MARK PATINKIN Jasper was more than a simple stand-in
He was a double reject.
The pound said that Jasper, the collie-lab mix, had been dumped there twice by adoptive families who felt he was too hyper.
So he sat for months in a concrete pen.
Nobody wanted him.
Except me.
He was a year and a half when I brought him home. That was in 1991.
Last week, at age 161/2, Jasper went to canine heaven. He would have been 115 in human years. Except I don't know many 115-year-olds who still chase sticks.
You know how some widowers remarry women who look like their former wives?
That's how I picked Jasper.
I was so crushed when I lost my previous dog, Roy -- a black collie-lab mix with a white chest -- that I went searching for a look-alike.
Jasper was his double. I'll take him, I said.
For his first few months, he wore Roy's collar and ate out of Roy's bowl. I guess I couldn't let go.
But I remember the moment Jasper and I bonded. We took him on vacation to a country house by a pond. One night around 11, on a walk, he chased what he thought was a squirrel, except it was black and white. He got it point-blank. I took him to the pond with a few cans of tomato juice, which I heard can neutralize skunk smell.
I was soon covered in red myself. But Jasper took it well. He even licked his chops as I poured tomato juice over his head. When we were finished, we just sat there together, looking out at the night. He rested his chin on my knee. I was a goner.
I never figured out why those others dumped him. He wasn't hyper; he was a dog. Dogs have energy. You just need to channel it. For Jasper, it was all about fetching. He would make you throw sticks until you needed elbow surgery. Admittedly, he wasn't so good at give-back. You had to wrestle it out of his jaws. Those were the only times he growled.
But it was an act. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. We later adopted a female beagle mix who busted Jasper -- twice her size -- from colonel to private her first day in the house, and he went along with it. He was even friends with Wooly, the household guinea pig.
Bad habit
He had one bad habit. Like Huck Finn, he liked to light out for the territories. One day, I turned around and he was gone from the yard. I couldn't find him anywhere. I began to panic. Then some kind stranger called to ask if I was missing a dog whose tag said "Jasper."
I went and got him. Over the years, he pulled a few more runaway acts, but by then, I knew where to look. I'd drive five minutes to a neighborhood bagel cafe, which to him was like a buffet. He was a master beggar.
He was also the only dog I know with a police record. I'm not kidding.
In November 1997, he ran away again. But this time, the stranger who called was a police officer. They had Jasper in custody.
It turns out a couple of delinquent boys came across him a few blocks from our Providence, R.I., home, put a rope on him, walked to a big store along the highway and tied Jasper behind it. Then they began to shoplift, leaving the goods with their new guard dog. They got busted. So did Jasper.
The cops had fun with it, saying he was an accessory before and after the fact. When I insisted he was only 5, they said they might count his age in human years -- 35 -- and waive him to adult court.
For a column about it, I called the U.S. Attorney's office, got transferred to the top guy, Sheldon Whitehouse, who said charges would depend on whether Jasper had "requisite scienter." That's a fancy phrase for whether Jasper knew what he was doing.
He might have. Jasper belonged to the "requisite scienter" hall of fame. Once, on a walk through some woods, I called and he didn't come. I thought he'd wandered beyond earshot. Then I saw him eyeballing me from behind a nearby bush. Clearly, he felt that if I didn't see him, he could get away with not coming.
Deaf
Two years ago, at age 14, I was saddened to see he had gone deaf. He seldom responded when I'd order him here or there. Then, one day, while he was in the backyard, I shook a box of dog biscuits at the front door as a test. A minute later, Jasper came loping around to get one. Obviously, the whole deaf thing was a scam.
During his last years, he slowed down a lot.
But to the end, Jasper still loved dirty sticks, bagels, burgers, swimming, Frisbees and life.
And me.
And I loved him.
To borrow a phrase from Eloise, of children's-book fame, he was my mostly companion.
I know; he was "just" a dog. It's true.
Give me 10 years, and I'll be over it.
X Patinkin writes for the Providence Journal. Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service.