On
Thanksgiving Day, my best friend passed away. Jedi was with me for nearly four
years, and when we were together, he was almost always within hugging distance.
From waking up to lying down, and between each room in our apartment, he stayed
with me wherever I went. Even at the beach—his favorite place where he could
run and swim--he always checked to make sure I was close by. He also liked for people
to stay together. On hikes with friends, he’d bark at those who were too far
ahead and at those who were too far behind. At home, he wanted to be wherever I
was at. He’d sit at my feet while I cooked or washed dishes; he’d watch me
exercise in our living room; he’d lie down next to me as I worked or read; he’d
visit the bathroom with me and watch me cleanse. Jedi invaded my personal space
and gave me permission to invade his. What was mine was also his. My friends
were his friends. My bed was his bed. My socks and underwear were his toys.
I decided on
the name “Jedi” because—although I was very far from identifying as a Star Wars fan—I understood Jedis to represent
good things such as loyalty, guardianship, athleticism, and intelligence. I
thought those qualities also marked the kind of dog I wanted to raise. Jedi was
the last puppy left from his litter of yellow labs, so when the breeder brought
him out along with nearly a dozen chocolate labs, I understood why. He was
crazy. He was so crazy. The Force was too strong with this one. But my mind was
also settled. I wanted a yellow lab, so I picked him and drove us home as he
sat in a carrier in my passenger seat. I still remember the boisterous cries as
we left the place where he lived the first eight weeks of his life. I tried petting
him, talking to him, and scanning through different radio stations to soothe
him. He wouldn’t stop wailing. It wasn’t until I started to sing the hymn “Jesus
Paid It All” when he calmed down, fell asleep, and stopped crying. Then I
started crying. It became his naptime and bedtime song.
Jedi lived a
life full of play, full of sleep, and especially full of food. Every morning he’d
lick my face, tap me with his paws, and/or cuddle and stare at me face to face
until I got out of bed, because it was his “mum-mum-time” (time to eat). Once I
got out, he’d hop twice and launch his entire body into the air because he was
so happy about breakfast. When I’d come home from work, he’d excitedly greet me
before I pause and ask, “Is it… time? Is it Jedi’s mum-mum-time?” Then he’d sprint
to his dog bowl, repeat his hop and launch routine, and patiently sit with his
tail wagging, while I poured the kibble, until I gave the okay to eat his
dinner. On nights when I cooked, he sat and waited for me to hand him vegetables
like carrots and broccoli. As an adult, he maintained a healthy weight of
seventy pounds.
Jedi exuded
so much life, energy, and happiness. He loved walks and would bring me his
leash whenever he wanted to go outside. Sometimes during our walks, he’d lunge
at people, jump on them, and even scare them, and I’d apologize and
explain that “he’s actually really friendly, just very aggressive about it.” He
was also very naughty too. He’d steal a sock from my drawer or from my laundry
basket and dangle it from his mouth in front of me so that I would chase him
around the apartment. Most chases ended with him jumping onto our sofa and rolling
onto his back so that I’d rub and scratch his belly with my sock still in his
mouth. I’d affectionately call him my “kai-kai-doy” (“naughty boy” in Toisan)
and retrieve the sock by telling him to “leave it.” Then the process would
repeat several more times. It was our form of play, in addition to wrestling,
swimming, fetch, and tug-of-war.
I miss his playfulness,
his sweet face, and his unwavering loyalty, trust, and love. I miss his gentle
snore, his soft fur, and his warm cuddles—our apartment is hauntingly silent
and cold without him. I miss his persistent kisses. I miss looking down at the
floor to find him next to me. He would lick all the tears off of my face and trade
crying with laughing. He helped me to smile. I miss his presence so much—my heart
hurts. I am thankful that a week prior to his passing he got to see my dad who
taught him how to wait, lie down, and grab the newspaper, and my brother who
looked after him while I was at work for Jedi’s first two years when we lived
with them. Jedi loved forgiveness. He knew whenever he was in trouble or whenever
I was upset. He apologized with kisses whenever he disobeyed. Loving Jedi served
as a reminder that my Father’s love is deeper and better than mine. As painful
and devastating as it is, I know that God took Jedi from me for my good and out
of His love for me.
Below is a
letter that I have written to Jedi in a language and voice that he would have
understood.
To Jedi:
Hi Jedi. Hi Mr.
Jedi. Hi good boy. You were such a good boy. My sweetest puppy. My cutest
puppy. My biggest, sneakiest, silliest puppy. My craziest puppy. My kai-kai doy
(“naughty boy” in Toisan). My hungriest puppy. My itchiest puppy. My most
precious puppy. You just wanted lots and lots of love and lots and lots of attention,
and you wanted lots and lots of rub-rub-scratch-scratch, huh Jedi. Huh Mr.
Puppy. Were you the happiest puppy? Did you eat lots and lots of good mum-mum
(food) like eggs, and broccoli, and carrots, and sardines, and chicken, and
cauliflower, and peanut butter, and blueberries, and apples, and nectarines?
Who’s my good
boy? Who’s my big baby? Who just wanted to play all the time, and eat all the
time, and be a kai-kai puppy all the time? Who liked to say hello to everybody?
Where did you put my socks, Mr. Jedi? I remember when you were a little puppy,
and then you became the biggest puppy who had to kiss-kiss me all the time and
be wherever I was at.
You will
always be my good boy, okay? You will get to go to the beach whenever you want
and swim and run and jump over the waves and play with all the other puppies.
You will get to say hello to everyone, and destroy all the towels and all the
socks and all the bottles and all the cardboard boxes, and have all the mum-mum
in the world. You will have no more eczema. You will always be with me.
You go nite-nite
now, Jedi. Ready to go gao-gao-chee-chee (sleep)? Ready to go to bed? This is
the first song you fell asleep to, during a long drive, when I brought you home
for the first time. It was the only song I ever sang to you before we went
nite-nite.
“I hear the Savior say, ‘Thy strength
indeed is small. Child of weakness, watch and pray. Find in Me thine all in
all.’ Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain. He
washed it white as snow.
Lord now indeed I find Thine power and
Thine alone can change a leper’s spots and melt a heart of stone. Jesus paid it
all. All to Him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain. He washed it white as
snow.
And when before the throne I stand in
Him complete, ‘Jesus died my soul to save,’ my lips shall still repeat. Jesus
paid it all. All to Him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain. He washed it white
as snow.”
You will
always be my baby, okay? You go to bed now. Go gao-gao-chee-chee now, puppy. Nite-nite,
Jedi. I love you.
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| Our first photo together. Thank you, Leigh Ann, for somehow breaking into our room and capturing Jedi's first vet check-up. Jedi was 8 weeks old and 11 pounds. 4/5/14 |
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| Our last photo together. 9/26/17 |
Jedi Bastian Wong
February 3, 2014 - November 23, 2017
My Good Boy
