Valentine to a Dog OR How Jay Snow Became the Ambassador of Love

Jay Snow with Glama More and Vivyanne Forever More

Once upon a time there was a Maltese named Jay Snow. He was small and fragile so you had to be careful, but he thought he was a big dog. Before Jay Snow, I only loved big dogs. But the soul is the measure of a dog, or of anyone really. 

Jay was bred to be a circus dog or the companion of kings. He taught people not to take themselves too seriously.

I met him one day at one of my many jobs. I heard barking and went over to a carrier on a table in the basement. He was all alone and not having it. I reached in and loved him up until he quieted down. 

I  started taking him for walks with my crew of rottweilers, pit bulls, boxers, and a herding adventure dog named Clancy. Jay trotted along with the gang in McLaren Park as if he were a big dog, too. He was one year old and not yet fixed. As we approached other dog walkers, I’d yell, “Intact male!” which, when they saw who the big scary intact male was, always got a laugh. He was just little, but unfixed junk of any size can cause a stir in a dog park.

With his badass posse, Jay grew ever more fearless. But never cocky. He knew his equipment pissed off some cut dogs, so he let everyone know, “Scuze me, sorry. It's cool, I don’t even use these!”

Jay changed the lives of other dogs. Little Bear, the very serious dog mayor of Montclair, didn’t understand play. Jay would come over and run in a circle through the house, skidding around corners, three or four times, and Little Bear would sit and stare at him like, “You’re nuts, pal.”

But one day when Jay wasn’t there, Little Bear started running in a circle, as if to say, this is how Jay Snow does it. I’m gonna give it a try. Jay taught even the most earnest how to let loose.

After my mom's stroke, she was pretty messed up. Jay posted himself like a sentry on her bed or on her lap as we wheeled her down the hall to physical therapy. Mom would be yelling at doctors and nurses, but when Jay showed up, she would brighten and focus. She and that dog would love each other as if they were the only ones in the room. Neither drugs, doctors, or science could heal like one small dog.

Jay with Mom and Lynnee

From the convalescent hospital to the board-and-care, Jay was welcome everywhere. Everyone wanted to pet him. Other old folks. Caregivers. The way he made mom happy made everyone happy. He brought peace. 

That said, Jay marked everywhere until we finally had to admit he would never change and needed a li'l man diaper. Even the best of us have at least one flaw.

One day, Radner the pit bull and two cats showed up from the shelter. Jay sniffed cat butts and humped the pit bull's shoulder like a blind man with an elephant. Radner, his new 50-pound girlfriend, looked at me like, "This guy thinks he’s something, doesn’t he?”

Jay hanging out with superstar Justin Viviane Bond and Lynnee

When Homobiles, the queer ride service, started, Jay became its mascot. He loved drag queens. He maintained anyone with facial hair or bosoms was the bomb, but if you had both, it was true love.

Jay rides with artist Tanya Wischerath and Steph Joy in a Homobile

Queens would have ongoing arguments about whose boyfriend he was. Glama More, the undisputed winner, never stopped Jay from licking the foundation and glitter off his face. Many times I had to break it to a drunk girl at the end of a long night, that no, she couldn’t take Jay home with her. There was a lot of pouting.

We washed Jay in the sink and blow-dried him by holding him up to the car heater. Sometimes he got snarly because he thought he owned the person he was sitting on and didn’t want me to take him away. Or because he didn’t want to get in his carrier. Or because of overstimulation. Or just because he was a direct communicator. 

Mostly he made everyone feel like they were lovable, like morning snuggles or midnight runs, like everyone was the best person he ever met. He taught us to say yes. Or no. Give a smile. Forgive. Stay in the moment. Stay fluid. Prance confidently like a big dog. Do as you’re asked. Do circus tricks. Entertain. Come when called. Greet strangers like family. Trust.

So we thank Jay Snow and all dogs, big and small, for their love lessons. For how to be mindful of a fragile body and a great heart. And for showing us how much love can fit into a very small package.