Jessa

The Great Dog Jessa. The Big Dog Jessa. Jessa the Wonder Dog. Boo. My Gentle Giant. Big Dog. Just a few of my names for my beautiful baby girl.

She smiled all the time and made others smile just by being there. Her tail wagged ferociously when anyone talked to her. She brought joy and light to a place just because she was there. She loved her people. I was her everything and she showed me this all the time.

My first dog ever and the first time I came home to her she greeted me with unleashed joy. A little bundle of joy who looked like a live stuffed animal. My anxiety of wondering whether I would be a good mom. Could I train her to keep her safe. She made it effortless. It was love at first sight for both of us.

No one in my life had ever made me feel they were so happy to see me. Not mother or siblings or husband or friends. Her greeting when I would return, even if only gone for a few minutes, was always exuberant beyond sense. We would do the shopping rounds on the weekend and I’d tie her up outside and when I’d come back out she would reprimand me for having left her, even if only for a short time.

Not that she didn’t always have an audience. I’d look out on her from time to time and someone (more times than not, multiple someones) would be petting and playing with her and she would be lavishing them with unabashed affection. People who didn’t like dogs or were afraid of them, would tell me she was different. She loved babies and children (and the food they would spill or feed her), old people, and young people, and she was always so gentle with everyone.

She knew every store in town that gave out dog treats and I was never sure who led who on some of those rounds. We would walk around town and people would say, "Hi Jessa". I didn’t know them but they knew my dog. The same at the dog park. "Oh, you’re Jessa’s mom." But they knew my dog.

When she walked, she bounced and pranced. She was just so happy to be and life was grand. Her big pink tongue and her beautiful big head and her handsome white crested chest, she was the best of the best.

In the evening, she’d wait to be invited up on the bed and then get on the edge and spoon with me until I fell asleep and then she’d go down to her blanket on the floor. In the mornings the alarm would go off and she’d lean her head near my face and wait for her invitation to join me.

She wasn’t a morning dog. I would get up, shower, dress and she’d be sprawled out across the queen size bed, with her head on the pillow. Only when she thought it was time to go to the office and I was ready to leave would she struggle out and up, ready to head to work. I would open the front door and she’d go running out, barking ferociously after the phantom animal that lived under the house. She never did catch it.

We started a company together. She spent long days and nights with me and as the staff grew she became happier. More people to play with. That was success to her. She spent lots of time under my desk, then would get bored and go visit the rest of the office. You’d be working away and suddenly this big nose would nudge your arm, commanding to be petted. And you were obliged to comply.

When new people came to the office she would go out to greet them, often giving them the famous dog greeting of a nose ride. It was a great leveler. Professional people who’s faces would redden with embarrassment, if only for a second. I conducted many meetings with clients and others, which Jessa sat in on. They often spent the time petting her instead of taking notes.

Lunch time would come and she’d make the rounds. Oh, she didn’t stoop to begging. She’d just look at everybody with those beautiful brown eyes and they’d offer up some morsel of food or pull out some special treat they had for her.

Her best canine buddy was Rudy, a sassy, cocky pug with an attitude. They were office mates. Most of the time they were very mellow and well behaved. But then without warning the two of them would decide to raise some hell and they’d chase each other around the office barking, running in circles. Rudy was the provocateur, but Jessa was game for the action.

Neither one of them liked working long hours and their invisible clocks would go off around 5:00pm and a cacophony of noise would erupt from these two. "It’s time to go home." "What’s wrong with you guys." "Let’s go play." "Enough, already." It didn’t always work and they’d settle back down with long sighs of resignation.

Then there’s Kate, my beautiful niece. Jessa met her two days after she was born and just sniffed and smelled this little bundle of joy. When Kate started talking it was always "Jessa and Aunt Constance", in the same sentence. When Jessa developed a ‘tummy ache’ and was sick, Kate spent the weekend wrapping her blankets around Jessa and giving her ‘Baby’, her favorite doll, to care for her. She insisted on going to pick up Jessa at ‘Dr. Acklan’s’ (aka Dr. Kaplan) office. She assured me Jessa was going to be all right.

My other beautiful niece, Lily, took care of Jessa when she was sick, too. She’d run in to report that Jessa wasn’t feeling good or that Jessa was feeling better and that she was taking care of her. Jessa and Lily knew each other from the time of Lily’s homecoming. Lily always tried to get Jessa to come into the bath with her, to no avail. She’d stick her nose in the bathroom and back out quickly. Jessa’s big bark would scare Lily sometimes. Other times Lily would be bold and fearless and just want hugs and kisses from The Big Dog..

Her favorite things in life were: the beach, snow, walks, pigs ears, belly rubs, ear massages, being touched, riding in the front seat with Mom, ice cream, her jingle bear and ball, her blanket, dog biscuits, and me.

Her least favorite things in life were: rain, flies, being left alone, hot days and my leaving her, ever.

She was the best and greatest gift I have ever received. She’ll always live on in my heart and the spirit of The Great Dog Jessa will exist forever, in the heavens above.

Jessa Grizzell April 29, 1994 - October 30, 1998. Rest in Peace, Boo.

Love, Mom and Dad (Constance Grizzel and Michael Beutel)