It has been a long time since I have written here. For months I have tossed around the idea of getting back to my little blog, but I haven’t made the time. But today, in honor of a 35 pound bundle of terror, I feel compelled to write; to finish the story of Hank.
Hank joined us 13 years ago, a Christmas gift from Greg. He earned the name Hank, because from the beginning he was a little shit, in all the best ways. (Southpark fans will recognize the character, Hankey the Christmas poo.) In 13 years he shaped our lives in so many ways. With Thanksgiving around the corner, I want to take a quick moment to give thanks to the demon beagle who added so much to our family.
The dog could sleep anywhere.
Thank you Hank, for being a top notch garbage can tester. Over the years we have tested various trash cans, all with claims of being pet proof. And yet, no matter how dog-resistant the cans claimed to be, Hank always found a way.
Thank you Hank, for introducing us to all of our neighbors. No matter where we have lived, Hank made sure he introduced himself to the neighborhood; helping himself to our neighbors trashcans as well. Very rarely was there a door that could keep him out for long. He would let himself in as they brought in their groceries or took out their trash. When that failed, a well placed paw or two on a doorknob and Hank was in. Just a few weeks ago we were stopped by a neighbor, introducing themselves to us they mentioned that Hank had been in their house a couple of times. He helped himself to their dog’s food, sniffed out a trashcan and then escaped back from whence he came; the one beagle welcoming committee.
Thank you Hank, for making us amateur vet techs. We now know what to do when a dog ingests an entire container of double dark chocolate brownies or when a dog eats a glass Christmas ornament. We can handle a canine emergency when a dog eats 2 pounds of raw sausage and when they eat an entire rope toy. In fact, we can tackle almost any dog ingestion emergency. Thank you for teaching us how to properly show grace under pressure.
Hank has a long history of sharing a bed with his family.
Thank you Hank, for being a snuggly foot warmer on cold nights. Your determination to get under the covers by pawing at us until we lifted the blankets only highlights your instinct to help us out, regardless of what we wanted. When a well placed paw wouldn’t work, barking at us until we relented only shows how important it was for us to let you “help” us. In your later years, your proclivity for hopping from our bed, to Jack’s and then to Maddie’s only shows your willingness to spread your love. Even when your 35 pound frame managed to take up more than half of the bed.
To that end, thank you for scaring away any potential threat to our well being as we slept. One can only assume that the lack of night time prowlers can only be attributed to your “old man” snoring and your toxic farts. No bad guys would dare darken our doorstep with such a stench.
Thank you Hank for helping us clear the table as soon as our backs were turned. You efficiency at scraping plates was second only to your ability to go from being sound asleep to hopping, silently, onto the table and getting to work. The dishwasher will have to work extra hard without you to help “pre-clean” the plates whenever we turn around.
Thank you for being a semi-willing Halloween beagle, acting as the perfect accessory to a young girl’s Halloween dreams. You have been a frog to a little princess, a squirrel, a monkey and a devil; which wasn’t really a costume but more of a reflection of your impish ways.
Goodbye demon beagle. We love you.
And finally, thank you Hank for being an amazing dog; even if you thought you were really a person. For thirteen years you have made our life more interesting. You have licked away tears from ouchies, from skinned knees to broken hearts. You have made us laugh, when you were good and when you were bad. You have made friends all over, with countless friends having their own “can you believe Hank” stories.
Last night you left us, with a demon-beagle shaped hole in our hearts. Our trash cans will go unmolested and our beds will be more spacious, in all the worst ways. They say that only the good die young, which may account for your thirteen years with us on the planet… but you were the best “bad” dog we could ever have hoped for. Thank you for being a part of our lives. Have fun tipping trashcans in the sky.
Leave a Comment so far
Leave a comment
a life just ordinary 