HARRY

Eleven years  ago I brought home a tiny little puppy which ( due to my children's obsession with Harry Potter ) we named Harry. Harry was an experiment, and by that I mean we were trying to find something, anything that would exhaust our youngest and make her sleep!

I underestimated the impact this puppy would have on our family life. As the kids grew he grew with them. He watched endless dance rehearsals, chased balls he never returned, spoke to us in his growly voice and even had his toenails painted once or twice. He was better behaved than both kids on car trips and had an obsession with yogurt.

I believe the dog knew I had breast cancer before I did. He began to follow me constantly and growled ferociously if anyone so much as looked in my direction. This was nothing unusual to most, but to us it was strange as Harry rarely barked.Once my diagnosis was confirmed, Harry became even more protective. If I so much as wanted to hang out a load of washing, he would do a thorough reconnaissance of the backyard before deeming it safe for me to proceed.

While at the washing line one day I started speaking to a young guy working on rebuilding a fence between us and our neighbors. Harry tolerated these workmen as long as they stayed on their side of the fence . The young guy thought this was funny and decided to test the dog out. He stepped one metre into our back garden and Harry reacted immediately by biting him on the shin. The young guy was horrified and looked for words of comfort from his boss. The boss was doubled over with laughter and he decreed that the dog needed a tetanus after biting his employee. Needless to say his employee was NOT impressed.

Over the years Harry was part of every major family event. Once we went overseas for six weeks and left him in doggy daycare. When we came back he snubbed us and refused to "talk" to us for days. We tried never to leave him alone again.

So it's hard after a lifetime of love and devotion to be faced with the fact that Harry may not be with us much longer. I finally succumbed to the gnawing feeling that something was wrong  and took him to the vet. He hates the vet and so do I now  that he's told me my fur baby has cancer.  

Telling the girls that Harry has cancer was just as hard as telling them I had cancer. The vacant looks followed by the tears followed by the locking in rooms was an uncomfortably familiar pattern.

How do you decide what to do in such a situation? What choice is there when you're choosing between euthanasia, steroids that will make him uncomfortable or just simply letting nature take its course? How can you decide, when it's your long term buddy staring back at you and wagging his tail?

I know he's had a good life and it looks like his job here is soon done. Love and loyalty have no boundaries when given to you by a dog. We will miss him so much.