I first met Jessica in Chattanooga when I was working my way through school at TVA. Things went nowhere, dating-wise, but we still keep in touch from time to time.
In November of 2010, she posted a picture of a puppy on Facebook. She said it had showed up at her door and she was looking for its owners. About a week later, I sent her a message and asked if she had been able to contact the owners, and if not, would she mind if I took the dog. She sent one back within a couple of hours and said to come get it, that her roommate had expressed an interest in keeping it, and that if that happened, she knew she would end up having to take care of it (she already had two dogs at this point).
It was a Sunday, and I was returning to Cookeville from the farm. Chattanooga is considerably out of the way, but I made the detour, stopping at the Wal-Mart in Jasper to pick up some dog food, toys, and other things for the new addition.
I found Jessica's house easily. When she opened the door, this little bundle of excitement came bursting out, rolling on the floor of her front porch, so excited that she lost control of her bladder. I knew right then that she was a keeper. I talked with Jessica for a little while, catching up, and gave her some chili that Dad and I had made that weekend, then went outside. I put the dog on a leash (she already had a ragged pink collar that Jessica told me was on her when she showed up at her doorstep) and put a treat in the floorboard of my XTerra, near the door. She climbed about halfway up into the truck (difficult for a puppy her size), and I helped her in and drove her home. She trembled the whole way up to Cookeville (for as long as she was with me, she never got over her fear of riding in cars).
Justin (my boss, landlord, and dear friend) let me borrow a crate he'd used with his own dog, and I had her trained the next day. She was always a fast learner. I named her States' Rights, after a Confederate general who was killed at the Battle of Franklin during the Civil War. I took her to the vet and they gave her a pill for tapeworms, but said she was in excellent health otherwise. They gave her a rabies shot and I had a microchip put in her in case she got lost.
States lived with me in Cookeville for almost two years. She was easy to train and loved being around people. She'd run up and down the fence with the neighbors' dogs, often outrunning the Weimaraner, or jumping over Simba (the Golden Retriever who belonged to the neighbors on the other side of us). I'd take her with me to office meetings in Lebanon and she'd play with the boxers there. She and Millie (Wayne's dog) got along splendidly, especially once we started boarding them together during business trips.
I had a mind to train her to be a hunting dog, but I never could break her from being gun shy. She'd come along with me up to the range at the farm, but as soon as she heard the first shot, she'd take off like a rocket back to the house. But nothing got her more excited than if someone used her two favorite words: "rabbit" and "squirrel". She'd cock her head to one side, then the other, and start squealing, then run up to you with that little curly tail wagging a mile a minute. When I'd take her out into the fields, she'd bounce through the tall grass like a little bunny rabbit. It reminded me of Pepe Le Pew bouncing after that lady cat in the cartoons. It always made me smile.
I guess I should have seen it coming, and maybe I did a little. I had a DNA test done on her, the kind where you swab the inside of a dog's cheek with a Q-Tip and mail it off, and then they tell you what breeds she carries. The report card said she was between 18% and 40% beagle. These dogs are known to roam, and they forget about the rest of the world when they have their noses on the ground, often to their detriment.
While I was camping in Australia, I got an email from Dad, with terrible news. He'd been keeping her for me, since she loved being at the farm, and had even gotten her a playmate - an 11-month-old rottweiler named Roxy. Marilyn, Dad's neighbor across the highway (who my family has known since before my brother and I were born), found States' body on the highway earlier this week, hit by a passing motorist. Dad had already buried her by the time I got the news and called him.
I really don't know what to say. I've cried some, and I'll probably cry some more. I drank all the alcohol I had on me, and showed the people I was camping with some pictures and videos of States, such as when she was playing with a soccer ball, chasing after a frisbee, or trying to play with my brother's dog, Daisy.
But mostly, I smiled when I looked at all that stuff and remembered the good times we had together, for those all-too-brief moments when she was a part of my life.
