Monday, May 21, 2012

RIP Harry Husker Lane


Grant and his dog
I am putting my dog down today.  I've never done this before as this really is my first dog.  As a child, I considered Sadie, my grandparents farm dog, mine, but in retrospect, we all shared Sadie.  That's what a farm dog is; a community pup.  I never owned an animal growing up, not even a gold fish.  So when Scott and the kids would bring up the idea of adding a dog to our home, I was always quite hesitant to take on the perceived responsibility.  That all changed in the winter of 2001.  While celebrating Christmas at my Aunt Barbara's we were all smitten with her new Maltese puppy, Max.  Barbara preferred this breed as her last Maltese, Duke, was their cherished family pet who lived until the ripe age of 14.  This cute little lap dog didn't shed, was mild mannered, small, and was down-right adorable.  The additional fact that swayed me to the role of dog owner was my Aunt Barbara's impeccable ability to research the best of everything.  Barbara is nothing short of the ultimate shopper/consumer.  There was no doubt in my mind that if Barbara chose this puppy, the breed and the breeder were the best, bar none.  So with the research done for me and the breeder's name and number in hand, I gave my three very happy boys and Scott my nod of approval.  And I am quite sure I wasn't the first parent "sold" on the purchase of an adorable bundle of fur on Christmas Eve.

Our good fortune in doggy decision making continued with our timely call to the breeder.  The down-to-earth breeder from the farmland of Northwest Iowa let us know that she had just concluded that her prized pup of her last litter was not "breedable".  She went on to tell us how Aunt Barbara knew that this puppy was of perfect disposition and of great Maltese character (indicators that were previously foreign to me...like teeth alignment, length of tail, playfulness, and responsiveness).  This was the dog Barbara originally wanted, but the breeder wouldn't hear of it as she was also aware of the prize Maltese features and no money would convince her otherwise.  Fast forward four months later and an observation on the male anatomy of her prized dog which led to a future that wouldn't include breeding.  My luck was in making a phone call to her at exactly the right time.  This dog was ours if we could pick him up soon.

Grant meets his new puppy for the first time
Harry Husker Lane joined our home in January of 2002 with a bit of fanfare.  Scott had a buddy with a pilot's license.  Together they boarded a small plane and flew to Cherokee, Iowa to retrieve our new dog.  Eight year old Zach Lane was home sick that day.  I now wonder how much of his illness was the anticipation and desire to be home when the puppy arrived.  Zach had come up with the name Harry based on the love of all things Harry Potter at the time.  Many have thought that our fluff ball was named "Hairy" after his mane of white when in reality the inspiration was none other than Harry Potter.  I will never forget the moment that Zach took his cute little pup in his arms.  A boy and his dog; a bond between innocent souls that can warm the coldest of human hearts.  And Harry did not let us down with his reputation that preceded his introduction.  He had an excellent disposition, was a smart dog, and was as lovable as he looked.  Thank-you, Aunt Barbara.

With Grant and Harry so close in age, we watched our two "boys" with similar personalities grow up together.  They basically went through their toddler and boyhood years simultaneously.  As Grant would run around and play in the back yard, Harry would be at his heals; catching butterflies and chasing squirrels.  Harry would enthusiastically follow all the boys and their friends everywhere they went and knew exactly where to strategically lie to get the food droppings from the messy eaters.  We put in a doggy door many years back and this was Harry's favorite thing in life.  He loved going outside and having the empowerment of an open door at his disposal.  The bigger the dog within his territory, the better the adversary in Harry's world.  He feared no other creature regardless of size and would bark at all as though he was a hundred pound lab.  Our big back yard provided a kingdom for Harry to rule and protect us against all animals big and small.  And then there are the many dog walkers whose routes pass by our back yard and love our little Harry.  They will be very sad when they notice his absence.

Harry originally joined our family as "the boys' dog".  I assumed the role of the mother who allowed the pet, but it was the kids responsibility to care for him and take care of his needs.  The first few years of Harry in our home was one of Harry being just one of the band of brothers.  I played the mother role of purchasing the dog food, setting the grooming and vet appointments, and making sure the boys were caring for him.  This all changed in the summer of 2004.  I had contracted pneumonia and was very ill.  As I lay on the couch for days, alone while Scott and the boys were at work, school, and day care; Harry never left my side.  Although an active pup, he quietly laid snuggled in next to me for days as I lay motionless fighting off my illness.  We developed a bond over the course of that week.  He became my dog with his favoritism now to me and me to him.  As the boys got older and busier with their daily lives, I assumed the primary role of caring for Harry.  He and I were a duo and he kept me company amongst the craziness and noise that went along with raising three boys.  And I always knew in my heart that this little dog was going to do everything to protect me and comfort me even when I couldn't take care of myself.
Harry was now my dog
Around the time our family was in a bit of disarray and change with the divorce, Harry started having health issues.  What I thought might be a bladder infection turned into a diagnosis of diabetes.  So Harry's carefree existence of having the run of the backyard and sleeping in the warm sun by the front door turned into two shots of insulin a day, a monitored diet, some real highs and lows in blood sugar, and the reaction of all of this to his seven pound frail body.  Our nightly walks under the stars were therapy for both of us, I am quite sure.  I do feel a bit of guilt on not being as an attentive of a dog-mom these last few years in juggling work, kids, travel with my new life as a single parent.  But as Harry took care of me with my pneumonia, he also understood and stayed by my side during my new chapter.  And with the loving help (and co-dog-parenting) of my Aunt Joan, Harry's health needs were met and he was given abundant love during the last leg of his journey.  Many tears have been shed as we put him down with thoughts of "I will never go through this again".  But this little furry guy was one of our family.  I am so glad those little boys convinced their non-animal mom that we needed to give a dog a try those many years ago.  Way too soon, but a great eleven years, Harry Husker Lane :)