I didn't want to be sad that Harry was leaving, but Monday was just a sad introspective day. Maybe the heat added to it: it hit 113 degrees in the valley by afternoon. Harry spent the entire day under the kitchen table.
That is, unless I was urging him to come out and sit with me since I knew I would miss him by evening.
I had finally gotten through the hundreds of pages of edits in my book and was working on fixing the ending. It was hot as hell. My little buddy was leaving me that night. And there might have been some hormonal influences contributing to my mood. Whatever the reasons, it was a somber day.
Christy offered to pick Harry and me up so we could go together for the home check and dog-check. However, I suspected I’d be an emotional wreck saying good-bye to Harry, and I had to run an errand afterward, so I thanked her for her offer but decided to do it alone. I also wanted that bit of transporting in too. I really enjoy driving them home.
It was slightly cooler by 6:30 when we left my place, and Harry was happy to be in the car, although bummed that he couldn't see out the windows. He had been happy to sit on my friend's lap the other night when we ran an errand together because he was finally tall enough to see out.
Once at the house, I wanted to wait for Christy since she had much more experience in dog introductions than I had. I didn't want to screw it up. However, Stephanie and her husband Travis saw me pull up and came out with Lucy in their arms. Harry and Lucy saw one another and immediately wanted out of our arms and to play together.
Christy was going to be a few minutes so we went inside. Lucy wasn't on a leash (she was in her own home), but Harry was (I needed to be able to easily grab one of them if something went down).
Much to everyone's surprise, it was awkward for the two dogs. Harry, although much better at not just pouncing on a stranger, still had some more graces to learn. Lucy was a seasoned socialite, so it struck us as odd that she would be okay one second then snarl and nip the next.
I suggested we go out to the back porch; perhaps Lucy was territorial. They didn't think so and neither did I, but something was definitely wrong. Out back on the porch, the same thing happened. Lucy would be fine, and then wasn't. Travis mentioned that Lucy hadn't been around dogs on leashes very much since they mostly went to friends' houses and dog parks, all sans leashes. But it wasn't Harry with the problem. In fact, I was quite proud of the little guy. When Lucy did her "crazy bitch" move on him, he lowered himself all the way to the ground and rolled onto his side. He wasn't a threat, so what was her issue?
It was almost time to give up, but I suggested we wait for Christy since most likely it was human error (mine), not the dog's. Lucy had even brought Harry a toy (an excellently polite sign!), but then snapped at him.
Christy showed up moments later and we went back inside. Travis and Stephanie were fixing up the century-old house so the main living room and dining area was void of furniture--just yards of hardwood floor. The dogs followed us in to meet Christy and Craig at the front door. I told Christy the issue and immediately she said, "Well, yeah, take him off the leash. Dogs feel trapped when they're on a leash."
I explained that Harry wasn't the one with the problem.
"Sometimes the other dog, though, feels the need to be dominate over the one with the leash on. They can see that they're trapped."
Huh. I never would have guessed that as an issue at all; but this is why I needed Christy there. Luckily dogs don't hold grudges, so even though I screwed up the introduction, it was quickly forgiven and forgotten once the mistake was corrected. I unclipped the leash and bam, madness ensued--the good kind:
Lucy gave Harry the toy again (her favorite game was tug of war), and although Harry hadn't learned how to play yet given his new adult teeth just came in, he gave it a whirl. The two dogs raced around the empty rooms, sliding across the floor, running through the rest of the house and having a romping good time. Seeing the smile on Harry's face, there wasn't a single spec of sadness in me.
All of us humans were seated on the floor and I chastised myself for forgetting my camera in the truck. It was so much fun to watch them run and play. We didn't need to be there at all. Craig spotted Harry in the kitchen and pointed out the lazy drinker.
We all looked through the dining room to see Harry lying down next to the water bowl, his face in the bowl drinking. He was so tuckered out he didn't want to bother sitting to drink. Lucy walked over to see if he was okay.
All I had was my phone to take a picture, so my apologies. No picture could capture the cuteness in that moment, and the joy in the room.
Less than an hour later, the new family had clearly bonded, paperwork was signed, food was handed over, and I said good-bye to little Harry.
I wasn't sad at all. It had been a while since I had to say good-bye to friend and bid them farewell into their new beginning. I had forgotten how much more powerful joy is than loss. I was smiling on the ride back to my apartment. Harry had a home, the home I knew he was meant to have.
Harry is a special dog; he needs to share his joy. He's in a social family, one where he can share the joy he has with strangers and friends. He'll be out and about on the town, and able to share his gift with others.
When I entered my dogless apartment that night, I suspected I would feel that void that remains when a dog leaves; that loss of their energy. Oddly, when Harry was there at times I couldn't feel his energy. But now that he was gone, it was clear he left a little bit of himself here. I could feel his love and joy still in the room. That is Harry's gift.
He wasn't the most cuddly dog with me. He didn't snuggle with me while I watched TV in the evenings; he didn't follow me from room to room all the time. He didn't grab a toy and sit on my lap while playing. But maybe Harry didn't need to; maybe he only did that people he felt needed that. He gave me other joy instead.
Sunday night while I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, I heard a noise I hadn't ever heard before. It was a thud of sorts, but not like a stack of papers toppled over from the table or a stereo falling off a shelf. I was curious. I opened the bathroom door and looked down to find Harry sitting there.
"What?" he seemed to say. "I didn't hear anything."
Hmmm. I closed the door and finished brushing my teeth. When I got back to my bedroom I found on the floor the large pet blanket I used on the bed along with the towel that was on top of it. Harry sat at the entrance to the bedroom.
"What's this?" I asked.
He looked at the pile of blanket from where he sat, then up to me, with no expression of response.
"How odd," his aloofness portrayed. "I was outside the bathroom door the whole time. How could this have happened?"
I am impressed that he got the whole thing down, although I don't know how he didn't hurt himself. I imagine he had tried to get up on the bed, and then accidentally dragged all the bedding down on his descent.
He knows shoes are "not a toy." If I saw him about to put his mouth on one of them, simply saying, "Harry," would divert his actions to other things. But the time I walked into the living room to find my hiking boot in his mouth, there wasn't much I could do. He stopped chewing. His mouth was resting on it, poised in suspended animation, his head not moving, the whites of his eyes showing as looked up at me.
"What do you want me to do? I can't deny it. It's in my mouth," was what I imagined he'd say if he could. He didn't drop it. He was caught. But he wasn't remorseful.
"Not a toy," I said and took it away from him. He let me have it and then walked away.
That's how one knows a dog is comfortable with you: when they push your buttons. They know they're wrong, so what are you going to do about it?
Harry really was the easiest dog to foster. House-trained, short walks due to his little legs and health issues, and generally a good pup. He brought joy to my apartment and it appears he even left some here for me in his absence.
Will I miss the little guy? Of course. Did I think he was meant to be my dog? There were moments I did. But I know I don't have a dog for a reason: so I can take in dogs like Harry--ones that can't be with other dogs because of illness. I can take in the ones who don't get along with other pets; ones who need quarantine. I help the tough cases, the ones other people may not be able to assist due to their situation.
Good luck, Harry Winston. It was a pleasure and an honor to have you in my home for a brief time. You've upgraded to Stephanie 2.0, with her big house and yard, a husband, and a canine friend who is now your big sister (and a smidgeon smaller than you). You gave me joy while you were here, and I thank you for leaving a little bit behind. I needed that. But you always know what a person needs; that's what makes you special.
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