I Have to Put Harley Down Tomorrow

The news ain’t good. Harley, our Jack Russell mix has cancer and while he’s not in pain, tomorrow I will return to the vet clinic and have him put down. Oh, and he’s such a good dog too.

Yes, my heart is aching, though not fully broken yet. Ending the life of a family pet, however humanely, doesn’t get any easier no matter how many times you’ve been through it.

Harley came to us as a puppy, somewhere between three and six-months old. I was getting gas in my truck when he fell from the back of another pick-up, hitting the asphalt so hard I figured him for dead.

The asshole driving the truck simply looked back and kept on driving. So I picked his little body up and placed it in the cab of my vehicle.

Much to my surprise, by the time I finished pumping my gas, he was awake and trying to hide under the passenger seat. Then he threw-up, that when I first took him to the vet.

After the doctor gave him a clean bill of health, I brought him home. That was eleven-years ago.

While he is a very intelligent dog, Harley has always been a little mentally screwed up  (from banging his head falling from the truck.). He sometimes forgets who we are and barks furiously at us and he’s scared of the washing machine so much that he runs and hides in the bathtub if the door is left open.

Harley has barked at his shadow and his reflection in the mirror at times. He’s managed to get both his head and leg stuck in our fencing and somehow got atop our shed.

Admittedly, I have grown closer to Harley than any dog I’ve previously been privileged to live with and know. After all, he is as fucked up as I am and I think that’s why we bonded so well.

Frankly, I will miss his happiness each morning, every time I come through the front door, and how he thinks he’s helping me get dressed by getting under foot. Jus’ the thought of his not being here makes me cry and snivel foolishly.

This evening, Mary, Kyle, Kay and I will gather to pet Harley lovingly, tell him how much we love him and assure him that he’s a ‘good boy.’ I know – it’s for us people and not really him – but it might make us feel better anyway.

Nine o’clock in the morning comes early – much too early for such a task. I jus’ hope and pray that when I die, Harley will be on the other side waiting.

Is it okay for a man to cry over the death of a dog?

UPDATE 10/09/2012: Harley passed away comfortably and quietly in my arms at 9:20 am today. He was a VERY good dog and an even better companion.