2:30.
When I retired in April, a colleague gave me a farewell couplet: lyrics from a song. They sum up much of what I feel about my best friend, Professor Jiggs, and how I remember him:
Playing in the surf. The birds. The smells.
I had thought of moving to the Oregon coast years ago -- just for him. But we lived an hour away, and we could go whenever we had the time and it suited our fancy.
I should say, if it suited my fancy.
Jiggs was a dog. He did whatever I wanted to do. What he did not know is that I often chose to do things for his sake -- knowing he would enjoy them.
And enjoy he did. He was one of the most wilful of dogs. But that is what made him such a good friend.
It started early. I brought him home when he was three months old. One of his favorite haunts was the Oregon Archives Park.
On one outing when he was no more than four months old, he grabbed the retriever toy I was using to teach him how to -- retrieve. With it firmly gripped in his teeth, he turned around and headed for home at a slow walk. I started to run after him. He ran. Between the park and our house is a very busy road. And it was busy that day.
But drivers saw what was happening. They stopped. While the little golden dog, with the charmed life, kept right on going. When I covered the two blocks home, I found him sitting at the back gate -- as proud as any dog could be.
It was just the start. But every test of wills ended in a greater bond between the two of us.
Readers of this blog know that I struggled with the idea of bringing him to Mexico. I did not believe that he would live long enough to make the trip.
But he came through a series of serious incidents -- each one accompanied by the soft thrum of death's wings.
I came home in December of 2007 to discover that he was having trouble walking on his left rear leg. It was the start of a process that eventually involved both legs. And, eventually, his ability to breathe.
On Sunday, I spent most of the day driving around Melaque and Barra to provide air conditioning for him. It was not enough.
He died lying next to me on my bed this morning around 2:30.
When I retired in April, a colleague gave me a farewell couplet: lyrics from a song. They sum up much of what I feel about my best friend, Professor Jiggs, and how I remember him:
Take wing
Fly to glory
Dance, sing
Tell your story
You bring such joy to those you've known
Take flight, take wing
We're going to miss you, Jiggs.
