One Year Ago Today

One year ago today Angie and I made the most difficult decision we ever had to make in our lives. Just 13 days short of his twelfth birthday we asked a veterinarian to inject a member of our family with a poison that would stop his heart and put him to death.

I'm not even sure I can keep typing this, it is so hard to write. Hughie came to us in the summer of 1996, a young and lively little Basset Hound, selected from a liter amongst his eleven brothers and sisters. He established himself amongst the others because of a beautiful inverted "Y" marked upon his smooth, hairless belly. The coat of arms that I created for my fraternal crest while in college consisted of this same inverted "Y" so I knew that this little dog was destined to be part of our family. Looking back, the $250 I paid for that dog was paltry compared to everything he brought to Angie, Megan, Gracie and I. Surely to have him back for one day I would pay ten times that amount.

Sir Houston Hamlet was his full pedigree name but everyone knew him as Hugh or Hughie. He was a dog that drew the attention of everyone who saw him. If ever he got loose from his chain or his fenced in backyard we could expect countless phone calls from neighbors who knew our beautiful son.

There was never a more gentle dog who loved for strangers to come over and scratch his long floppy ears, or pat his head. He would look at them with eyes that would convey his gratitude why pleading for them to never stop. If you would kneel down he would reward you by rolling over so you could scratch his broad chest and chubby belly.

Hugh was a dream of a dog. He knew when you were sick, or upset, or lonely and like any friend, would stand vigil by your side, giving you the attention that you needed.

The day after Balin was born Hughie hurt his back. We think it happened in the middle of the night when he had tried to jump up on the couch so he could roll over on his back, his preferred method of sleeping. From that day on he was never the same. He lost the ability to walk without assistance and it was so sad to see him attempting to drag his crippled back end around.

I remember putting him in the van to take him to the vet. I feared that January 24th was his last day. I had picked him up from Russ and Carol's house and on the way to the vet, drove through our tiny town of Woodburn. I say that Woodburn was our town, but I knew that it was actually Hughie's town. For all those years he had allowed us to live there. He let us walk him all over our community so he could continuously mark his territory. Hugh loved living there and we could tell that when we moved into Fort Wayne that he slipped into a depression that he only came out of when we drove him to one of the large parks in town for a long a leisurely walk along the river. It was here that you could find the pup again. I cherish the memories of everyone of those walks. We used to celebrate our strolls by stopping at a Speedway gas station where I would buy a large cappachino and he would enjoy two warm and tasty hot dogs. He used to sit in the car, his head held high, watching me through the front window of the store as I got his treat and went to the cashier to pay. As soon as I left the store he would stand up and move to the driver's side door, blocking my way into the car until I pushed him aside so I could get in. I just couldn't break up those hot dogs quickly enough.

A year ago Hughie got so bad that we couldn't justify watching him suffer any more. He was hurt. He couldn't take his walks and we knew that if there was anything he lived for, it was his walks. We knew the time had come. We took him into Woodburn, and once again I drove his favorite walking route. Angie and I spoke soothingly to him about all the great times we had enjoyed together. As we did we both cried, knowing that keeping on earth would be selfish.

At around 7:00pm we took off Hugh's collar and kneeling next to him, kissed him on his ample jowls. Scratching his ears I told him how much I loved him and how much I would miss him. Even at that time I had no idea it would be this bad. Every single day since then I have thought about him. Even now, I have tears rolling down my cheek as I write this and think back to that day. I really thought I was over it, but I'm not. I don't think I ever will be.

Hughie was my friend. Hughie was my son. Looking back I wonder what life would have been like without him. Now that a year has past I can honestly say that those twelve years would have been empty without that beautiful boy. Balin is my son, but those who know me and my family know that I had another son that died when he was just shy of his twelfth birthday.

Every night as Angie and I lie there in bed we say goodnight to Hughie, just as we did when he was alive. We tell him to sleep good and that we love him. Occasionally we will share a memory and laugh together when we think of something humorous about the boy. When I roll over I reach down beside the bed, as I used to do, to scratch his ears and pat his head. I feel so empty when I find that he isn't there.

I miss my dog. He was the greatest friend anyone could ever ask for. May 2nd is a bad day.