Harry

Harry

Harry had been struggling with an infection, probably giardia, that he picked up at Marymoor Park in Redmond, Washington. Although a nice facility, a bit of country in the middle of the city, there are just too many dogs kettled into a small section of the Samamish River, especially in the fall when they try to protect the salmon. He had incredible pain two hours after eating for the last year-and-a-half. Although we visited ten or more vets, had every test possible done, and tried many versions of drugs, diets, and natural herbs, we could not beat it. Two weeks ago our local vet tried a drug, Albendazol, that gave him unbelievable relief for a week, then the pain came back in two days and in another two days he developed a high fever that could not be stopped.

Harry never let the pain get in the way of a spirit that was a force of nature. One hundred dogs at a dog park, and Harry would be the one to get them to play. I threw a stick for him once and instead he found a ten-foot tree someone had cut down, stripped the branches off, and paraded it through the parking lot. Honest.

All that spirit, yet an intelligent sweetness that was heartbreaking. I could tell hundreds of stories, but here is just one. Harry loved to run and chase with a jaw-dropping intensity. If there was nothing else to do, he would pick out a car a half-mile away and run flat-out toward the expected point of interception. It did not matter if there were fences, houses, whatever, in between, he ran as fast as he could until prevented from going further. He barked loudly at anyone he thought we should know about, even someone he knew, who, say, for some reason had worn a cap that day.

One day, with Rosemarie, at Marymoor, about a dozen people on a field trip in motorized wheelchairs came into the dog park. Since Harry barked at and chased even flies on TV, barking and a chase was expected. He looked at the people, all who looked and acted quite different, and checking with Rosemarie, sat, waited, and accepted touching, treats, and attention. No barks, no running. He knew what was appropriate. He knew what was right.

We will miss him every day. Forever. So, so badly.