Harold

Although he wasn’t himself for the past little while, he was still my dog.

The same dog who was rescued from an actual puppy mill at 5 years old.

The dog who ran away from me the first time I met him and I said, “I’ll take him.”

Who in the same night asked to be in my lap and, from that night forward, sat in my lap each night as I did the paperwork after closing.

The same dog who was initially scared of his own shadow, stairs, and didn’t understand the concept of a leash.

He’d walk with me to the bus stop, travel on the bus, walk from the bus to work, and greet customers all day with me.

At first he was scared of any dog, he’d bark once, run away, and pee out of fear.

I taught him to like people and eventually he was the official greeter at our store.

He would follow me everywhere and I’d hear the ticking of his nails close behind me.

Harold taught me to calm my emotions, because he would mirror mine.

He saw me become a more outgoing person over time and evolve into a confident person.

Harold was a conversation starter.

Harold loved people more than he liked dogs.

Harold was loved by many people.

He hated the idea of swimming and would “tread water” if held above it, say, at the beach.

Harold enjoyed rolling in rabbit poop if it was in the grass.

He loved to sun-bathe, especially if he could be in his bed at the same time.

Harold was a heater box; he’d warm you instantly if you were cold.

He’d lay with me if I was sick or feeling blue.

When you'd return home he’d wiggle his butt so hard that his front paws would alternately lift off the ground.

He loved butt scratches and ear scratches.

He didn’t protest.

He had many spa treatments and pamperings.

His collar and harness were soft on the inside so as not to irritate his skin.

His tag was made of plastic so it wouldn’t be too cold on his skin in the harsh Chicago winters.

He had many outfits.

He never figured out the concept of dog toys.

He’s been to a hair salon, many outdoor eateries and cafes, art shows, and the massage therapy studio I worked at.

He has been to many parks and has been on many road trips with me.

Harold has been in Illinois, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, Indiana, Kentucky, Colorado, Utah, California, and many other stops along the way.

I can count the number of barks he’s uttered with my two hands.

He would never hurt a fly.

Though he could stand up for himself surprisingly well if another dog was too interested!

He was gentle and loving.

He had many nicknames; Mr. Harold, Plomp, Baggy Leggings, Cannonbottom, and more.

Many people asked to keep him, buy him, borrow him, cuddle him, and hold him.

His dog sitters were eager any time we needed them to take care of him.

Many people loved him.

He has converted non-dog-lovers into dog-lovers.

He was my best friend.

We were together for over a decade.

He has seen boys come and go, he met my friends and family. He met my husband and our son.

He hasn’t been the same dog he used to be for a while, but now I can fully grieve the dog that he was, the pal I used to have, and his physical presence now that he is gone.

Now...

I expect him to get out of bed and scramble about when I make popcorn.

I expect to hear him grumbling in the night for his blanket to be adjusted.

I expect to see his shadow pop up from his bed to get water when we’re watching TV at night.

I remember to let him out in the morning, but he’s not there.

I remember to let him out at night, but he’s not there.

I clean out his food bowls and launder his clothes and bedding, picturing him in his outfits.

Such a long time to take care of a friend and now he is gone.

I expect to see him just around the corner.

A house feels emptier without a pet.