The Harlan Chronicles 7

Harlan’s New Home
Initially, the move to Mr. Something's house didn’t seem all that traumatic for Harlan. He had a pool now, a personal doghouse and despite the fact that his yard was a little smaller, Harlan seemed to be managing just fine.

I knew we had hit a snag though, when on my way to work one morning, I saw Harlan sleeping beside the right front tire of my car. On my return home, finding Harlan curled up in my parking space was not an unfamiliar sight.

Mr. Something's sons told me they would see Harlan sitting on the corner of our street, just looking around when I wasn't at home. It worried me that he wouldn't stay in our yard but I didn't want to tie him up and he refused to come into the house. So, digging himself out of his yard every night, he would snuggle up beside his familiar friend, a Pontiac Grand Am and go to sleep.

It was evident that Harlan had regressed a little after Betsy had passed away, but the move to a new home had obviously impacted him negatively and the "new and improved" Harlan was gone for a while. He had returned to his solitary ways and once he separated from his attachment to my car, he would spend his time in his house or much to Mr. Something's chagrin, in the backyard landscaping. If anyone approached, he would bolt and hide. Fortunately though, he seemed to continue to enjoy going for walks with me but only if I did not make eye contact before leashing him.

Some time had passed when Mr. Something announced he was going to turn Harlan into a “normal” dog. On one particular morning, Mr. Something told me he was going to take Harlan for a walk and that he would not be “playing games” with him. So, I pulled up a chair and watched my very own “Dog Whisperer” from an upstairs window. It was priceless..

Walking into Harlan’s yard confidently and speaking in a commanding tone, Mr. Something called out for Harlan. After peering into his doghouse and determining that he was in fact inside, he straightened up and stated clearly and authoritatively, “Harlan. Come.” Reaching into the doghouse, he leashed Harlan. Harlan refused to come out. As Mr. Something pulled on the leash, Harlan resisted with equal force. Soon, both Harlan and his doghouse were being dragged across the patio.

Perplexed,  Mr. Something stopped, picked up the doghouse (with Harlan in it) and tried shaking him out. Miraculously, Harlan didn’t budge and remained inside his doghouse. As a final act of desperation he removed the doghouse roof.. That's all it took.

Tail wagging and head up, Harlan was ready to go.

Part 8  Harlan Gets $ick

The Harlan Chronicles 8

Harlan gets $ickThirteen years had passed since Harlan and I first crossed paths. He was quite a bit slower now and didn’t have the reflexes to ‘bolt’ anymore. His vision was failing and the once black fur on his face had turned white. Harlan had mellowed with age and didn’t seem to mind a stranger’s touch. I knew it was just a matter of time before Harlan would go to the big dog park in the sky but he seemed healthy and happy for now.

Then Harlan became increasingly short of breath. The veterinarian diagnosed him with enlarged heart, Congestive Heart Failure and Atrial Fibrillation. He suggested consulting with a Canine Cardiologist and felt that an Echocardiogram and Thoracentesis should be done.

Ka Ching.

I may have coughed up a lot of money for the ‘Doggie-Shrink’ but I was older and wiser now. This was going to cost a lot more than that. I told the vet that at Harlan's age, I wanted him to receive “medical management” (drugs) only. Harlan stayed overnight at the animal hospital in an oxygen cage. He received Lasix, Digoxin and Vasotec intraveneously and bounced back quite nicely. Upon checking out the vet’s bill, I expected it to be high but a thirty-day supply of oral Lasix, Digoxin and Vasotec for $120.00? As grateful as I was to the vet for curing Harlan, I was equally miffed with him about the drug charge.

When I returned to work, I asked one of the ER Doctors to write the same prescriptions for “Harlan Spotswood”at my address.

I wasn’t sure if I would get hassled by the (people) pharmacy staff if they were made aware that prescriptions were for a dog and I didn't want to take any chances, so I lied.

When I submitted the prescriptions, the nice lady behind the counter asked for “Mr Spotswood’s age, date of birth and insurance”.

I quickly tried to calculate ‘dog years’, but just as fast, I gave up and said “He’s 80”.

Harlan’s date of birth? Hmmmm. How about Valentine’s Day? “February 14th…can you help me figure out the year?” I asked smiling. She was happy to.

Insurance? I told her he was not insured. She then asked about Medicaid. Think fast. “Oh, he is my uncle from Canada, we’ll take care of the cost” I said. “Your prescriptions will be ready in one hour” she said. Dodged a bullet.

Oh, and the total cost of the prescriptions? $15.00.

Part 9  Harlan's End

The Harlan Chronicles 9

Harlan's End
Harlan slept a lot. He was too weak to walk very far and spent many hours in his bed. Frequently, before sunset Mr. Something would carry him to the car, drive him to the park, then carry him out to a quiet, grassy area where he could just ‘be’.

On one hand, it was really comforting to be able to have Harlan’s head rest on my lap while we hung out at the park in the sunset but on the other hand, I knew he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to.
We would stay until the sun went down and then carry Harlan back to the car again and go home.

Over the course of a few months, the medicines that Harlan was on did not seem to be working as well. His health was declining and he was becoming sleepier and weaker.

As I was not experienced in ‘end of life’ issues for dogs, Harlan and I returned to the animal clinic. I had a few questions…”Is he suffering?”

The vet’s answer would determine as to whether or not I would “put him down”. She didn’t think Harlan was in any distress, “just weak”. "Was Harlan was still eating, drinking and going potty?” He was. Seemingly pleased with my response, she said, “when any of those factors change, Harlan should be reassessed”.

My next question was the most difficult. “What do I do when he dies?” She understood my question and assured me that I could have Animal Control pick him up from my house where he would be brought to a group animal crematorium or I could bring Harlan to the clinic where they would take care of him personally and I would receive his ashes a few weeks later.

I just couldn’t allow myself to consider the Animal Control option. Harlan had become too precious.

It was a beautiful, sunny autumn morning. Mr. Something had come home from the Fire Station and gave Harlan a pork chop. After eating, Harlan walked into the family room and lay down on the floor.

He was gone.

What a life. What a dog.

But, my life with Harlan was not quite over...

Part 10  Harlan's Finale