September 11th, 2006
Bye Jazzy
This is Jazzy. She’s technically Earth’s dog, but everyone adores her. She has the greatest dog personality–she’s friendly and likes being petted, but doesn’t hang on you. She definitely has her own life. But just when you think she doesn’t care, she’ll come sit by you and lean on your leg and put her head on your knee. She has just about the perfect dog life–acres of land to run on, rats and rabbits to chase, no fences or dog runs or chains or pens or leashes, and a pack of women to go round and check on every day.
The first day I met Jazzy, she got bitten by a rattlesnake. She was so stoic about the whole thing–not even a whimper, just limping over to us and looking stricken–that it took us half an hour to figure out what was wrong. We rushed her down the mesa to the vet, where they performed some kind of miracle such that the next time I saw her, you’d never know anything had happened.
In January, Jazzy was diagnosed with osteosarcoma. The vet predicted she had three months. But she just wasn’t down with that. She got through most of the summer on pain medication; when she’d had her pill, placed delicately into a delicious section of hot dog, she was pretty fine, walking around and acting alert and interested as usual, though she didn’t chase many rabbits. However, last week, on the first day of the gathering, it finally got to be too much for her, and Earth, Kya and Rebecca took her to the vet for the last time. There were women on the land who’d known her for years and who, weeping, took turns digging her grave, all the way down through the hardpan clay. I wasn’t there, and I’m sorry I missed it, although I’m not really in shape for public grieving these days–I have a hard time keeping it within socially acceptable bounds. But the place sure isn’t the same without her calm independent sweetness, and she will be sorely missed.
