A Eulogy for Jala

Jala (jah-luh), short for Jalaketu ben Kokab after a major character from Unsong, was born on July 3, 2019. It was the summer after I graduated college. My best friend, Jessee, and I, both got jobs at Google, and we were moving to California together. Jessee always wanted a dog but could never have one because we lived in the dorms all 4 years of college. Seeing his opportunity, he tried convincing me that now was the time. At first, I was skeptical. This was a huge move, it would make it harder to find apartments, won’t it take focus away from work? But in the end he convinced me. I contacted breeders, and Kim Beachler of Poso Creek Corgis responded saying she had a litter. I moved to California in August. On September 17, 2019, Jala flew from Tennessee to California, and we started our lives together.

Jessee and I raised Jala together, trained him ourselves. Fortunately, Jala is very food motivated, so teaching him tricks was easy. We taught him the basics: sit, stay, come. Instead of “lie down” we used the word “sploot” purely because it was cute. Jessee taught him to snatch treats out of midair. By far, everyone’s favorite trick was “pew pew”. We’d point finger guns at him and he’d play dead. But he was so enthusiastic, so desperate for treats, that he’d do a full roll over and stick the landing. Jala was very intelligent. Too intelligent.

He was not a pandemic puppy, but the lockdowns started just as he was fully grown. Without Jala, I probably would not have left my house for days or weeks at a time. Instead, Jessee and I would take him on long night time walks, moments of respite in the midst of the Covid-19. Then Jessee moved to Nebraska temporarily. Then I moved back to Nebraska temporarily, first with my parents, then with my sister. Jala remained a constant throughout. Then back to California, where I eventually met my wife, Liz. She swiped on my profile on Hinge because my last photo — of Jala and myself — was full of personality. I will always remember Jala not just for himself but for the human connections he fostered. Jala is an indelible part of my relationships with Jessee, my sister, Liz, and so many others.

Jala was the best dog. There was not and will never be another corgi like Jala. Corgis are energetic and rambunctious — beautiful dogs — but not like Jala. Jala was calm and quiet, sweet and kind, patient and loving. He was never destructive. He sat quietly in the car during road trips. More than once I’d do a double take because I forgot Jala was even in the car. All he ever wanted was to be close to us, to give and receive attention. Jala loved cuddling close, often too close, as he’d lie his snout on my keyboard or muscle his way between Liz and I, “family time” as we called it. He loved being petted; he’d give the side eye when you stopped. Or sometimes he’d just shove his snout into your hand, as if to say “like this”. Until he was done: petting was always on Jala’s terms. He’d allow me to scratch his chest with my foot but stay just far enough so I couldn’t pick him up. Jala was compassionate and could always tell when we were sad or frustrated or sick. He’d stay by your side, or on top of you, as long as you needed him. When Liz was going through a difficult time, Jala comforted her. We will always be grateful for that. He will not be here to comfort her again.

He was the best dog, but that doesn’t mean he was perfect. He was a terrible bedmate. He insisted on either lying horizontally or directly on your pillow. He would sneak into the room if you went to the bathroom, and you’d find him shedding all over your pillow. When he learned I’d just kick him out again, he started sneaking under the bed, where he’d get stuck. I’d wake up at 3am thinking there was a home intruder when actually it was just Jala wedged between bed posts, shaking his body. He’s also loud. He exclusively cleans his paws 30 minutes after you turn the lights off, smacking his lips for an hour. And when he finally sleeps, he snores as loud as any human. He lunges for anything he can eat, whether it’s food or not, and he’s so low to the ground, you can’t stop him, if you even notice. He hated every Shiba Inu he saw, and in his middle age, most other dogs, too. He’d bark in dogs’ faces, embarrassing me as I pulled him away. He hated pills and was too smart for his own good. I could never use the same trick twice. First we used peanut butter, which he learned to lick off. Then we put peanut butter on his normal kibble, which he learned to lick off and spit out. Then we got pill pockets, which he ate around. Then we tossed the pill pockets for him to snatch out of the air, which he learned to stop swallowing immediately. I tried inserting the pill and holding his mouth shut, but he refused to swallow and would wait me out.

Jala will not see me turn 30. I got him when I just turned 23, a month after moving to California and starting my first full time job. I have not known adult life without Jala. Through the pandemic, multiple roommates, and multiple apartments, Jala alone has been with me through it all. I spent my 20s always feeling like the new grad, the junior, the newbie — far longer than I had any right to. It was only in the last couple of years that I accepted my new identity as a fully fledged adult. I thought Jala would be my future kids’ first dog, that they would grow up alongside him in his senior years. But they will never know a world with Jala. Jala was never meant to walk with me forever. He was here to shepherd me through my young adulthood, but the next stage of my life I must do without him. Your service is ended, you are honorably discharged, you have earned your rest, Jala.

On Monday, June 1, 2026, Jala began shaking, panting, and became lethargic. We rushed him to the ER, where they discovered cancer, aggressive kidney cancer, and internal hemorrhaging. Fortunately, miraculously, he stabilized. The doctor said we could bring him home but warned it could recur at any time. At 3am, we called every dog oncologist to get an appointment, then again in the morning. Miraculously again, SAGE Campbell offered to fit us in on Thursday on an emergency basis. Jala was stable but slow in the interim. On Thursday, June 4, 2026, they conducted an ultrasound and gave us the prognosis: in the best case, even with every intervention, Jala would live no more than 1 year. More likely 6 months, and possibly 1-3, depending on the cancer. Without intervention he had weeks. The bleeding, presumably the source of his distress on Monday, could recur at any time. Unable to bear seeing him in that pain again, we decided to euthanize him. We had a few days for closure, to give him happiness in the end. At 12:55PM on Sunday, June 7, 2026, surrounded by his loved ones, Jala slept for the last time.

No more walking you first thing in the morning. No more greeting me with a smile when I open the door. No more scheduling my outings around places you can go or getting home on time to walk you. No more hearing tha-THUMP as you leap off the bed and your butt hits the ground a minute later. No more lying under my desk and warming my feet while I worked. No more worrying that everything you scavenge from the ground will require another abdominal surgery. No more delighting every child who sees you. No more cuddling, no more family time. No more petting you for 5 minutes and seeing you shed enough to make a fur coat. No more road trips, no more hotels. No more of the best dog the world will ever know.

Thank you to Jessee, for convincing me to get Jala in the first place, and for raising him with me. Jala will always be a cherished piece of our friendship.

Thank you to Kim Beachler of Poso Creek Corgis, who bred the most wonderful dog in the world.

Thank you to Liz, who loved Jala as her own, and supported me in my grief.

Thank you to Jala, for being the kindest, most compassionate, most wonderful dog I ever could have asked for. 7 years were not enough. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more.

Rest in peace, Jala. We loved you until the very end.