Harry was fifteen. Old for a Jack Russell. Along with his canine dementia, he had spinal cord impingement and was unable to walk without help. In the last week or so, he couldn't get up or even stand. I like to think that we helped him as best we could. But he cried a lot. Even with the pain medication.
Two months ago, the Yarn Widower built him a wheelchair so he could still get outside and go for his walks. It gave Harry enough support so that we could mosey over to the fire hydrant and he could mark it as his. He seemed to like it, I think. He would patiently wait to be strapped in so he could gad about.
Nice wheels, Mister H!
He'd always been such an active guy. True to his terrier nature, he could chase the ball with the best of them. Often he would tire me out before he'd even dream of quitting. I think his eyesight and back legs failed him before his enthusiasm for the hunt waned. Squirrels and tennis balls the world over have less to fear now that Harry is gone.
He was a great friend and confidante. He made me happy when not much in this world made me happy. He chased away my loneliness and fear. He gave me comfort and unlimited love. I will always be grateful for him. No matter how much sadness I feel at his loss, I thank whatever gods may be for sending Harry my way. Rest well, sweet Harry. We'll meet again in the next life.
Harry Kim Schmidt