RIP – Jeter Wallen McCaffrey

Back sometime in late 2010, Lisa’s mother, Mary, entered an assisted living community in Florida. Mary had a young Maltipoo named Jeter, not much more than a pup, who had already established a reputation among the family of being a demanding little bugger, prone to fits of endless barking and digging under fences to escape his confines.

We had adopted a New York Street Staffordshire named Destiny from a kill shelter in Manhattan – whose name was changed to Queen Maeve upon arrival – and then a Beagle named Shorty who some friends found wandering in Van Cortlandt Park, and a wonderful black cat familiar named Lucky, who Lisa had found as a kitten while jogging, so I was surprised when Lisa returned from packing her mother’s house up with a small wooly tyrant in tow.

From the moment he arrived in Riverdale, Jeter the Maltipoo never left my side.

I couldn’t piss without him standing between my legs. If I went into a room and closed the door behind me, he barked incessantly until I let him in. If I left the house to run errands, he whined and barked until I returned. He had to sleep in the bed next to me. He had his own mat in my home office just a few feet away from my feet. If I shifted in my chair, his head was raised in alert.

I first referred to him as Mary’s curse, as I knew she was laughing, first in Florida, and later in Heaven (maybe), knowing that she had unleashed this 24/7 tormentor on her (air quotes and said with a cackle) “favorite” SIL.

But as with most things, over time, annoyances turn into something better.

After awhile, Jeter became my daily confident, who listened to me rant and rave about whatever was bothering me. And whenever I was treading too closely to the emotional abyss, a short lick on my knuckles usually brought me back from the edge. After a while, I wouldn’t go anywhere without him.

The fur family line-up changed over time. Maeve moved in with Cairo and traveled the country with Luke and Georgie. Shorty passed after a bout of throat cancer and is buried with a lot of other fur family – and maybe others – in the back gardens of the Riverdale house. My animal rescue squad niece, Tales, convinced Lisa that the rescue wire-haired and very neurotic Terrier, Phoebe, who peed whenever she got nervous, and could not find a home, would make an excellent addition to my household. And, of course, one freezing winter night, my NYPD son, Mark, called from the 42 Pct in the Bronx asking if we could adopt a black pittie pup he found tied to a fence in a snow storm.

While Maeve, during her time, was the matriarch of the fur family, the leader of the pack was always Jeter. He was the one dog who could walk up to Maeve’s bowl and filch some food without becoming her next meal. He did that with all of the other fur family, even Lucky.

When I drove cross-country to what became Casa Claire in 2017, Jeter sat shotgun in the front seat. He laughed with me as we crossed the Mississippi and I told him about Mark Twain. The rest of the fur family shared the back, with some traveling in Luke’s car as part of the McCaffrey cross-country caravan. (Being a good witch, Lisa flew).

Jeter, Pheobe and Blue loved the freedom of Casa Claire. No more walks on leashes. They made use of every inch of it. I opened the door each day and out they went. I would often see them lying in the sun together, like in the above photo.

When Claire adopted me, Jeter went out to her barn to give her the lay of the land and establish the hierarchy in the fur-family. A moment later I watched Jeter racing nervously back from the barn with Claire on his heels swinging her head earthwards, back and forth in long arcs, like a pendulum, trying to smack Jeter like a Tyrannosaurus Rex chasing a small velociraptor. Jeter immediately ceded Claire rule of the outdoor area in Casa Claire. Since Jeter always followed me around the property, Claire immediately put up with him constantly walking between her legs without stomping him. Mr. Rogers always loved Jeter. Honey put up with him. Indeed, I always felt more comfortable when they were all together outside because I knew Claire would not allow any predators onto Casa Claire.

Jeter has watched me type every word in The Claire Saga and every word in every blog, until this morning.

Jeter has been getting old. His sight and hearing have diminished. He has lost a lot of teeth. His once rapid trot has slowed to an old man, Chaplinesque waddle. Despite this natural occurrence, Jeter has clung to his independence, freedoms and demands. But his trips outdoors have recently become less expansive. He started limiting his bathroom forays to a few feet from whatever door he had exited, and when I went to do the outdoor chores he began to wait patiently for me at whatever door I had exited.

He would still go outside without me, especially if he could follow the large black mass shadow Blue, who always made sure he got back inside safe and sound. He would follow her around and pee where she peed. He could still smell.

Yesterday, he was off his feed. He spent his time sleeping at my feet. He wasn’t uncomfortable. He slept soundly with his usual sonorous snore, but he didn’t hop up to follow me, like he usually did.

Yesterday afternoon, he and Blue went out for a bathroom break, but Blue returned looking anxious, so I followed her outside and found Jeter standing there, oblivious to his surroundings.

I carried him inside and lay him in the bean bag seat that Savanna had left him when she moved with her family to Oz. He loved that bean bag. He lay there comfortably, relaxed, as he always did. Then he took three deep breaths and passed. Just like that.

Lisa went to Jeter and confirmed, in her nurse’s way, that he had passed. She was weeping.

She went down to my office and grabbed the Colorado hoody Jeter loved to wrap himself in when he slept in my office. She wrapped it around him one last time.

I’ve never put down an animal. All of my fur-family have passed in our presence, during a death watch when they have made it clear to us that it was their time to go. Each passing has been peaceful. We are lucky that way. Jeter spared me the death watch. He just quickly skipped past the veil.

I didn’t weep until I went outside to Boot Hill and dug Jeter’s grave. It is right next to Maeve’s and a few feet from Pheobe’s and Lucky’s. I spent that time instructing the ghosts of the other passed fur family members on making sure Jeter’s transit was as wonderful as theirs, to show him his new superpowers in his altered energy state, and to show him how he can cross the veil whenever he wants to say hello. I also told them they are to take him right to Spaghetti, so Jeter can pay his respects and get officially welcomed into the celestial McCaffrey fur clan.

I wept again when Lisa gently handed me Jeter to be placed in the grave. She is much stronger than I am.

And one more time when Blue came out to say goodbye.

Claire and Honey offered their condolences when I later went out to give them dinner, and Claire reminded me that Jeter was off having the time of his new life. And that we would see him again. Maybe even here on Casa Claire.

I’m weeping again now as I type these words, physically absolutely alone for the first time in a very long time. Blue has stayed upstairs with Lisa in bed. I miss my little buddy.

I never got to sneak Jeter into any of the books. So this has to be my best substitute, for now.

Vaya con dios, Jete-Jete. Thanks for the loyalty, friendship and love.

Well, as with life and fiction, the world must keep turning and the survivors must carry on.

Dawn approaches. I need to go cuddle my kitties and do my rounds.

You fine, five readers go out there and attack the hump.

And no matter what else we do, let’s make today a great one.