Jack’s Sausage and Pepperoni Pizza
The crust on Jack’s pizza is functionally no different than the flimsy cardboard it comes packaged with. There’s barely any cheese or sauce, and the pepperoni was sparse at best. Sausage seems to be added as an afterthought. Nothing about this pizza is of a high quality, but despite all this, it works. For $2.50, you sort of know what kind of experience you’re getting. This is not a high-end dining experience. It’s not a frozen pizza you set the table for. This is the trash you eat at two in the morning in a misguided attempt to stave off a potential hangover. This is the kind of pizza with crusts that you have no problem feeding to the dog.
His name was Jager, and with all due respect to other dogs, Jager was the best dog in the entire world, and all other dogs were garbage.
Jager would sit very patiently while I ate, staring at my food with an intensity that would be alarming if a human being was doing it. When this tactic didn't get results, he would gently lay his head on my knee, and glance up at me while I was chewing. This was a dirty trick, and he knew it.
I would roll my eyes and discreetly feed him a crust, which he would inhale more than chew. What a dumb, wonderful dog. That motherfucker LOVED pizza.
I never wanted him, which is something that gets brought up a lot on his birthday (April 4th, two days after mine.) Our previous dog had ran away, so I was kind of burnt out on the dog front. My mom insisted that we had to go see this dog, though. He was different. I humored her, if only to get her to stop talking about it. The last thing we needed was another dog.
In one of those memories that remains crystal clear, even after all these years of destroying my mind with alcohol and frozen pizzas, I remember entering a now closed-down pet store and walking down an aisle of dogs in clear cages. The interior was almost blindingly white, and the stench of wet fur nearly crippled me. After nearly tripping over a leash someone had thoughtfully left on the floor, I took a closer look at all the dogs. Various shapes and sizes were clawing at their cages, barking and begging for attention from these new people who had just come into their lives. One dog kept headbutting the cage door in an attempt to, I assume, love us to death. Another dog decided the best way to get our attention was to shit as much possible. Winners, all.
This was all fine and good, but I still had no desire to get a dog. Then my mom turned my attention to an motionless white ball in my periphery.
While every other puppy in the place was prancing, showboating and shitting, a yellow lab quietly snored away, face smashed up against the corner of the Plexiglass cage. He was sleeping standing up, and could not give two shits about the general situation he was in.
So I humored my mother and went in the play area to meet this puppy. I figured I would toss it a ball a few times, maybe it would roll around, and then we could be out of here in time for Jeopardy. Dogs and I seem to understand each other. We’re both just big dumb idiots who want unconditional love, and also like food. This was nothing personal, but this dog thing was not going to happen today.
I got down on my knees while this yellow ball of fur just stared at me. Then he cautiously walked towards me, blinked twice, and put his paws directly on top my head.
Then he ran and hid in the corner. He kept glancing at me with sad eyes, waiting for me to make the next move.
Sighing, I turned to my mom.
“...we should probably get him before anyone else does.”
We took him home that day, and were shocked that he was so calm. Puppies are generally insane, but Jager was content to just lie around and occasionally eat.
We shouldn't have been shocked when it turned out he had severe pneumonia. A few days after getting him, we learned that he might not make it past the weekend.
But he did make it. This dumb dog was resilient. This would not be his first brush with death.
One Halloween, the front door was left open, and Jager decided to find out what happens when a 70lb yellow lab collides with a 25 mph moving car. Apparently, nothing major. He was fine the next day, aside from a slight limp.
About six years in, he had kidney problems that forced him into a vet for a few days. He was given an doggy IV, which is equal parts adorable and terrifying. But Jager was up and running the next Monday. This dog could not be shut down.
I had moved out to my own place in Chicago several years ago, but would always ask for updates on Jager. He would get excited whenever I came home, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shook. But he had seemed quieter and more lethargic each subsequent time I had seen him. He was getting old, though. That tends to happen. I figured he would pass on whenever he felt like it. Maybe he was immortal! I mean, he got hit by a car and nearly had his kidneys shut down, and walked away from it without a care in the world. Jager would go out on his own terms.
I got the call around 11:30 on a Saturday night. I wasn't really doing too much of anything at the time, so the phone ringing startled me out of my prone position on the couch. Not too many people called around that time of night.
In a quiet voice, my mom began tentatively explaining that Jager had been throwing up a lot the past week or so, terrible bile-like stuff, and would barely move. Eating, one of the many passions the dog and I shared, was no longer a priority for him. Everything he did seemed to take an incredible amount of effort on his part. He wasn't really acting like Jager.
When they brought the dog in, the vet had told my parents that Jager had cancer, he had had it for some time, and it was only going to get worse. There were all kinds of medicines they could treat him with, but their effectiveness was arguable. They could keep him for observation for a few days, but there was no guarantee that it was going to yield results. Pet insurance would cover some of the treatments, sure, but not all, you could get a second opinion from a specialist, but those are difficult to get on short notice, then at that point quality of life become a conversation...
My mom kept talking, but I had to stop her.
That’s when she started sobbing.
I just knew. It was something we had always joked about. I had even made a joke to her on the phone the week before.
“You know when this dumb dog decides to die because it’s bored with us, you’re all going to be such a wreck.”
I talked to my sisters that night, white-knuckling my phone in my hand, desperately trying to hold it together for them. He had been a huge part of their lives, he loved them.
It was the right choice. He was in a better place. We didn't want him living in pain. These things happen.
The next few days were a bit of a blur for me. A couple of people noticed that he had died and gave their condolences, which I greatly appreciated. I joylessly went through the motions of going to work, going home, and going to sleep, with a healthy dose of drinking on the side. Other moments were spent looking at pictures of my dog and breaking down in tears, then repeating the process. I went to parties and went out with friends, but was on auto-pilot the whole time. No one suspected anything was wrong, and the last thing I wanted to do was tell anyone about it. My best friend was dead. What was there to talk about?
A couple of weeks later, my mom and sisters showed up at my place, carrying a yellow lab puppy named Jax. It was like seeing a ghost. I resented them for moving on so quickly. This was not Jager. This wouldn't bring Jager back.
But my family was happy, not consumed with the melancholy that I was dealing with. He’s not a bad dog, really. Sure, he barks too much, and he lacks some of the personality of other dogs. Jax is still a dumb name, but that’s what happens when you let my Dad have naming power over a living being. But he’s a good dog, and they needed him.
I still think about Jager all the time, and sometimes feel guilty when I don’t. He was a good dog. Maybe the best dog. Every time I see a dog getting walked down my street, I think about getting a dog of my own sometimes.
If for no other reason to to eat these crusts.
Jack’s Sausage and Pepperoni Pizza-3.5/5
