Harley
It's been, what nearly two years now? And I still miss him as much as I did the day he died. I don't know what to say or do to mourn him as I feel I should, but I want to pay tribute to my memories of him as best I can. I got to thinking about him last night, and every time I do, it brings tears to my eyes. I have often been asked the odd question of "When was the last time you cried?" and my answer is always (to myself) 'the last time I thought about him.' Of course, it's not a desperate yearning to see him again, but just the sorrow of losing him, the void that he left.
Harley, which I think few who actually read this poorly kept journal are aware, was our dog. I can understand how some people can find it strange that I'm lamenting so much about this, but Harley had one of the greatest impacts on my life that anyone has every had. He was so...intelligent. He had such a personality and a spirit about him that just made you happy to be around him. It wasn't that mindless joy you find in so many dogs...it was a true appreciation to be in a home that loved him.
He spent the first years of his life being tossed from family to family for no reason other than his size or his 'color.' He was a white dog, but he 'didn't match the carpet,' according to one rejecting owner. So he essentially spent all of his time alone. You could tell that he had an abusive owner at one time...he had a chipped tooth when we got him and panicked whenever my dad raised his voice. But when you petted him or showed any sort of affection, he would just lap it up.
The first time we met him, Landon threw himself on Harley and showered him with attention. Harley leaned into Landon like he wasn't going to let him move. I think it was more love than he'd been shown in many years. When we finally escorted him out of the Dumb Friends League, he dragged me as hard as he could to get out, he was so happy. His excitement over being with a family was almost overwhelming.
It took him nearly two years to warm up to us. He was happy, sure, but he was never relaxed. He always seemed to wonder when we were going to abandon him. He wouldn't let us leave the house without taking him with us, and even until the end, he'd still make you feel guilty for leaving him alone. He had that sort of ability. He knew how to make you feel guilty or how to get you to do something for him, and he could get his way whenever he wanted. Heck, he would even sneeze at you if he found his dinner to be 'unsatisfactory.'
When someone was upset or hurt, he was right there. He'd just sit with you, or lie with you, until you felt better. It didn't matter how long it took. When my aunt died of pneumonia from complications from an operation, he took care of us. He would sit with you and let you pet him as long as you needed to, he'd offer a comforting lick or even just a look that let you know he understood that you were upset. The empathy that he could communicate was so great that he was never our 'dog,' but rather a member of our family.
That's why his death was so traumatic. He died at around 3 or so in the morning two years ago in October, from internal hemorrhaging. We were all there through the entire thing. We had taken him to the vet, because he had been sick, and at some point, had formed enormous 'blood blisters' (essentially), mainly around his neck and chest. They said that it would go away in a few days, but it turns out that it was most likely due to pancreatic cancer. We were never sure, we didn't have the veterinarians perform an autopsy. He had come home and we had helped him onto the guest room bed. He lay down, and we thought we'd just make sure he rested.
It turns out that at some point during the night, the hemorrhaging became worse and he got off the bed, and stumbling, made his way down the hall. There was blood everywhere. It was on the doors, the carpet, the walls. You could see where he stopped to rest. He walked from the guest room across the house, where he made it to the laundry room. It was there that he collapsed. This woke up my parents, who in turn got my brother and I out of bed.
I think Landon woke me, saying, "I think Harley's dying." I climbed out of bed, panicked, and went into the laundry room, where he was lying on the floor, blood around his mouth, his head cradled in my mom's lap. He was shaking slightly and looked terrified. I'll never forget how scared he looked. We couldn't do anything but watch, and nothing eased his fear. We all petted him and spoke to him, trying to communicate our last words before he left us. I like to think that being with us made it easier for him, that in the end, he knew that we all truly loved him and that he had found a home where he belonged.
But I'll never forget how he died. No creature, no one, should have to die the way he did. He was such an amazing life, such a positive force, and his death was so brutal and painful. I can't begin to imagine how he suffered. That image has stayed with me for years, and it haunts me to this day.
After he died, he became stiff, and eventually, cold. None of us could sleep. We would wake up at various points throughout the night and go and pet him. We put a blanket over him, symbolically. He was still cold and stiff. We'd cry over him, talk to him, just try and communicate what we couldn't before his death. My dad repeated several times, "He was our dog." Even now, my eyes water just writing this.
We had him cremated, and now his ashes are next to our first dog, Bosco, on our fireplace mantel. Now all we have are pictures and whatever hair clumps still dawdle inside our house. There's nothing I can really say about this, other than we moved on and eventually got a new dog. But no dog could ever fill the gap that Harley left. I wish that I had the time or the space to describe him, his life, and what kind of impact he had on us. All I can say is that he wasn't a pet to us; he was family.
Harley, which I think few who actually read this poorly kept journal are aware, was our dog. I can understand how some people can find it strange that I'm lamenting so much about this, but Harley had one of the greatest impacts on my life that anyone has every had. He was so...intelligent. He had such a personality and a spirit about him that just made you happy to be around him. It wasn't that mindless joy you find in so many dogs...it was a true appreciation to be in a home that loved him.
He spent the first years of his life being tossed from family to family for no reason other than his size or his 'color.' He was a white dog, but he 'didn't match the carpet,' according to one rejecting owner. So he essentially spent all of his time alone. You could tell that he had an abusive owner at one time...he had a chipped tooth when we got him and panicked whenever my dad raised his voice. But when you petted him or showed any sort of affection, he would just lap it up.
The first time we met him, Landon threw himself on Harley and showered him with attention. Harley leaned into Landon like he wasn't going to let him move. I think it was more love than he'd been shown in many years. When we finally escorted him out of the Dumb Friends League, he dragged me as hard as he could to get out, he was so happy. His excitement over being with a family was almost overwhelming.
It took him nearly two years to warm up to us. He was happy, sure, but he was never relaxed. He always seemed to wonder when we were going to abandon him. He wouldn't let us leave the house without taking him with us, and even until the end, he'd still make you feel guilty for leaving him alone. He had that sort of ability. He knew how to make you feel guilty or how to get you to do something for him, and he could get his way whenever he wanted. Heck, he would even sneeze at you if he found his dinner to be 'unsatisfactory.'
When someone was upset or hurt, he was right there. He'd just sit with you, or lie with you, until you felt better. It didn't matter how long it took. When my aunt died of pneumonia from complications from an operation, he took care of us. He would sit with you and let you pet him as long as you needed to, he'd offer a comforting lick or even just a look that let you know he understood that you were upset. The empathy that he could communicate was so great that he was never our 'dog,' but rather a member of our family.
That's why his death was so traumatic. He died at around 3 or so in the morning two years ago in October, from internal hemorrhaging. We were all there through the entire thing. We had taken him to the vet, because he had been sick, and at some point, had formed enormous 'blood blisters' (essentially), mainly around his neck and chest. They said that it would go away in a few days, but it turns out that it was most likely due to pancreatic cancer. We were never sure, we didn't have the veterinarians perform an autopsy. He had come home and we had helped him onto the guest room bed. He lay down, and we thought we'd just make sure he rested.
It turns out that at some point during the night, the hemorrhaging became worse and he got off the bed, and stumbling, made his way down the hall. There was blood everywhere. It was on the doors, the carpet, the walls. You could see where he stopped to rest. He walked from the guest room across the house, where he made it to the laundry room. It was there that he collapsed. This woke up my parents, who in turn got my brother and I out of bed.
I think Landon woke me, saying, "I think Harley's dying." I climbed out of bed, panicked, and went into the laundry room, where he was lying on the floor, blood around his mouth, his head cradled in my mom's lap. He was shaking slightly and looked terrified. I'll never forget how scared he looked. We couldn't do anything but watch, and nothing eased his fear. We all petted him and spoke to him, trying to communicate our last words before he left us. I like to think that being with us made it easier for him, that in the end, he knew that we all truly loved him and that he had found a home where he belonged.
But I'll never forget how he died. No creature, no one, should have to die the way he did. He was such an amazing life, such a positive force, and his death was so brutal and painful. I can't begin to imagine how he suffered. That image has stayed with me for years, and it haunts me to this day.
After he died, he became stiff, and eventually, cold. None of us could sleep. We would wake up at various points throughout the night and go and pet him. We put a blanket over him, symbolically. He was still cold and stiff. We'd cry over him, talk to him, just try and communicate what we couldn't before his death. My dad repeated several times, "He was our dog." Even now, my eyes water just writing this.
We had him cremated, and now his ashes are next to our first dog, Bosco, on our fireplace mantel. Now all we have are pictures and whatever hair clumps still dawdle inside our house. There's nothing I can really say about this, other than we moved on and eventually got a new dog. But no dog could ever fill the gap that Harley left. I wish that I had the time or the space to describe him, his life, and what kind of impact he had on us. All I can say is that he wasn't a pet to us; he was family.