Before I adopted a dog, I remember seeing all the things my dog-owning friends did for their pooches and swearing I would never do them: buying treats that looked like the part of the animal they came from; buying bully sticks (a nice way to describe dried, stretched bull penises); smelling tripe in the morning – yes, it’s good for their digestion and yes, they love it, but it smells putrid. Don’t get me wrong – I like tripe, but not in the morning. My Sicilian grandfather used to eat it for breakfast sometimes with eggs, and I would run out of the room as soon as I saw the pan come out. I also swore I’d never buy an SUV. Enter, stage right, the cutest, blue-eyed, piebald pit bull puppy on the planet, Jasmine Blue. From the start she was picky about her treats. I tried everything on the shelves, from those cookies that look like human confections to good ole dog biscuits. She would take the treat, run to the backyard, lay it gently in the corner, dig a hole, and push the dirt over it with her nose … over and over and over. Sometimes for 15 minutes straight. OK, I get the point. She hates the treats.

I finally asked the clerks at Pet Food Express on Market Street what I should try, and they all said the same thing: “Dogs love the smelly, natural stuff.” Ugh. Next thing you know I’m headed home with a bagful of dehydrated pig hearts, cow ears and bully sticks. And of course my picky pit bull couldn’t get enough. With jaws like steel, she was eating me out of trachea and esophagus – retail on those nasty bits is outrageous. Her favorite was, of course, bully sticks – quite possibly the smelliest treat in all of dogdom, and also the most expensive. A triple braided twelve-incher can run nine bucks or more. I swore I would never buy bully sticks; now I order them in bulk from bullysticksonline.com. (Hey, I save about six bucks a bully.) One year later, I barely wince at the scent of dehydrated bull penis as she gnaws on it at the foot of the bed.
   

Recently, my father took a bad fall and so things have been pretty tough around here. Fortunately he’s going to be fine and he is recovering in a convalescent home in San Jose, but I’ve been overwhelmed and upset much of the time, something Jasmine definitely senses. Last week I needed to review a Hellenic restaurant in Los Gatos called Dio Deka, which is located in the beautiful Mediterranean-inspired Hotel Los Gatos. Turns out it’s also a Joie de Vivre property, and Joie de Vivre is one of the most dog friendly hotel companies in the world. They invited Jasmine and me to stay the night – something I couldn’t turn down and something we both needed.
   

Early on a Wednesday morning, I opened a can of raw green tripe and mixed it with her kibble and while she licked her pink “Princess” bowl clean, I packed some clothes and toiletries for me, and a nice big bully stick for her. Just getting out the overnight bag was enough to send her jumping for joy – she’s a seasoned pro after staying at nearly a dozen of the top hotels in San Francisco for last year’s “Where to shop, stay, play, and dine with your dog” issue. We hopped in my new Honda Element (OK, it’s sort of an SUV, but it gets good mileage and you can hose down the whole inside, which is great after a trip to Fort Funston) and headed south.
   

Once inside our room, Jazz got an instant case of the zoomies – butt tucked, dashing around the room, onto the bed, off the bed, onto the sofa, off the sofa, stopping only to do the play pose (butt in the air, front legs down) and crack one of those big pittie grins. She was in her glory – back on the road with Mom.
   

As luck would have it, the hotel is just a few blocks from the Los Gatos Creek Trail, so before dinner, Jazz and I took a long hike in the beautiful Santa Cruz foothills. She was eager to lap at the cold, freshwater creek – so eager that she dragged me in with her, and my tennis shoes squished all the way back to the hotel. That night I had a delicious meal at Dio Deka and the best night’s sleep I’ve had since my father’s fall.
   

In the morning, we headed back north, stopping at the Rose Garden Court to visit my dad. When the residents saw Jasmine, their faces lit up. “Some of these people don’t have any visitors,” one of the attendants told me. Ever the clown, Jazz was thrilled to roll through her repertoire of tricks – all five of them … “Sit,” “lay down,” “give me five,” “give me the other five,” and “ready.” The residents laughed and applauded, especially when she did “ready” (I stand farther and farther away and after I say “ready,” I toss the treat and she snatches it out of the air like a major leaguer.) They all took turns petting her, and Delilah, the home’s manager, snapped photos of my dad performing “give me five” with his granddog. Though the past three weeks had been daunting, it was wonderful to see my dad laugh and to be laughing myself.
   

The drive back to San Francisco was a quiet one, Jasmine passed out in the seat next to me, snoring away. I realized that what I did for love – the gross treats, the smelly food, the SUV – was insignificant compared to what Jasmine did for love: being her sweet pittie self, bringing a little happiness into peoples’ lives when they need it the most.

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