Losing JP

 Recently over a single weekend, my mother fell - and for a time it seemed like she might die; my horse broke an in probably a career ending way, and I had to return my beloved JP back to the rescue.

Don’t judge me, but of the three incidents, losing JP is the one that haunts me.

Mom was/is getting the best possible care and so was/is Talen. There is absolutely nothing I could do for either of them that wasn’t/isn’t being done.

JP is different. I failed him. Repeatedly.

JP (Jackson Pollack)  came to me in July when he was five months old and 87 pounds. He is an absolute stunning, loving, sweet and huge Harlequin Great Dane puppy.The story was that his owner was ill and could not care for him.

While JP obviously was well-treated, he was barely socialized, had zero training and was fearful because of it. He also had a complete lack of boundaries. Zip. 

If he wanted something was on the counter, JP helped himself. Dalai or Jasper probably would too; but they would be furtive about it. 

I always instill a huge amount of Jewish guilt in all of my dogs. They may be naughty; but they feel really bad about it.

It didn’t take long for JP to catch on. He continued to counter surf,  but soon learned to slink up and give me guilty side eye to ask for a forgiving cuddle. He is one smart dog.

JP also has boundless energy. That was part of the attraction.

At seven and a half, Dalai is an old Dane, playing is way down on her list of fun activities.  Not so much for one and a half year old Jasper. For him, JP was the  Ever Ready Bunny buddy of his dreams. They chased each other for hours, leaping in the air and colliding with a crash like a pair of fighting T-Rexes, before eventually collapsing in a snoring, content puppy pile.

They adored each other and their good-natured devotion never failed to make me laugh.

Okay, I was genuinely pissed when they ate the guest bedroom’s mattress down to the springs, but I needed to replace it anyway. It was falling apart anyway. Sort of.

Because of his lack of socialization JP often missed picking up on other dog’s body language. Like Dalai, She was unimpressed completely with JP, but he didn't understand.

He’d gambol up to her bowing and trying to play. Usually she’d growl. He was a big dopey puppy, so would usually just bounce away, completely confused and upset by her irritation.

It all worked. Until it didn't.

In late November Jasper was neutered. Danes are prone to bloat, and the best way to prevent stomach torsion is a gastroplexy where the stomach is stitched to the wall so it can’t twist during a bloat.

I have this done when my dogs are being neutered or spayed, so they only have go through surgery once. It is major operation, but much safer than having their stomach flip.

I was a wreck, but Jasper came through it well. He never fussed with his incision so he didn't even wear the cone of shame. After a few days he  was feeling pretty good was nearly impossible to keep quiet.

When I separated the boys, they howled for each other, and JP quickly learned how to turn door knobs, so I gave up. They played, albeit a little fiercely than usual.

This was my first mistake. 

After a week I brought Jasper in for a vet check and he seemed to be doing great. He had dissolving stitches, so he didn’t need to return . He was good to go.

Weirdly, he started having mood swings. Jasper has the best temperament of any dog I’ve ever known. I literally had never heard him growl. Until he was neutered. The longer it was post-neuter, the crabbier he became. I chalked it up to changing hormones and figured it would pass.

Wrong.

A couple of weeks later I was replacing a garden fence that JP had blundered through and knocked down. Out of nowhere JP and Jasper got into it for real. This was not a small fight, WWE fake fight. This was the real thing. 

They were ripping each other apart. When they finally were separated , Jasper’s incision had burst open and JP’s head sported a gash that eventually took seven stitches to close. They each had a dozen or so other more superficial wounds.

I took each to the vet, separately since I was afraid to have them in the car together. It turned out that Jasper was desperately ill. Apparently he was one of those rare (Mega Millions rare) dogs allergic to dissolving stitches. His had become infected, which explained his bad temper, and while they were fighting, the incision exploded.He immediately went into emergency surgery.

The following evening, while Jasper was still in the hospital recuperating, Mom fell.  Ten hours later she finally let me call the paramedics to transport her to the hospital. Where she promptly became semi-comatose.

Oh, and the vet checked Talen, my new show horse the next morning, and found him worse after a miracle treatment. Good times.

That night I picked up Jasper. The boys were wary around each other. JP in particular was nervous. He was always a fearful dog, but now he was terrified. Every time Jasper approached him, he’d growl.

A smart person would have crated him and let them both calm down.  Not me, I put JP in his crate, but when when Jasper climbed on the bed, JP had a fit in the crate, I let him out. 

Stupid, stupid move.

All hell broke out. They tore into each other. It took about five minutes get them apart, and it was horrifying, like a scene from a massacre. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, the dogs and I were covered with blood.

A return trip to the ER, (“Is that Jasper? Didn’t he just leave?”), proved that under all the gore, Jasper had no new injuries. They cleaned him up and I took him home.

I was in shock, but realized that JP was going to have to go. For his own safety. 

I spent the night with JP in Mom’s room with the other dogs locked in my bedroom. Even though JP was cut up and wounded, he curled up next to me and cuddled all night. As usual, he practically purred when he was close.

I cried for five hours straight and in the morning made arrangements with the rescue to return him.

Since I was incapable of driving a dear friend drove JP and I the three hours to the rescue. I cried the whole way. When we walked in, JP started to shake and clung to me. The rescuer had to literally pull us apart.

All the behaviorists and dog trainers and experts tell me I did the right thing. That the dogs would never get along again. That it was better for JP.

I don’t’ believe them. They didn’t see the look of betrayal in JP eyes as I left him. I have never, ever deliberately hurt an animal before, and I don’t know that I will ever recover – even though he probably has.

Mom has mostly recovered, and will be coming home soon. Talen is probably the same. But I'll never stop worrying about JP.