Jobbie Joel Jacque McCutchan

11/93 - 7/10/08

A Look Back: Photos from Over the Years

The phrase “farm dog” paints a certain image for most—that of Old Yeller or Lassie—some large dog that wrestles coyotes and treads through creeks and prairies with their human companion. It’s usually nothing close to a 10-pound yorkshire terrier. But Jobbie was just that, a farm dog. Though he’d cooperate for the occasional photo near some pretty flowers, he was no indoor dog. He had a thirst for exploring, proved mostly by the solid mass of cockle burrs he’d return to the door wearing. We spent hours pulling those things out of that poor dog. Nature had not given him the proper attire for his adventures, but soon, we fixed him up with a schnauzer haircut so he could roam free without fear of entanglement.

Jobbie was a special dog. I know that’s what everyone says of their pet, but my claims are not without evidence. We drove all the way to Pittsboro, IN to retrieve him, after months of mom pining to own a yorkie, my dad had finally given in. We picked him out of the bunch and he traveled home with us in his little crate, despite our pleas for him to ride on our laps. It’s been so long, that I cannot say for sure, but I don’t think we held out longer than 1 night before snatching him from the back porch and offering up a cozy spot in the bed. And snuggled up way down under the covers in my parents bed is where he spent his nights from that point on. As he got older in recent years, he’d usually beat my dad to the bedroom door, dropping the hint that he was ready to get under the covers.

Soon after we got Jobbie, a friend of my brother’s was watching Aladdin and somehow, made up the name Jobbie. My mom heard it and decided it was a good name for our new puppy. Despite our extended family trying to rename him Puddles, the name stuck. We tacked on the other names because mom had wanted to give him a French name, so not only did he get a French name, he got 3 names, making him pretty fancy.

We were fascinated by this tiny dog. He fit on our Barbie beds, and as we found out one day when he went missing, he could fit in my brother’s toy tool shed as well. It became my brother’s favorite game—“what places can I hide the tiny dog?” He was a quiet little guy, but we did notice him in the dryer before starting it.

Jobbie had no street cred in the eyes of my dad. He hid him under the seat whenever he took him to the vet. It wasn’t too long before dad came home with another surprise, a St. Bernard pup. Some might call it overcompensating, but my dad said it was the dog he’d always wanted to have. This new addition, Buddy Joe, stayed in the house as a pup, but quickly outgrew his indoor welcome. Jobbie owned this pup. To me, they were always a bit like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny Devito, muscle & brains. They were quite a pair but never fought. Buddy Joe knew his place.

Even as he got older, we tried to take Jobbie wherever we could. He bailed out of the dune buggy as we were barreling down the road. He was completely fine. He was possibly the healthiest dog the vet had ever seen. Even in his later years, he was remarkably able. Each visit, we would be prepped that his days were probably numbered due to his age, but the little guy just kept on living. His hearing was gone and his sight was practically there. He weighed a bit of nothing but had a healthy appetite and explored the area around our house as if he were still a pup. He became a bit needier these last couple years—wimpering for some lap time. Personally, I don’t think it had anything to do with his age, but more to do with 3 other dogs sharing the house with him. This dog was raised with constant attention. He just missed what he used to have. Normal for anyone, I say. But he was old and a little gray and his hair was thinning. No one wants to cuddle with the dog you might break if you hug him too hard. I felt bad for him.

I may have fallen short on showing affection for my family, but I made it a point to give that dog a little me-time. His utopian life had been disrupted by the addition of a smaller and more hyper yorkie, who I believe, if dogs actually have feelings about other dogs, Jobbie absolutely detested. The pup wanted nothing more than to play & frolic and Jobbie wanted nothing more than to avoid those 2 things as much as possible. It was a rough adjustment time for Job. He withdrew more & more each time I visited, to the point that I would have to scour the house to find him hiding on some blankets somewhere.

He was a great little dog, who stuck by us during some tough times. I only hope he enjoyed his days. I like to think we gave him some adventures most other yorkies would only dream of. He didn’t waste his days in a designer tote with ribbons in his hair and 2-hour appointments with the groomer. He had adventures—rode on 4-wheelers, chased cars, attacked UPS men, and tore my dad’s “no indoor pets” rule completely to shreds.

This morning, after getting off the bus a block past work because I wasn’t paying attention, I was crossing the street when I felt my phone ringing. It was my mom. She said “Jobbie got hit this morning by the neighbors.” I knew in his frail state there was no way he could have survived, but that little ounce of faith we all hold on to begged to ask the question anyway, “Is he dead?” “Yes,” she responded, noticeably holding back on some emotion. The neighbors said he ran out as they were coming over the hill and there was nothing they could do, which I believe. He couldn’t hear or see them in all likelihood. It was really a matter of time before it happened. Luckily, my brother was home to bury him in the yard. My mom couldn’t bring herself to look at him. I really didn’t know what to say other than “sorry,” before reverting back to my safe play of using humor to lighten the situation. “Well, now aren’t you glad all 3 of us left our dogs with you? At least you have company :)”

I do feel bad, though. Jobbie’s been with us about 15 years. That’s a long time for a pet. It’s hard for the reality to sink in way out here, but thinking about it is definitely making me tear up. I imagined with his age that when I left that morning for my trip across the country that it would be the last time I ever saw him, and so I was sure to give him an extra scratch behind the ears. And between he & Snippy, who I was also certain I would never see again (but has made a complete turnaround with her medication), I had to rush off to get in the car because I felt the tears coming. And they’re definitely coming right now.

Jobbie, thanks for being a wonderful part of the family. You’ll be missed, but I’m certain you’re thankful to be rid of Briece at long last.