Everybody Loves Herri

When Mackenzie was three (so thirteen years ago), we had finally settled into our own home here in Columbia, so it was time to get a dog. We went to the dog pound and I settled on a little cairn terrier, but I didn't want to make a quick decision. We left that day, and over the next several hours I got excited about that little guy, but the next morning he was gone. In his place a little black and gray lab-looking puppy, and he wound up being the one we took home.

I named him Herri, after James Herriott, one of my favorite authors. We often called him Herri-otter because he loved swimming in the lake at my parents house. He actually turned out to be an Aussie mix. He potty trained in a week, never whined at night in his crate, never barked, and stayed by my side when on the trail, and most all the time. My mom used to say, "He certainly is your dog." Although he certainly loved them, too, and being at the lake. Long story short, he was the world's best dog!

It became a saying in my family and among friends, "Everybody loves Herri." He was such a good dog. My Aunt Shelly still proclaims "He saved my life!", which while a stretch, is still a good story. On summer day, down at the lake, we were all on the dock, Herri included. Shelly went up to get something to drink, and all the sudden Herri streaked off the dock. Just as he got to the sidewalk, where Shelly was by then, the other dog was at her, too, apparently ready to attack. The other dog had come from a neighbors house, and had always been disliked by my family. Herri took a bloody bite to his ear, but he was fine, and Shelly lived.

I got the scare of my life when the guy I was seeing at the time tried to kill Herri. :) We still laugh about it, but we were lucky. Dave took Herri on a run with him (or vice versa) on a 90 degree day, and they ran on my subdivision roads. When they returned, Herri collapsed, foaming at the mouth, panting, the whites of his eyes blood red. I instinctively pulled him outside, and saturated him with cold water from the garden hose. As he cooled down, he seemed to be ok, but it took him a couple weeks to fully recover. My friend Kathleen didn't get so lucky, and lost her dog the same way last summer. She cried, and still feels aweful, at not knowing (then) that you can't run with a dog in the summer heat, especially on a hard surface. Since dogs don't sweat, panting is the only way they can cool themselves. With their nose close and down toward pavement, the heat radiating up is much more than we can comprehend. So I am now an expert on running with a dog in bitter cold, and in summer heat!

All these memories came about because a friend of mine lost his dog last week, unexpectedly. Howdy was only four-years-old, and my friend was devestated. As you talk to people, we are not alone in the loss we feel when a pet dies, and it becomes evident the special relationship and bond that can form. I remember watching Johnny Carson one night many years ago, and Jimmy Stewart was on and recited a poem about his dog, Beau. I Googled it the other day, and watched it, and once again, it made me cry (and laugh). It's worth the watch:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUNJjIwlHk8

Rest in peace, Howdy.