Blackjack
David and Blackjack
BlackJack came into our lives in the summer of 1993. A one-year-old stray with very visible ribs, we found him (or, rather, he found us) on the street outside my grandparents' house. Having only dry cat food, we fed him nearly a pound of it and still he wanted more. We took him home and loved him dearly, despite his bad tendencies. In truth, Jack turned out to be a criminal and an addict. A serial ecsape artist, an avid destroyer by chewing and a biter of those who antagonized him, he was eventually arrested by animal control and taken to doggy jail for 10 days (they released him after 8 days, for good behavior). After that, he was labelled a "Potentially Dangerous Dog" or PDD by the city. In one of his daring escape attempts from the house, this one involving breaking a low window, he cut his front leg and needed stitches. It was then we learned of Jack's addiction. According to the vet, Jack suffered from what was essentially a pleasant release of chemicals in his brain when he would lick himself raw. What followed was difficult for all of us. Not only did unsightly "hotspots" erupt on Jack's body anywhere his tongue could reach, he also exhibited another classic addictive behavior. His normal, highly social tendencies were replaced by secretiveness; he hid under beds and out of view to lick himself away from the chiding of his loved ones. He went through periods of relatively little licking, but relapse was always just around the corner. Jack lived to the ripe old age of 17 and when we had to take him to be put to sleep, he went willingly and graciously accepted his handfed last meal, which was pieces of a spicy slim jim. Jack taught us that it really does take all kinds, and that love exists and even flourishes despite adverse circumstances. He taught us all that forgiveness opens to door to love, and O, did we love him.