Jesse Joe

Jesse Joe was more than just a dog to me. He was my friend. Pictured with his “siblings” Hairy and Yoda, you can see that he was a big boy! He was as gentle as he was large.

Jesse came into my life when I had a lot of anger and self-loathing inside. I didn’t really care about much of anything. Especially myself. I had isolated myself. I felt very uncomfortable in all social situations. Even when I was with friends and family, I felt alone.

But then that 20lb., 10-week old, puppy entered my life. He was so beautiful and I fell in love immediately. He became my heart. I started doing everything with and for him.

Since he was a giant breed, I felt it was important he had a "job." After researching various activities, I decided he would be a good Therapy Dog. From the beginning that was our goal. During his socialization training I took him everywhere. We took long walks and went to the French Quarter, parks and lots of pet shops. I wasn’t alone anymore. And I began to feel that way. When I would start feeling uncomfortable as we were out, I would focus on Jesse. He was so impressive, others focused on him as well. With Jesse I didn’t feel pressure to get involved in conversation or the surrounding activities.

When we started going to hospitals and old folks homes, Jesse was the star and I quietly hung on his leash. Jesse helped me to take my eyes off myself, and start giving to others.
My anger began to dissolve and I started to enjoy life again.

I hid behind Jesse for a long time. Then I woke up one day realizing I wasn’t hiding any more. The change had started with a dog that needed a "job" and my willingness to give him one.

Jesse died September of 2003 at the age of 7½. He was diagnosed with cancer. When the tumor returned five-months after his surgery, I decided I couldn’t put him through that again. Two weeks later he was gone.

The thought of him still brings tears to my eyes. I miss him deeply. I miss the way he loved to be combed. I miss his soulful eyes watching me as I moved about my business. I miss the way he would carry his own treats to the car as we left the pet shops. I miss his puppy pounce in anticipation of play. I miss his non-assuming attitude and his quiet ways. I miss his companionship. I miss him.

I'll miss him always,

Shelly P.

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Posted December 27, 2004