Jessie Quayle

8 March 1999 - 26 June 2010

It was a humid, 42-degree day. We were visiting the RSPCA to chaperone our dog Dudley on a blind date with a sleek, brown-eyed, gangly-legged girl. The plan was it would be love at first bottom-sniff; we would bundle Dudley and his gorgeous new friend into the car, drive home and live happily ever after.

We let Dudley loose and waited. Miss Pretty-and-Popular looked at him and growled. He growled. To our dismay they had to be separated before one tore off the other’s limbs.

‘Well,’ we reasoned, ‘there are loads of dogs, let’s pick another one.’

If not for a weird coincidence, we would have ignored the black, furry, matted, crusty-eyed, smelly-eared cocker spaniel in dire need of a haircut and a bath. As it happened, Peter recognised the volunteer.

‘Hey, weren’t we on the same uni ski trip years ago?’ asked Peter.

‘What a coincidence!’ the woman said. ‘Now, come and say hello to this gorgeous dog. I always give her lots of cuddles because she really needs it. Her name’s Jessie.’

Peter spent a bit of time with Jessie and it was love at first sight. I took a bit of convincing, because Jessie really did look a mess, but her gorgeous nature won us over. When we took Dudley to meet her they sniffed, wagged their tails and seemed content to walk about in each other’s space.

According to the RSPCA, Jessie had a typical cocker spaniel eye problem and her old family couldn’t pay for the operation, so they had given her away. Jessie’s eyes had been permanently damaged and she was more than likely blind. In addition, she would need expensive eye drops every day for the rest of her life, and proper ear care. The RSPCA said that it would be relatively costly and they were worried they might not be able to find a home for her.

‘Eye drops?’ we said incredulously. ‘That’s nothing compared to what we’ve had with Dudley!’

The RSPCA operated on Jessie’s eyes, gave her a bath and a haircut and a week or so later we picked her up. ‘This dog is so special,’ they said to us, ‘she will be forever grateful to be rescued and repay you every single day with loads of love.’

On the way home I sat with Jessie in the back of the car. Jessie sat on the seat next to me and lifted her paw to shake hands and stared straight into my eyes for the whole trip. It was as if she was saying: ‘I don’t care what’s happened before. I’m going home with you. I love YOU now.’

We thought about changing Jessie’s name but decided that her name suited her: a bit old fashioned, but lovely. Just like her.

Jessie loved us all immediately. She fell in step with the routine from day one. She ate, slept, walked and snoozed with us. She tried to make friends with Dudley, but he constantly rebuffed her advances. He didn’t want to be reminded he was a dog, not a person, but to her credit she persisted. He was part of her new world and she simply embraced it all.

Jessie couldn’t see, but she communicated in other ways, mostly through touch and speaking. She had the most expressive range of barks, whines and growls. We knew exactly what she was saying just by her tone. She would whine for treats in a way that sounded so pathetic, so sad and hungry you’d think she hadn’t been fed in a week. Then as soon as we gave her a treat she’d wag her tail, a little trembly wag like she thought she’d been clever enough to pull the wool over our eyes.

She had a unique repertoire of tail-wags. We used to say we could hear her laughing. Her tail was so long that she would invariably swipe it against a cupboard, a chair, or the floor. There was the fast and furious confined-space tail-wag, which was a kind of stifled giggle, and the 180-degree whacking-wag that was more of a loud belly laugh.
She liked to be connected to us in even the smallest way. When snoozing on the couch she would lay with one paw draped over the nearest human being. In the kitchen she would nudge her wet nose against the back of my leg to remind me she was waiting for a piece of carrot or broccoli.

Jessie loved her life with us and was happy every day. We would put the lead near her nose and as soon as she smelled it she went berserk, rolling around on her back and wagging her tail madly in keen anticipation of a walk. On walks she was a ‘smell the roses’ kind of girl, quite literally; in no hurry, she would sniff flowers and dirt and the air. She jumped up with excitement every time the food bowl came out and in the evenings she liked to sleep on the couch with her head on the nearest available lap.

Jessie lived in her own little world; she didn’t need anyone else except us; she was so incredibly gentle and beautiful. However she could howl like a monster from a Boris Karloff film whenever anybody came to the door. She was very protective of us and never quite got used to meeting other dogs on our walks.

After Dudley died she was very stressed for a few weeks, walking around in endless circles on the lawn. Funny that even though he teased her mercilessly at every opportunity, she missed him so much. She just needed to know where he was, it helped give her bearings. Eventually she got used to being ‘top dog’ and enjoyed it immensely.

Jessie was so quiet but she knitted her way into every single aspect of our lives. The house is so very empty without the gentle padding of her feet or the thud of her tail as she laughs.

We always had the strange feeling that we were just borrowing Jessie, and that one day we would have to send her on to the next place in her journey. We’re so glad she chose us for her stay in this part of the universe. The RSPCA people were right: she loved us so much, every single day. We were lucky to have her. We miss her and know she’s still watching over us.