Jett

We had to say good-bye to Jett this week. It didn't come as a shock, so we're not grieving in that sense. Shock would be much, much worse. This was expected and I've honestly felt the worry over Jett since last spring. It's relieving not to have to worry about him any more, to be honest, and it's a relief to know we did what we could and he's not suffering. I did write down details but I'll share those later. 

As I've told Wells, Jett was the best dog imaginable, but he was a rotten puppy. He ate carpet, drywall, trim, shotgun shells, ran in front of the four-wheeler, ate everyone's food, couldn't walk on a leash until he was 5, and basically got kicked out of puppy-training school. He would trip Scott in the field because he wouldn't get out from under him while hunting, he insisted on being petted and loved by any human he came into contact with, and he loathed puppies. He loved both kids as babies and Wells has been walking him on a leash since he was a toddler. Jett photobombed me constantly. Constantly. His favorite spot was waiting patiently under the highchair. But he listened well. He honestly didn't even need a leash once he grew up a little bit. He pointed out rattlesnakes in the field for me, while Scout leapt right over them. But, to Jett, the only good rabbit was a dead one. Squirrels and chipmunks too. He's caught a few. 

Jett was born in Minnesota, lived in Missouri for a month, Colorado for 3 years, Wyoming for 1 year, Pittsburgh for a year and a half, Kansas for a year, and Missouri for almost 4 years. He was almost 11. 

Jett was a truly good boy.