Goodbye, Jasmine

Jasmine Cavendish Palmer, 9/1/15 – 11/26/24, was a beautiful yellow lab with white markings behind her shoulders and a pink nose.  She became my boss eight years ago, and determined when we got up (early), when we walked (a lot) and when to went to bed (early).  She’s the only dog I know of who announced with persistence that it was time for EVERYONE to go to bed.  She reminded me a bit of my dad in that way, who would get up from his chair in a room full of people, turn off the lights, and say, “I’m going to bed.”  

She knew a million words and phrases; some sort of uncommon for a four-legged.  Like, “would you like to go into the fenced area?” and “please use the bridge” (when the current in the stream that we crossed every day was too strong).  Or, “cover your eyes.”  She never did cover her eyes, but would watch carefully while I hid treats around the room.  Did she not understand the words, or was she cheating? I’ll never know.  After treat hiding was complete, I’d say, “ok, open your eyes and find the treats!” And she’d find them every single time, snuffling around the room for the kibbles I’d hidden, and she'd look at me with a smug expression, like, I did it!  Sometimes she’d sit up especially straight after we finished, and stare at me, signaling that she was willing to play another round.  We’d spend the evenings this way, while others might play scrabble. 

When I sneezed in the woods, she knew to come right to my side.  It was good to be able to summon her without revealing my gender.  (Men might not understand the need for secret communication between girls in the woods, but it was helpful on more than one occasion.)

We called each other “business ladies,” but truth be told, she didn’t do a lot of business lately.  She thought the Beyonce song was, “I’m a Business Lady” and liked to dance to it.   She retired as a lab assistant a few years ago when her arthritis got too bad, but before that, she’d crawl through blackberries without complaint if that’s where we were going.  She had an advice column for a while but got tired of dealing with people’s problems.  Up until the week before she died, she ran a successful side hustle of helping with the dishes, especially difficult pots that had housed stew or something cheesy.  She worked at this tedious job with good cheer, not complaining if it was an evening or a weekend.  She was an amateur botanist, and liked to eat blackberries off the vine.  She knew to avoid stinging nettle.  But her main talent and lifelong profession was as a greeter.  She greeted people like no other business lady.  She would strain on the leash or just sit down and refuse to proceed until she could full-on greet whomever it was with squeals of delight and serious wagging.  Strangers seemed surprised, and then complemented by her attention.  That this random dog wouldn’t carry on with her life until she greeted them with all of that enthusiasm.

She also liked trick-or-treating.  Her version, similar to what the children do on Halloween, involved her going outside, then barking to come in, but rather than entering, she would snatch the offered treat and run outside with it.  Rinse, repeat.  She could play that forever.

She loved rolling in towels.  If she found a towel that someone had used after bathing, she would grab it and roll in it, wagging and smiling.  At other people’s homes, she’d bee-line for the bathroom to scope out the towel situation.  Everyone wasn’t charmed by this.  Go figure.  And speaking of bees, she had a lifelong interest in entomology, particularly honey bees.  They stung, but they also tasted delicious.  She was willing to take the risk, which is a good quality in a being.

With a swollen eye from a bee sting

Her name, Jasmine, came with her.  I added Cavendish Palmer for fancy, because that's the fanciest name I know.  She was fancy.  She died peacefully at home, surrounded by family.  She loved and was loved by many.  I will miss her forever.  In lieu of flowers, maybe  just greet someone with enthusiasm today.  Or roll in their used towel.