Amanda told me a while back that Harvey was having trouble getting around.  She even asked if I’d consider taking him if he didn’t get better, since my house doesn’t have stairs.  Nothing ever came of that, but she told me on Monday that he had stopped eating, even when she tried to feed him chicken.

On Tuesday, when I dropped Milly at the house, I spent a moment with Harvey.  He came slowly to the door when Amanda called him.  I could see his ribs a bit.  The orangeish hair on his face seemed whiter to me.  I was petting him and talking to him, and he wagged his tail a little and gave me a weak lick.  I noticed that his nose was very dry.

Amanda told me on Wednesday that the vet recommended putting him down.  It would be cruel to let him starve to death, and so an appointment was made for this morning.  By the time I’m writing this, Harvey should have already passed on.  I haven’t called or texted to check because I don’t want to interrupt Amanda and Milly in what I’m sure is a very emotional time, but I do plan to call later to see how Milly is dealing with it.  The only loss she’s suffered before was Bruce, but she was very young then.

Harvey was a good dog.  He loved chasing and running around with sticks.  He hated the lawnmower.  If you ran it while he was in the yard he’s crouch down on his front paws and lunge at it and jump away from it all while barking madly.  He was great with Milly.  She could lay on him, pull his wiry hair, crawl all over him and he’s never so much as utter a warning growl.

Milly told Amanda her biggest worry was that she would forget Harvey.  Of course, it was pointed out that she still remembered Bruce.  That’s always a worry, forgetting how much you care about someone, when they are no longer with us, but you learn that while the pain eventually ebbs, you can look back with a bittersweet smile on the pictures in your mind of the time you spent together.

Harvey wasn’t my dog the past few years, but he was a great, friendly, beloved pet and it grieves me that he is gone.