9-21-05

I don't remember the exact date when I met him.

It was sometime in January of 1994. I came home from Tulsa and found him and three other new-born puppies born to Maggie, a half birddog and half beagle dog I had gotten the year before as a puppy.

Maggie was not much at getting kept in a pen back in those days. She got in head, escaped from my backyard and a few months later, she had puppies.

I really don't know who the father was. All I know was he was a quarter birddog, a quarter beagle and half who knows what.

He and his liter mates were placed in a box where Maggie and I could keep a close watch on them. He stood out from the others because of his tendency to rattle off noise while sleeping.

I decided he sounded like a little motorcycle and named him "Harley". The three other puppies were given away.

I tried to give Harley away, but didn't have any luck. My brother took him for one day, but they both decided that wouldn't work and Harley was back the next day, joining Maggie as my dogs and friends.

He wasn't real fond of strangers or other dogs. Harley was pretty much a one-person dog. He and Maggie were about the best dogs anybody could ask for.

All they asked for was some food and attention. During the first few years, they were inside dogs, until I got married and they settled in outside.

They didn't much care for it, but they never complained. Unlike me. I missed my dogs.

Harley was an average-sized dog. Not built for speed and certainly not a show dog. Most of his hair was white but he had some black and brown mixed in. He loved to chase things, whether it was a ball, stick or whatever was handy.

He always surprised me by his ability to catch a frisbee in the air. Same thing with popcorn. There are many a shortstop playing in the major leagues who could have taken a lesson from Harley.

When he laid down on the kitchen tile, Harley would stick his front legs out to the front and stick the back ones straight out the back. Most dogs didn't share this sleeping position.

He loved to take walks in the pasture. Harley was the one who would always stay with me while Maggie tended to run off and chase whatever game could be found. I remember once when Harley caught a rat. Apparently the rat didn't like getting caught and scratched or bit Harley, who wasn't fond of getting bit. He tossed the rat up in the air about 10 feet high, then realized the rat was going to land on him and sped off.

Harley and Maggie slowly aged together, losing some of the puppy-like attitude, but never the loyalty of a good dog.

He always knew where I was whenever I was in the backyard. Harley would sit and watch me, always making sure everything was okay.

I could tell Harley was not doing well lately. Just a few weeks ago, I saw that he was getting really skinny. I altered his food, hoping that would help. He lost his appetite last Wednesday. Harley had been sick before, but always bounced back.

This time, he didn't. I was at a football game Friday night and worried about him. At halftime, I got the feeling something happened. Naturally, I blew it off as a worry.

As soon as the game was over, I hurried home and went out to check on him. Sometime while I was gone, he had crawled into his doghouse. Harley had been trying to get out when he passed on. Half his body was in the doghouse, his head and upper torso was outside.

I called his name, hoping it was a deep sleep, but knowing it wasn't. I touched him and realized that Harley was not in pain anymore.

Under a full moon, I buried him close to his pen, where Maggie stood, watching every move I made and wondering why Harley was no longer keeping her company.

A grown man should not be affected by the death of a dog. A person, yes. But not a dog. I guess I'm not grown in many ways as a part of me died that night, along with a friend I will never forget.