Pure Joy: Phil, Jacalin & the Labs

Ask Phil what his three labs would want written across his chest, and he doesn't hesitate. Pure Joy. Of course that's what they'd say. Of course it is.

It was never going to be any other way

Phil's wife, Jacalin, has been rescuing animals since she was a little girl. Dogs, cats, strays, the ones nobody else came for — she has simply always been the person who takes them in. In the thirteen years she and Phil have been married, they've shared their home with eight dogs and two cats. Only one of them, Tyson, wasn't a rescue.

For years Jacalin sat on the board of the Humane Society of Tampa Bay, which meant the opportunity to save a soul was, as Phil puts it, "looking us right in the face." They recently took in a seven-month-old feral kitten who — believe it or not — promptly had a litter of four in the neighbours' back yard. Phil and Jacalin brought them all inside, vaccinated them, cared for them, and found every one a home. These days they're deep in the corner of another good cause: The Merciful Project, a no-kill shelter in Tampa.

Some people have dogs. This is a household organised, top to bottom, around looking after animals.

The 4:30 club

The dogs rule the house. (So does the sixteen-pound cat who's fairly sure he's a dog.) The day starts — every day, no matter what time the night ended — at 4:30 AM, when Cookie, the ten-year-old chocolate lab, gently noses Jacalin awake. The other two, Kingston and Molly, wait on their beds for Cookie to do her job.

Then it's the short potty walk, breakfast, and a proper 2.5-mile outing — after which the dogs "anxiously await" their post-walk treat of goat's milk and blueberries. That's a solid two hours before Phil and Jacalin have even started their own day. Phil works from home, so there are two or three more short walks tucked into the working hours, then the pacing-for-dinner ritual that kicks off promptly at 4:30 PM, and a final mile at 7. If the humans don't come to bed when the dogs do, the dogs grunt about it.

None of it is negotiable. Ask Phil what he'd ever consider skipping, and the answer comes back in full: "All of the above. Seriously." Leave one thing out of the day, he says, and the dogs will let you know about it.

The thing non-dog-people never get

"How we devote so much time to them. How dedicated we are," Phil says. "No one understands how we consistently get up at 4:30 every morning, no matter what time we go to bed." From the outside it looks like a lot. From the inside, it's just Tuesday — and they'd miss every minute of it if it were gone.

Three labs, three whole personalities

Cookie — the chocolate lab; the mother hen and morning alarm. She herds the other two toward their walks, insists on walking behind everyone to keep the line in order, and will bark-scold the boys if they get too interested in the local rabbits.

Kingston — the English crème; a big, gentle giant whose favourite things in life are rolling in the grass and chewing sticks. He will also let you know, in no uncertain terms, if a meal is running late. (He is, for the record, the one who's decided the rules don't apply to him.)

Molly — the coon-lab mix; the Eeyore of the household. An old soul they adopted a year and a half ago, and Phil has "yet to see her run." A big sweetheart who asks for your attention with a gentle nibble on the hand or a nudge of the head.

What they gave back

"More so me," Phil admits, when asked what's changed. "I was never this dedicated, and never realised how much they added to my life. I can't imagine life without them — the peace and the joy they bring. They're always there for us no matter what, always happy to see us, even if we're just coming in from the yard."

Tyson the Tongue

And then there's Tyson.

He was the one they didn't adopt — brought home as a puppy, and, in Phil's words, "truly our baby." He was the majestic alpha of the pack and, at the same time, the most loyal, loving, gentle soul in it. He never left Jacalin's side. Off-leash anywhere, he'd stay right next to them. He'd look into your eyes like he understood exactly what you were going through.

He was also, gloriously, a foodie — he'd sit and stare at whatever was on the counter as though he already owned it. And he loved to show affection with an enthusiasm that earned him his name: Tyson the Tongue.

He passed almost two years ago. "The most devastating thing I've experienced," Phil wrote. "I'm fighting back the tears writing this." There will always be that place in their hearts. But Phil holds onto this: he's in God's hands, and we'll see him again.

Pure Joy

Four dogs in this story. Three at the door every morning at 4:30, and one who taught them what that door means. If Cookie, Kingston and Molly could read one thing off Phil's wardrobe, he already knows exactly what it would be.

Pure joy. Of course it is.

With love to Cookie, Kingston, Molly — and Tyson, always.