It is so hard to believe Harley has been gone for a month, already.  I thought I was ready for it, thought I would know how hard it would be; I had no idea.

The morning of June 24^th, we were awoken by Harley vomiting around 5am.  He didn’t vomit much, but he hadn’t eaten much the day previously, either.  He did not appear to be in any distress, drank a little, and sat there watching me, as I cleaned it up.  I stayed up with Harley, we finished The Boondock Saints, which Harley and I had started watching the previous night during our nightly sit in the lawn.

That morning, Harley would occasionally sit up or drink a little, but he never made any attempt to stand or otherwise move around.  Thankfully, he did not appear to be in any pain.  We knew it was time to let him go.  We (Michael, Toby, & I) were sitting around him, petting him, talking about if we were going to put him to sleep that morning, or wait until after Michael was done with a court appearance he had that afternoon.  I looked down and noticed Harley’s eyes were glazed over.  Although he was still breathing regularly, he was no longer there.  No response of any kind when calling his name.  You could just see and feel he was no longer Harley; his eyes were vacant and glassy.  His spirit was gone.  His body continued live for a few minutes, it tensed a couple times, and then his breathing stopped. 

We were able to be there with him, petting him, telling him we loved him, and thanking him for being our dog.

When I came out of the Bathroom after getting ready to take Harley’s body to the Vet, Toby was sitting next to Harley; it broke my heart even more, which I didn’t think was possible.  They were truly soulmates.  Toby has continued to show he is every bit as sad as Michael and I.

Harley was given to my Brother, by a (now ex) girlfriend, the Summer before he was a Senior in college.  I remember being upset by this; what did he want with this too skinny of a dog from the pound of all places, and it was a Rottweiler!  Didn’t he know Rottweilers eat people?!  My Brother was diagnosed with cancer shortly after being given Harley.  Harley turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him (and to me, too).

My Brother and I went to the same college.  We only lived a couple blocks or so apart, and I would take Harley on walks or for car rides, maybe torture him by taking him through the car wash or treating him by going through the McDonald’s Drive-Thru.  My Brother went through surgery and radiation during his Senior year, and thankfully today is still doing well.  He did need to take a missed class the following Summer to finish his degree, but his house lease was up.  My lease was not up until Fall, but I was moving to Wisconsin, so it worked out well for him to finish my lease for me.  Well, it worked out really well for me, because he couldn’t have Harley at my place, so I took Har with me to Wisconsin.  He was only going to stay with us for the Summer.  Yeah, right!  Michael and I ended up falling hopelessly in love with “The Big Guy”.

I can’t imagine what my Brother had to go through.  You are a Senior in college, you are an adult, but yet you aren’t an adult, you find out you have cancer, and most of your family lives far away.  I’m beyond thankful he had Harley.  I can only imagine the scary nights he must have had, worrying about what his future held, if there was a future.  I know having Harley curled up next to him helped more than anything anyone could have said or done.  He took it extremely hard when I told him they thought Harley had cancer.  Harley having cancer brought up memories and emotions for my entire family of when my Brother was diagnosed and went through his cancer.  And I, actually, haven’t been able to bring myself to speak with my Brother since Harley has died; we have exchanged texts, but neither of us are ready to talk about it.  There is still too much pain with Harley’s loss.  He’s the only other person who would “get” just how special Harley was, and I can only imagine how much Harley meant to him.  I do now (at times) feel guilty about stealing his dog. 

Oh, the movie The Boondock Saints, which Harley and I finished before he died, happens to be my Brother’s favorite movie.  It is so eerie, but yet comforting, how these things happen.

The tears don’t seem to come as often now, but they still come.  I find myself laughing with tears about things he used to do.  I look at pictures a lot, laughing, then crying; pictures of him wearing Minnie Mouse ears or earmuffs out in the snow … it’s amazing the things he put up with, all with zero complaints.  He always wanted to please.

Coming home, at first, was extremely painful.  I would pull up to my house and sit in my car crying, knowing he wouldn’t be standing there when I opened the door; always so excited to see me, his nubber wagging a million miles per hour.  That was the hardest for me.  It is still hard.  I can’t imagine it never being hard.

The house is empty now; even with Toby around.  Our family is no longer complete; we are broken.  Harley’s chickens are still in the toybox.  His container of snow is still in the freezer; I can’t imagine ever throwing it out.  His ashes sit here on my desk; I plan on one day making him into diamond earrings (after I win the lottery).  His pet license tag sits here, too; it was hard writing the letter informing them of his death.

Michael and I speak of Harley and his death to each other all the time, but not to other people.  We have told a few people, of course … and I’m not sure how to explain this … but it is almost like it is too sacred a thing to share, unless you know the person you are sharing it with will “get” what Harley meant and what it means to us that he is gone.  I’m sure I’m not explaining it right.  I did share the news with someone I ran into the day Harley died, he was like, “that’s too bad” and was on to the next subject.  I think the sting of him not being more devastated, when my world had just imploded, made me not want to tell people.

That’s one thing I love about Tripawds.  Everyone here knows how special our dogs are.  We all know how devastating it is to lose them.  Actually, no, I didn’t know.  I thought I would know how it felt.  I had lost pets before, but I never had a pet like Harley.  My friend calls this “The Good Dog”.  When she speaks of “The Good Dog”, I know she doesn’t mean the dog she has now (which she loves!), she means a certain previous one.  Harley was my “The Good Dog”.  He will never be replaced.  I know we will get another dog one day (heck, we have a dog now!), but no other dog, no matter how much we love it, will ever be “The Good Dog”.

He was an amazing dog; a heart of pure gold; not a mean bone in his body.  He was abused and unwanted, and he came from the pound.  All he ever wanted was to love and be loved.  He was the best thing that ever happened to me.  Harley, my “The Good Dog”.