We said goodbye to the second of our little friends last evening.
Harley was rescued at 8 months to be a companion animal to Koby, who was 5 at the time.
This little guy went from absolute terror as a puppy to loving, playful juvenile, to amazingly athletic adult, to sweet little old man in only 16 years.
My wife wasn't even in the picture when he joined my life, yet she's upstairs at this very moment crying because he's gone.
The decision to put an animal down humanely is so difficult; yet it was time. His body and mind were both failing him, and the delicate balance between a quality life and complete dependence finally shifted to the latter, so we made the call last Friday.
I had been sleeping on the couch for nearly 3 months just so I could try to match his routine of needing to go out every two hours without disturbing my wife. Was I frustrated? Yes. Was I at times angry? Yes, but I'd do it again--because what he gave us in return was priceless.
Going through the weekend and awaiting the Vet's arrival yesterday was tough. We picked him up and held his little bag-of-bones body way too much. We fed him bacon and eggs and steak and other things that he was never allowed to eat otherwise.
He looked at us as though we were crazy. Maybe we were.
We said our goodbyes, the vet gave him a sedative, and I held him and waited as he slowly drifted into near unconsciousness. It only took a minute more when she gave him the final shot, and he passed quietly lying on my chest.
Anyway, I came downstairs this morning and began putting away the water and food bowls, blankets, toys, and all the other stuff pertaining to his life, and the silence in the house was deafening. No shuffling of paws, no stinky kiss on the face.
I'm glad my wife is upstairs, because otherwise she'd be able to see me crying, too.
Godspeed, Harley, old buddy.
We'll miss you.
