I’ve heard it said that, the bigger they come, the harder they fall. Well, I can tell you this much: When a 140-pound mastiff falls, she falls hard, leaving a hole in your soul the size of the grand canyon, and breaking your heart into a million tiny pieces.
If you are a Gen Xer such as myself, then you likely remember The Six Million Dollar Man, a mid-70’s television series about Steve Austin, an astronaut who had been critically injured in an accident, "a man barely alive." From the show's opening sequence:
Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster.
A spin-off series, The Bionic Woman, featured Jaime Sommers, whose body had also been rebuilt. Among other enhanced strengths, Sommers had incredibly strong legs, which gave her the ability to outrun cars and leap amazingly high. (Back in 2007 this series was briefly revived, but I remain loyal to the original.)
Here’s our Jaime. We first met her when she was nine months old. We went to adopt a puppy, and this girl stole our hearts. We took our pup home, but Jaime remained on our minds, and as fate would have it, she would be ours four months later. Jaime and our pup recognized each other right away, and quickly became the best of friends. We came to refer to them as "the big one" and "the little one." These references stuck, even after the little one outgrew Jaime.
I was initially inclined to change Jaime’s name, because a close friend had recently lost his beloved setter, Jamie. However, our girl was half-grown, and already knew her name. Plus, it fit her. My subsequent thought was to change the spelling to Jamie, but then my mother reminded me that Jaime Sommers had spelled her name the same way. Then I remembered that, as a little girl, I had begged my parents, "Can I please change my name to Jaime? Puh-puh-puh-pleeeeaze?"
Jaime had been rejected by her breeder, due to her substandard features that were not show quality. To us, she was perfect. She loved to cuddle, and to eat. As a young pup, she had apparently not gotten adequate food, but that had since changed, as she had been well-loved at her last home. We loved all of her little quirks, including the cowlick on the back of her neck, the fact that her head always smelled like corn tortillas, and the way her rear end swayed when she walked, just like that of the zebra in the movie Madagascar. She had an athletic build, could clear the couch in one leap, and ran like a racehorse. This was not your typical female mastiff. She was "better, stronger, faster". AND, her name was Jaime. Indeed, she was our bionic dog.
Jaime was a wonderful big sister, and put the little one in her place when needed, helping to teach her some manners, and also rough-housing with her to burn off that excess puppy energy. It worked out perfectly. At home, Jaime was in charge, and would stand between the little one and the window when someone or something threatening was outside. She was the protector. The little one had a more adventurous spirit, so outside the house, Jaime followed her closely, and became somewhat uncomfortable when she would lose sight of her. These two were meant to be together. They constantly entertained us with their rough play, running full-speed through the tiny downstairs portion of our house, playing tug-of-war, chewing the same toy at the same time, and dragging each other across the floor with the rope. Mastiff owners have an expanded vocabulary, and some of the terms commonly used in our house were spit-head, face-fighting, and counter-surfing. Oh, these girls were messy alright, but a sheer joy to watch.
Only eight months after Jaime joined our family, her health began to decline, rapidly. Over a period of less than 3 months, we put her through countless diagnostic tests, treating symptom after symptom, with no overall diagnosis. We’d cure one ailment, only to have it replaced by another, and soon, the symptoms began to multiply, random in nature, and throughout her body. Whatever this was, it was spreading like wildfire. Tests, including biopsies, continued to come back negative, but something was lurking beneath the surface. In the end, it turned out to be an aggressive form of cancer, deep in the tissues of her stomach, lungs, kidneys, and probably elsewhere. We had to let her go just four days after her 2nd birthday. She had lost her will a few days earlier.
Just three months ago, Jaime was a happy, playful pup, full of life and love. I’ve given up trying to make sense of any of this. I’m just glad that we were able to provide a happy home for Jaime, and grateful for the time we had with her. In those few months, she provided us a lifetime of joy and love, and I can only hope she got as much out of it as we did.
Farewell, Jaime, our Bionic Dog.
Update [2009-8-16 0:0:38 by JW in Dallas]:: Thank you all for your kind words and heartfelt condolences. It is comforting to know that others were so touched by Jaime’s story.