To Jasper - continued
Continued....
Well, after that, we had several months of "fun" trying to get Jasper to go to the toilet outside, to not chew our books, to generally behave himself while in our company. Unsuccessfully, of course.
We went for long walks in the snow and ice. He would always tug on the lead, eager to run. Such was it, that that would become my everlasting impression of our time together.
Over those months we bonded, quite inextricably so.
I would awaken to an ever-growing heap of white fur and loving brown eyes - and an equally-adoring tongue on my cheek - every morning. I would leave for school to whines, and return home to a dog who was always euphoric to see me. It lifted my depression. It made everything alright, to gaze into those eyes. He yearned for freedom; as did I.
So the cycle would continue. Daily walks, to open spaces, parks. Arrive, off-lead and run. Run like you have never run before.
An hour might pass, during which I would haplessly attempt to call "Jasper! Jasper! Come here!", and he would, of course, never follow. He appeared at one with the dry air, and at first, the bleak winter sun, followed in time by the green warmth of spring and the long, carefree, wispy grass and the drawn-out evenings of the early summer.
Jasper was at his least content while held within the confines of the family home; in turn, his happiest moments came at the park, or down by the seafront at Hardway, or muddying himself at Monks Walk.
In the spring of 2010, he ran away for the first time. He jumped over our 3-foot high fence, from our garden into the alleyway it backed out onto, and bolted. I managed to apprehend him before he ran out into our road, but a trend was set.
Over the next few months, he did this three times. Each time he would be found and escorted back.
I think, now, he had an innate desire to be free.
Myself, my mother and sister went on holiday to Spain in July 2010; my father was left at home with Jasper.
Several days into our holiday, he sent us photos of Jasper at his favourite spot, and what has since become my own favourite spot, by the shore at Hardway, near the Explosion museum. He looked happy.
The following day we received an email. It said, rather simply, words to the effect of "Jasper has run away again. Have had to give him to RSPCA".
We took this in, we lived our holiday - I had an impending relationship to worry about, which was at the forefront of my mind - and we came back.
I have not seen Jasper since.
It is late July 2010. The balmy summer afternoon sun ambles its way through the patio door and into the living room. I am the only inhabitant of the house, for now. For the first time in a long time, there is total silence.
It is numbing.
So where my companion is now, I do not know. I will never know, probably. Most probably we will never set eyes upon one another again.
But I take invaluable solace in a mental image I keep to this day: I imagine the forest of Monks Walk; and the trees swaying calmly in the summer sun, gleaming and weaving its way through their branches and caressing the ground.
There is a path running through the wood.
Along the path runs a dog; white of fur and brown of eye, free of spirit and heart.
That dog knows no limit. He lives on in time, forever immortalised by the glint in his eyes of the sun, and the breeze whispering through the trees, and he listens to none who may call him back.
He runs, and he runs free forever more. Just as he always has, as shall he always.
To you, my beautiful friend Jasper; run, run, and run free. For ever more.
Along the path runs a dog. White of fur, and brown of eye; free. Free. Of spirit - and of heart.
To Jasper - continued
Continued....
Well, after that, we had several months of "fun" trying to get Jasper to go to the toilet outside, to not chew our books, to generally behave himself while in our company. Unsuccessfully, of course.
We went for long walks in the snow and ice. He would always tug on the lead, eager to run. Such was it, that that would become my everlasting impression of our time together.
Over those months we bonded, quite inextricably so.
I would awaken to an ever-growing heap of white fur and loving brown eyes - and an equally-adoring tongue on my cheek - every morning. I would leave for school to whines, and return home to a dog who was always euphoric to see me. It lifted my depression. It made everything alright, to gaze into those eyes. He yearned for freedom; as did I.
So the cycle would continue. Daily walks, to open spaces, parks. Arrive, off-lead and run. Run like you have never run before.
An hour might pass, during which I would haplessly attempt to call "Jasper! Jasper! Come here!", and he would, of course, never follow. He appeared at one with the dry air, and at first, the bleak winter sun, followed in time by the green warmth of spring and the long, carefree, wispy grass and the drawn-out evenings of the early summer.
Jasper was at his least content while held within the confines of the family home; in turn, his happiest moments came at the park, or down by the seafront at Hardway, or muddying himself at Monks Walk.
In the spring of 2010, he ran away for the first time. He jumped over our 3-foot high fence, from our garden into the alleyway it backed out onto, and bolted. I managed to apprehend him before he ran out into our road, but a trend was set.
Over the next few months, he did this three times. Each time he would be found and escorted back.
I think, now, he had an innate desire to be free.
Myself, my mother and sister went on holiday to Spain in July 2010; my father was left at home with Jasper.
Several days into our holiday, he sent us photos of Jasper at his favourite spot, and what has since become my own favourite spot, by the shore at Hardway, near the Explosion museum. He looked happy.
The following day we received an email. It said, rather simply, words to the effect of "Jasper has run away again. Have had to give him to RSPCA".
We took this in, we lived our holiday - I had an impending relationship to worry about, which was at the forefront of my mind - and we came back.
I have not seen Jasper since.
It is late July 2010. The balmy summer afternoon sun ambles its way through the patio door and into the living room. I am the only inhabitant of the house, for now. For the first time in a long time, there is total silence.
It is numbing.
So where my companion is now, I do not know. I will never know, probably. Most probably we will never set eyes upon one another again.
But I take invaluable solace in a mental image I keep to this day: I imagine the forest of Monks Walk; and the trees swaying calmly in the summer sun, gleaming and weaving its way through their branches and caressing the ground.
There is a path running through the wood.
Along the path runs a dog; white of fur and brown of eye, free of spirit and heart.
That dog knows no limit. He lives on in time, forever immortalised by the glint in his eyes of the sun, and the breeze whispering through the trees, and he listens to none who may call him back.
He runs, and he runs free forever more. Just as he always has, as shall he always.
To you, my beautiful friend Jasper; run, run, and run free. For ever more.
Along the path runs a dog. White of fur, and brown of eye; free. Free. Of spirit - and of heart.