Let Me Tell You about Jasper . . .

by Dana Perino

  “Go to bed, Jasper,” I said.

  He didn’t move. He just stared. If a dog can look incredulous, he did.

  “Now, Jasper. Go to bed!” I raised my voice. Still he didn’t move. I turned over so that I couldn’t see him, hoping that he’d realize it was time to go to sleep. But he didn’t move. He was playing the game of statue with me, and he was winning.

  Feeling his eyes on me, I said again, “Jasper, go to bed now!”

  Then I decided to ignore him. If he didn’t want to sleep but instead chose to sit there looking at me, I’d leave him to it.

  But he kept staring. I could feel his eyes on me. And I was feeling lonely and restless, too.

  “Well, maybe if he just sleeps with me when Peter is gone… No, that’s a terrible idea,” I thought.

  And then, in a moment of exasperation and weakness, without turning around to face him, I reached my hand back and patted the bed. Jasper recognized the invitation, and he was up like a shot, curling into the backs of my legs. It was so cozy.

  “Oh, Jasper. We are in so much trouble,” I said. But I smiled and fell asleep.

  I’d broken the seal. And he’s shared our bed ever since.

  I try to make room for him while also sleeping on Peter’s shoulder, but sometimes that’s uncomfortable. I’ve tried putting him on the other side of us, so that I’m in the middle, but that doesn’t work because Jasper likes to be in the middle.

  Jasper and his sock monkey, sleeping on the bed.

  “Dogus interruptus,” Peter calls Jasper.

  So then we tell him to go to his own bed and he does… for a while. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I’ll hear Jasper get up and walk over to my side of the bed (not Peter’s—he knows who will cave), and he shakes his ears and sits down and stares at me. I wait a bit, and then I just pat the bed. Up he comes. He still likes to spoon into me, but I have to brace myself—Jasper curls around, gearing up, and then slams into me. We laugh and then Peter and I hold hands on top of Jasper’s flank. No wonder he likes to be in the bed with us. It’s a family cuddle.

  And it all started with a moment of weakness on my part. Now it’s a strength. Why? Because Jasper has helped me relax and not be so uptight. I don’t have to rigidly follow the rules anymore. And that’s made life a lot more fun.

  Jasper is such a good companion. He’ll do whatever we’re doing—follow a soccer match on TV, cheer for a team, settle down for a nap. He spends a lot of time standing on his two back legs using a counter for support. And he and never sits on the floor—he prefers to sit on the furniture. My friend Jeanie Mamo has always thought Jasper thinks he’s human.

  Getting up on the furniture was a big no-no for dogs in my house growing up (the cats had no such rule). And Henry didn’t particularly like to get up on the couch, unless he was told he could and even then he’d last only a while because he got too hot sitting next to us.

  Jasper, on the other hand, never saw a chair or sofa he didn’t think he had the right to get up on. He sits up and stares straight ahead, sometimes watching TV, acting like a person. His favorite show, of course, is Wheel of Fortune. Followed by The Five and football.

  He particularly likes it if there’s a person already sitting in the chair. He clambers up and will always find—or make—room to sit next to whoever is sitting, no matter how small the chair is. And this is not a small dog.

  My lap dog. Greg Gutfeld took this picture to try to show people how small I am.

  On my rocking chair in the bedroom where I write, he will sit at my feet and look at me, ignoring my suggestion that he choose the bed so that I can study for the show. Eventually, because it is hard to work when someone is staring at you (unless you’re an actor), I invite him up.

  Jasper weighs about sixty-four pounds and is tall and lean. That makes getting up and turning around a bit of a challenge. But he’s never failed to curl up and squeeze in right beside me. He sits straight up for a long time, resisting sleep. When his head and his eyes get too heavy, he’ll give in and negotiate for some more room on the chair. That gives him nowhere to rest his head except for on my arm or my keyboard. And still, I adjust. I use his back as a table to rest my computer, or I type at an angle with my head cocked to one side so that I can see the screen straight on. It gives me a real pain in the neck.

  Peter gets the same treatment. Jasper lies next to him all day while Peter works from the sofa. Sometimes when Peter has had conference calls, he’s had to apologize for Jasper barking—he also wants international clients to know it’s not him making strange noises. A few times Jasper has ended up in the screen shot during a Skype call and thankfully, the clients on the other end laughed. They either thought it was charming or that Jasper was the sales rep. It really is a one-man-and-his-dog operation.

  At night when we’re cleaning up the dishes or getting ready for bed, Peter or I will make excuses for staying put, saying, “I’d get up, honey, but… the dog.” And because we don’t want to disturb him, neither of us minds doing the dishes. (I just try to be the one that happens to be trapped by the dog.)

  It’s a dog’s life in our house. Happily so.

  Nonstop Jasper Chatter

  Dog people will totally understand what I mean about the nonstop conversation about the family dog. Even if you plan a romantic date night, it’s inevitable that a couple will start talking about their dog. It’s the safe, happy topic that everyone goes to when they’ve caught up with each other on work and hobbies and news from the family that wasn’t already posted on Facebook.

  Peter and I do this with Jasper all the time.

  “What’s he like?” It’s a British saying that I picked up when we lived together in England. It’s a generic question that leads into a list of some of Jasper’s attributes and stories about him that we haven’t yet shared with each other. “You should have seen him at the bank today…” Peter will say, delighting me with a story that would bore anyone else to tears.

  When that part of the conversation dries up, I’ll ask, “Do you think he’s okay?” since I’m a worrier and his well-being is constantly on my mind. Peter always answers that yes, he’s okay, he’s safe, he’s happy. Peter reminds me that, in fact, Jasper lives better than 99 percent of all living organisms have throughout history.

  One of us will say, “What about that time when…” and then we can take that trip down memory lane about when he learned to jump in the pool, tried to get in the gardener’s golf cart at Central Park, or got to ride in a taxi down Broadway with his dog walker. It’s a nonstop source of entertainment and fun chatter. To us, he’s a four-legged Netflix.

  When Peter and I talk on the phone during the day, he knows I’m not really calling to see how he’s doing, though I go through the motions and ask. I really want to know how Jasper is.

  But I mask my question, making it sound like I’m asking after the well-being of my husband. Still, when I ask, “Is everything okay?” Peter knows I’m not asking about the leaking faucet or if the bills have been paid.

  “Yes, Jasper is fine. He had a big walk and a chew and is now sitting on the little chair having a snooze.” And then, satisfied that all is well at home, I can get back to work.

  Everything is okay. That’s one of my favorite phrases in the English language. (The other one is “Gutfeld called in sick today.”)

  “The Vizsla”

  (TO THE TUNE OF “THE BOXER” BY SIMON AND GARFUNKEL)

  I am just a Vizsla, and my story’s often told

  ’Cause I’m on my mommy’s Twitter

  And I’m really rather famous at just four years old.

  Simon and Garfunkel? Or Dana and Jasper?

  * * *

  It’s really fun

  * * *

  She puts me on her One More Thing and shows how fast I run.

  * * *

  Do dee do do do do do dee do…

  * * *

  When I joined this lovely family, I was no more than a pup

  I was all blu
e eyes and wrinkles

  And they fell for me completely when they picked me up.

  * * *

  I had no fear

  * * *

  And they never even mentioned that I have a little ear…

  * * *

  Do dee do do do do do dee do…

  * * *

  Now I love South Carolina, and I still love Central Park

  I go walking with my daddy

  They are both big open spaces where I run and bark

  * * *

  I love to play

  * * *

  But there’s times when I’m so lazy I just lie around all day

  And I never snore, no matter what they say…

  * * *

  I’m America’s Dog Jasper, and people think I’m cool,

  When they see me in the sidecar, or jumping fifteen feet into the swimming pool

  Or on TV with mommy, I live my life in style

  But I’m just a happy puppy making everybody smile.

  Speak softly and carry a big stick.

  Jasper and Water

  I love to watch dogs playing in water.

  Henry could swim with such strength and had such stamina that when we lived in San Diego, he would often surprise the surfers who were out there beyond the break, looking for the next big one. Henry could catch those waves and ride them in, bodysurfing all the way to the shore. He could also put his head under water, looking for rocks. He’d hold his breath for up to twenty seconds, and sometimes he’d come back up with the rock we’d just thrown in for him. We took him swimming as often as we could.

  Henry was an excellent swimmer.

  Since Henry loved the water and was a natural swimmer, we thought Jasper would be as well. Not so much.

  His first experience with water was at three months old at Ari Fleischer’s annual Fourth of July party in Pound Ridge, New York. Ari, another former White House press secretary, said we could bring Jasper, so we took a drive up to visit. I was keeping a watchful eye on my dog so that he didn’t steal anyone’s food or get underfoot amongst the guests.

  The Fleischers had a new swimming pool, and a few people were having some summer fun.

  I tried to let Jasper explore without saying no all the time, so he was in front of me trotting along when all of a sudden he was close to the edge of the pool but kept walking. He didn’t recognize water and so he just plopped right in. I gasped but didn’t want to make a scene. So I reached in and pulled him out by his collar. I held him away from me and kissed his face, not wanting to get wet but wanting him to know that it was okay. He looked stunned.

  We went to find Peter.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Tell you later. I need a drink,” I said.

  Later that night, Peter got Jasper into the pool and helped him try to learn to swim. The dog paddle is never pretty, but with a three-month-old puppy, it sure is cute.

  Jasper and I before Jasper’s disastrous first swim. Well, disastrous for Peter, who had to jump in the lake to rescue him!

  Jasper played in the water later that summer in Annapolis, but it was October before he had his next chance to swim. It didn’t go that well, either.

  We went to visit Ingrid Henrichsen, a new friend whom I’d met in the city, and her husband, Ward Marsh. They invited us up for a day to a country area near Kent, Connecticut, where Jasper could run around and have a swim in the big pond.

  I was excited to have some time with Ingrid and Ward. She and I became close quickly. We call each other sister-friends.

  We arrived in this beautiful spot with lots of the autumn leaves still on the trees. It was the day before Hurricane Sandy, and the weather was still, as if taking a deep breath before the historic storm.

  The first thing we did was walk down to the water’s edge, making small talk.

  Jasper scampered around, and Peter picked up a stick and threw it near the water’s edge a few times. Jasper would bring it back, playing a proper game of fetch.

  Gradually, Peter tossed the stick a little farther into the water. It was shallow, so Jasper was only getting his legs wet.

  And then Peter threw it just a bit too far.

  We all had our eyes on Jasper as we talked, and we saw how quickly the water became deep, because all of a sudden, Jasper was splashing and trying to reach the ground.

  We called him back to the shore, offering encouragement. He splashed more. And harder. His little legs were working like crazy to keep him up.

  I was getting nervous but wasn’t panicking… yet.

  Jasper instinctively knew what to do and tried to dog paddle, but he was completely vertical, so instead of moving forward, he was just slowly going down. Farther and farther.

  “Peter,” I said, in that mom voice that alerts a dad.

  Peter didn’t make a move.

  “Peter,” I said more firmly and urgently.

  I saw Peter had already taken the car keys, phone, and money clip from his pocket and removed his shoes. But to the nervous mother he was in slow motion, and I thought my puppy was going to drown.

  “PETER!” I screamed, and just then Peter plunged into the pond and grabbed Jasper, setting him at the correct angle so that his natural swimming instinct took him back to safe ground.

  Jasper wasn’t fazed. He just ran around with his stick, apparently very proud of himself.

  Meanwhile, Peter was coming out of the water, gasping for breath. He was freezing and soaking wet.

  Ingrid went into action, demanding that Peter get up to the cabin and take his clothes off.

  “But Ingrid, we’ve just met,” he said, keeping his sense of humor.

  We got Peter dry and thankfully Ward had an extra set of clothes. Unfortunately for Peter, Ward is much taller and bigger than he is, and so we had to roll up his pants and use Peter’s belt to cinch in the waist. The polo shirt was so big it nearly came to Peter’s knees. He looked hilarious, and we tried not to laugh but even Peter got the joke.

  Peter in Ward’s clothes after jumping in the lake to save Jasper. Can you tell Ward is taller than Peter?

  And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship with Ingrid and Ward. And our visits often involve Jasper and swimming in some way.

  The next summer, Jasper was reluctant to get into a friend’s pool in South Carolina. The young teen boy that lived there, Thomas Gulbin, tried to coax him in, but Jasper was too nervous. It was pitiful, and I was sad because I’d hoped he’d love the water as much as Henry had.

  Thomas was undeterred. He asked us if he could take care of Jasper the next afternoon, and we said sure since we were on vacation and wanted to go to Daufuskie Island.

  Later that day, we went back to pick Jasper up and we were shocked. There, with Thomas, was Jasper leaping several feet into the air and plunging into the pool. In under an hour, Thomas had taught Jasper to love to swim, and now it’s his favorite thing to do. I love to post pictures and videos of his dives, and friends of mine thank me because their young children love to watch the “woof woof videos” on their phones.

  Despite his early misgivings, Jasper is now a true water dog.

  Oh the joy of summer! Jasper and our friend Macy jumping into the water in South Carolina.

  A close-up of Jasper jumping into the pool—look at that focus!

  Peter is my “Jasper Jump” photographer. He took this shot from inside the pool.

  Not Just a City Dog

  Jasper isn’t just a city dog. He loves the countryside, too. That’s especially true for the Lowcountry of South Carolina, where we like to spend a lot of time. Peter will drive Jasper down for a two- or three-week period and I’ll join them on the weekends (great deal if you can get it, Peter!).

  Jasper has the instincts of a pointer, and in the city he points at pigeons, squirrels, and even the occasional passing helicopter. In the country, he applies the same skills to fox squirrels, herons, and deer.

  On his first official hunt, he was pretty good at flushing out
the birds, but he ran back to me upon hearing the first gunshot (I guess that part of him is not so southern). It made me feel loved that he was still his mama’s boy.

  In South Carolina, Jasper is the reason we met several of our friends. At a crab cake social (it’s the South!) we went to one Fourth of July, Jasper pulled toward a Brittany Spaniel named Grady. They became best friends—we call them Grasper. And we became close with his parents, Tracy and Jeff Schyberg, and their daughter, Macy, is like a niece to us now. They introduced us to the Meighans, who have a Vizsla named Bella, and the Gulbins, who have Cassie (and the pool where Jasper learned to swim, jump, and dive). From there we met even more people, and we enjoy the area so much that we count the days until we’re able to be back to see them all.

  Jasper thrives in the Lowcountry. He runs like the wind amongst the live oaks covered in Spanish moss and through the pine tree stands. We let him look for fish in the saltwater, but keep him away from the ponds with alligators; we’ve put the fear of God into him whenever he gets near that water.

  Team Grasper is ready to go kayaking!

  Once we took him kayaking on the May River during low tide, and we let Jasper run like mad on the sandbar. He was in his element, chasing the jumping fish. I’d never seen his natural instincts take over like that. He was powerful. And fast. But he was running over the oyster beds and we knew that could be dangerous for dogs.

  As we headed back to the dock, Peter called to me. “Dana, there’s blood everywhere. And it isn’t mine.”