We’re flying our borg.com flag at half mast today for our support team member Jasmine, who passed away last evening,  who celebrated her 16th birthday two months ago, and was the last of nine sibling hound kids we’ve raised.  We’d rescued her mama from the middle of the interstate 16 years and 3 months ago on my birthday, and were immersed in a big family ever since.  (Fred Flintstone had nothing on my greeting when I arrived home each day).  If you ever are lucky enough to live among a family of dogs, you’ll know how each has as defined and as individual a personality as any two-legged family member, and Jasmine was the self-designated communicator of the group.  Something’s happening?  Jasmine reported on it.  She was also a night owl like me, and was often my reason for being up and around, writing or not, into the wee hours of the morning.  Sometimes that’s just when she thought play time should be.  And that was just fine.

She was a sweetheart to everyone she met, loved crowds of people as much as crowds of dogs, and was fascinated with other animals, dog variety or not.  One of the best experiences I personally have ever witnessed was when I took her out after midnight in the backyard one night as she calmly and cordially encountered an opossum, nose to nose, approaching each other from opposite parts of the yard.  Each were taken aback only briefly, as if to say, “oh, excuse me, good evening to ya” and then they both continued along as if they met someone on the street, as friendly as can be.

Jasmine was also a snow bird, but she didn’t like snow fences, and whether she could make it or not, you couldn’t hold her back from hurdling one if she saw something on the other side.  We always knew Jasmine was a coonhound, but her border collie genetics were always out front, too–she was always ready for the next activity and always sporting her smile.  And, of course, she was a big cosplayer, spending Renaissance Faire weekends for the better part of the past decade in fairy, or Viking, or other garb.

At a week shy of 114 dog years, the girl who thought her name was “Hi, Sweetheart!” passed away simply from old age.  She wore out (and didn’t rust out) every system one by one (the way all of us should if we’re lucky), but was riding her bike just the day before she passed and was out looking at the garden flowers only five minutes before she left us.  We were lucky to be able to help our old girl squeeze the pulp out of every day.  We’ll miss her.

As always, thanks for reading, and for your support.

C.J. Bunce
Editor
borg.com