Fiber Follies

Mr. Henry died in the night, sometime after 11 p.m. and before 6:30 a.m. 10th July.

He came to us in 2004, after The Husband’s garage burned. Husband rescued Henry when the fire department was preparing to shoot him! As the ashes and dust settled, Precious Child and I prevailed on The Husband to retire Henry here. You see, Mr. Henry had been kept at the shop as a guard dog most of his life. He rarely had anything but concrete under his feet. Sometimes The Husband would put him into a van for a ride, then take him to a place where he could run and run and run until he was breathless. Then he’d be let to pant and nap a bit then run and run some more. After we moved into this place with the big fenced-in back yard, he’s load up the Henry and bring him here for a Sunday afternoon romp.  It seemed a kindness to bring the old dog here to live, where he had no less than grass and trees and well over an acre of fenced-in yard that could be HIS. Shade and grass and trees. He was terrified at first!

Within a week of realising that nothing here was harmful, he began to explore and dig and dig and dig-until I fenced in my gardens. He loved digging! He hollowed out places here and there for cool spots to lie. He scratched his itchy self on the bushes until they quit putting out leaves below his height. Our bushes were thereafter leaves from tops down to a bit over my knee height, then bare branches with clumps of his hair stuck in below that.

Henry was no indoors dog. He had never had any training whatsoever so simply crapped on the hoof like a horse. The cats didn’t want him in here and he was terrified of our group of cats so only came in once in a while for a brief visit when we could coax him to do so. He was big and happily oafish and much happier outside. I guess his years of guard duty were more than enough of walls and floors for Henry.

Next door were horses. I never figured out if he realised that they were a different animal, or even if he cared. He was in love with each and every horse he ever saw.

He had three very good years here filled with great health and good times bounding around his yard. Often PC would leash him and take him for a stroll round the property.

Once when they were down by the pond, he stopped to taste the pond water then barrelled right in, dragging her with him. He swam hard, pulling her round the pond for a while. They were both so waterlogged and tired that they were useless until sometime the next day.

Sometimes I took him out, just so he’d have other things to look at besides his own big back yard. Once, shortly after the new neighbours moved their horses in, I took him to the stable to meet the horses up close. Horse and dog nuzzled each other and it was good.

One horse made a great game of teasing Henry. Henry would be asleep in a shady spot in his yard, and Spike would come tearing down the pasture, bucking and snorting as he reached the fence, then put on the brakes and slide right up to the wire in a big dusty cloud. Henry reared up every time to run up and down the fence line barking like crazy. Spike repeated the performance over and over. It was LOUD but great exercise for both. Henry was in his yard, and several feet of grass separated his yard from the pasture-so he’d not get underfoot.  Both were safe and that game was highly entertaining to watch.

My allergies proved a bit too much for me over the last three years. Dog dander was at the top of the list of particularly bad allergens so I had to avoid Henry as much as possible. I wasn’t outdoors with him much then. That’s when he really took to the bivvy and spent contented hours watching me through the window. I rarely brushed him anymore, which was a bit of fun and challenge. But Henry throve and took good care of me, watching through those office windows.

One nice day Henry was napping in the shade when Emma, a neighbourhood cat, came by. She wandered into his yard. Emma sniffed around for a little bit then spotted Henry. She approached for a sniff. When she was within millimeters, he awoke. He was so startled that he roared out one of his mighty barks, sending her running, him right after! She never returned to his yard, preferring to remain unchased. It was fine, of course, to catch his attention while stood immediately outside his yard. Bark bark bark bark barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark!!!

In this past winter he became pretty lame, then quickly went so lame we thought he was dying. The Husband took Henry to the vet, who supplied him with tablets. One was an NSAID, one an opiate painkiller, one an antacid. Within two days he was his old self! The medicine, however, was very expensive. We found that we could maintain him once the worst pain was under control and were able to give him OTC antacid and stop the opiate. All he needed was the NSAID. For stretches of several weeks he’d be fine then would start to go lame, and we’d get him back on the meds which worked fairly quickly.

By spring his hips were pretty stiff, and one back hock was frozen. He worked around these disabilities easily, adopting a rocking and rolling gait. His vision was failing rapidly-we could see his eyes clouding over. And he was going deaf. Somehow he still knew when the horses were let into the pasture, or if they snorted or simply twitched. He’d rear up barking, running in that funny sidewinding gait, happy as can be.

Over the next several weeks he became progressively more lame until it went from cute to quite sad to see him getting about. He never, ever showed signs of pain-he just slowed down. He was a happy sonofagun and let me know it. By now I was able to spend a little time outdoors again, the allergies beginning to come under control. My attention meant pure glee to him, naturally including treats. We had decided that since Henry was probably not going to live much longer that it was fine to let him sleep outdoors and eat lots of treats. He still received his regular nutritious foods, but was given and cheerfully received heaps of goodies.

The Husband and I talked of his deteriorating condition. TH decided that Henry should be euthanised in the autumn, or whenever he began to show his suffering. I knew that summers were very hard on Henry but Henry was The Husband’s dog and I would abide by his wishes. We never wanted Henry to know that he was suffering, it’s hard though, to let go when the time approaches.  It was The Husband who spoke of euthanising Henry this past Monday.

He found Henry spraddled in his bunkhouse Monday morning and announced that he thought that Henry was ‘done for’. He left for work after taking Henry’s breakfast down and laying it next to him. I went out a little later and saw there was no water within reach! Ack! I took Henry’s water dish to him. He drank, then got up and walked, a bit wobbly, up to his usual post by my office window. He loved to be at that window where he could look in to watch me working. I guess he felt he was doing his duty as a good guard dog as long as he knew I was in here. Sometimes I’d peek out when in the main house and see him peering in the office window, hoping I was sat at my desk so he wouldn’t need to worry.

I was horrified by the sudden turn. He kept going feeble then kind of bouncing back. Every time he acted feeble I was sure the end was within moments. Then he’d perk up a bit and I was sure he was just having a rough spot and would be with us a little longer. He seemed pretty cheerful despite the downturn.

Anyway, Monday was one of our typically hot, humid July days. It was terribly uncomfortable and Henry didn’t want to finish his regular food. He left about a third of it in the dish. I took out lots of treats and some of his arthritis medicines to ensure that he wasn’t hurting. I gobbled handfuls of antihistamines so was able to be out with him frequently-I was out at least hourly to provide fresh cool water which he was happy to receive. I talked to him and walked round the yard with him. He felt well enough in the afternoon to start up a mighty barking-I think the horses next door got him excited, he always loved those horses. When I wasn’t out with him he checked in on me through the window. He was clearly slowed down, a lot. I thought that he was getting near death but figured it would be several days off. I rang The Husband to tell him that Henry was doing far better than he had in the morning.

Tuesday morning was much the same-Henry wasn’t feeling particularly well but juiced up somewhat after receiving a dose of arthritis medicine. I called Precious Child to tell her of Henry’s condition and figured he wasn’t going anywhere until saying goodbye to his bestest bud. He didn’t eat his food at all so I went to town to buy him some chewy treats and a different soft food that wasn’t a tinned food-I had to keep the flies away, they are very attracted to tinned dog food. By dinner time I had fed him, one by one, all of the treats. He was weakening but still drinking lots of water, although I had to hold the water dish to his mouth. He wasn’t comfortable drinking unless I held that dish for him. It was stifling hot so I was out much more frequently than on Monday, keeping him hydrated. After The Husband got home Tuesday night, I told him he really needed to go spend some time with Henry. I was sure that Henry was shutting down. He had spent the day creeping from one breezy shaded place to another. He could barely move his hind legs. The Husband took out a packet of the soft food which Henry ate right up. We thanked Henry for the years of being in our lives and told him that we’d see him in Heaven. We told him that a miracle would be very welcome so that we could enjoy his company for several more years, and we also told him that if he was ready to leave us now, then we would miss him terribly but that was okay too. He had to know that we supported whatever he was about to do.

Husband arose from bed late in the night, unable to sleep. He dressed, went out, and sat under the stars with Henry.

It was a steamy sticky night at first, then a great wind rushed in, clearing the humidity away.

On Wednesday he was terribly weak yet insistent on being in the bunkhouse. This is the dog who hated to go to bed, in his great big comfortable bunkhouse. We had kept him in at night for his own safety, not knowing what would happen if he met up with a coyote or a rabid something. So in he went. Always with food-dinner time was bed time and he often howled at me in sheer delight when I put him in at night just because it meant tasty, often warm, wonderful food. But over the last few weeks The Husband decided that since this was probably Henry’s last year with us, he could sleep wherever he wanted. From then on the bunkhouse door was left open and Henry only had to go in when the lawn crew came.

He chose usually to sleep right in or next to the bivvy I’d built by the office window, a place walled with bales of straw, cushioned with more straw, and covered with a tarp. In winter it was his place to escape the bitter winds. He really preferred to lie on a snowdrift in a gale wind with snow falling than be under the tarp, but hated rain so the bivvy became his dry haven from the dreaded rain. I left the bales in place this summer but last summer they were removed so he’d have the breezes while still escaping the worst rains. I would hear him rustling as I worked in the night, and catch a glimpse of his face as he pressed his nose against the window to let me know he was taking care of me. If I didn’t glance out quickly enough he’d whine a little until I did. Then I would thank him for being such a good guardian. At that, Henry was satisfied so would lie down for a nap.

Back to Wednesday. The Husband had found him in the morning lying in his own mess in the bunkhouse and helped him onto the grass just outside. Before I went out the first time Wednesday morning I spotted the blue jay.

I’d forgotten about the blue jay-there’d been a jaybird who took great delight in trying to steal Henry’s food as he napped. Henry wouldn’t leave his food bowl in the bunkhouse, he always carried it carefully up the yard to where he’d hang out most of the day. That blue jay caught on to this and tried valiantly to take advantage. I think Mr. Jay Bird did get a kibble from time to time. All he really had to do was look hungry and Henry would have handed food to him, but that wouldn’t have been half the fun as teasing and cawing and trying to steal the food. Mr. Jay had a lot of fun with Henry and Henry’s food. The rare times Henry looked skyward, he’d spot that jay and bark like mad, tail wagging. He liked the jay.

But the jay stopped coming and we hadn’t seen any jay bird in Henry’s area for a very long time. I saw that blue jay on Wednesday, in the clear cool morning. He bobbed about in the tree branches but made no noise. I felt that this portended Henry’s last day of earthly life.

I went out very often. Every time I went out, he’d gone back into the bunkhouse. I couldn’t get him to take any solids whatsoever. I couldn’t medicate him. It was almost impossible to get him to drink too. I hauled him out of the bunkhouse and most of the way up the yard then left to fetch Precious Child. On our return he was once again in the bunkhouse! It must have been an awful effort to get himself down there, since by now his hind legs wouldn’t take his weight at all. I know-I had practically carried him up the hill before leaving to bring her. She spoke with him and we went into the house for a few minutes.

When we came back out, he’d pulled himself to the bunkhouse door, and got his chin over the door sill. That was all he could do and he lay there, crying, until I hauled him out once more. He really wanted to sit up and greet PC properly, offering his paw and receiving a treat like in old times. I think that was the moment his heart broke, no longer able to do that simple thing that always made her smile. He gave up. He started to slip away into a sort of coma. He wasn’t responsive unless we stood right over him, patting and scritching and talking to him, then he’d focus on us, raising that puppy eyebrow so we knew he heard us speaking to him. Outside of that little pocket of space in the big beautiful summer afternoon there was nothing for Henry. Not anymore.

I put him on our old sled and slid him up into a nice clean patch of lawn, where it was breezy and shady and he could watch over his yard. It was amazing how he had perked up and tried so hard to be his old self when he saw his oldest bestest bud. After a few more goodbyes over the next hour I had to take her back home. I was certain that he’d be gone when I returned.

Nope. Henry the magnificently stubborn fellow still had some business to attend to-I don’t know what it was and spent considerable time with him. While I was gone he’d turned himself around, knocking over his untouched food dish and slipping out of the sled. He looked uncomfortable so I placed him on a clean tarp with one of The Husband’s old warm jackets then covered him against the approaching night’s dewfall and chill. It was a breezy clear late afternoon which faded into a breezy crystal evening. He no longer drank when I held the water to his lips so I took ice cubes out for him. At first he took them daintily from my hand and chewed them up, then I had to place them between his teeth as he slipped into full coma. Reflex made him bite the cubes for the next several hours but I had to remove the pieces so he wouldn’t be lying in cold icy puddles. He wasn’t swallowing but the moisture probably kept him a little more comfortable.

He was placed near a window with the yard lights on so I could watch him from my office after dark. His breathing altered from shallow fast breathing to slow and regular, and back to rapid shallow.

I last checked on him a little past eleven p.m. I spoke with him some more, hating to go indoors in case he wanted me there. He was breathing deep slow regular breaths but was completely unresponsive and I knew he no longer felt the things of this life. I went to bed sobbing. The windows over his yard were left open so that if some miracle let him become aware once more, he’d be able to hear me and the cats indoors, and we’d be able to hear him ripping out his characteristic barking.

That miracle never came. At half-past six this morning I went out. He was gone then, still faintly warm and limp so it had been quite recent.

I rang The Husband to inform him of Henry’s passing. Of course I lost it and struggled to speak around tears. I felt badly for Husband, as he was away when Henry passed. He told me to wrap Henry’s body as well as possible and that he’d take care of it when he got home, which he planned to do as early as possible. He arrived home in mid-evening, with maybe an hour of waning daylight left. By now Henry was getting coated with bugs which managed to make their way into his wrappings. It seemed best to bury Henry rather than cremate him-we didn’t think the bugs would be welcome among other animals awaiting cremation, nor among the staff who handled the cremations. The lilac garden was a choice spot-Henry had torn it up pretty well when first here until I got smart and placed an ornamental wire fence round it. He’d leapt over the wire fence one day to corner a groundhog, which tremendously irked the poor groundhog so much he stood his ground awaiting certain dismemberment until I hauled Henry back and nudged the chuck with a spade in the ‘away’ direction. That lilac garden was only an obstacle to Henry, who ran the fence line when the horses were out. The garden’s little fence forced him further from his object of the chase. So it’s there his remains are put, where he could see the horses, where he cornered he groundhog, where he first tried his digging skills.

Husband worked hard, already exhausted from the trip and his usual hard work, plus grief and having forgot to take his own meds. Poor, poor man, he wasn’t well at all when he arrived home. He insisted rather firmly that I let him do the digging, barely letting me do anything more than uproot a few invading weeds as he dug. I was let to help lift Henry into the wheelbarrow then to help lift him out as he was arranged in his grave. I had forgotten to bring out the ball-on-a-rope that Precious Child had got for him, it was a great toy that he loved. We’d throw it by the rope for a long flight and he’d bound off wildly after it. In the last two years his eyesight had got so weak that he was no longer able to follow thrown things and those games stopped. But he did love that one a good deal, along with a flying ring and a tennis ball and a few other goodies. After his sight failed we gave him more rawhide toys. He liked gnawing on them and wrestling them into submission.

It broke my heart to lose that damn dog. You see, I am really not a dog person. I cannot abide the noise, the dirt, the awful smell, the destruction of home and gardens.

He was a non-stop barker, often barking long after forgetting what he wanted to bark about in the first place. This drove me nuts! I’d be deep in concentration at work, and hear the growly wind-up to a barkfest. He’d bark at the horses if they twitched. He’d bark at a butterfly. He’d bark at snowflakes. He’d bark at air.

Sometimes Henry would rise up from a sound sleep barking. That was the worst-I’d have to go out and distract him right in front of his face. I guess it was some sort of somnolent barking; as people sleepwalk, Henry sleep-barked.

Henry only howled when he was happy. It wasn’t a forlorn thing at all to him, but a giant, puffed-up representation of sheer quivering joy. Usually occurring at dinner time once he spotted his food. He was so dang fun even though he was a great big stinkinbarkin dog. He loved me even though I couldn’t stand the noise and smell of him-he was just so innocent and smiled so cute. When I’d reach down to scritch his ears he’d belch lovingly into my face. What a guy.

I don’t know how to wrap this up. Henry had such a different impression on me than any cat ever did. I grok cats so their ways are ever entertaining but not a bit odd. Henry was such an alien, amiable fella. I think I’ll miss him the most and grieve the hardest, for, after all, he made himself into my guardian. Everyone who knew that big knothead will grieve and grieve hard, but I’ll weep longest for that innocent witless funny old poopster.

So long, Mr. Henry. Thank you for being such a lovable guy. Thank you for not giving a damn that I didn’t like dogs. I liked you. I loved you. You were so much more than a dog-you were my guardian and great bud. I’ll see you at the bridge, my friend.