My Man

It’s time you get to know the man in my life. He is short, strong, and agile. And he is covered with the softest, glossiest black hair.

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Truthfully, Hank was a Daddy’s boy. It’s easy to see how that happened. Tim was the one who insisted that we adopt Hank despite my resistance, not because he wasn’t adorable, but it just didn’t seem like the right time.

Tim is the one who had treats in his pockets, always. You know, for “training purposes.” Hank was so tuned into this, if anyone, friend or foe, ever made a move to put their hand in their pocket, Hank would sit down directly in front of them, come to attention, make eye contact, and wait for his reward.

Tim is the one who invited Hank onto the furniture. We both agreed to train Hank from puppyhood that his place was on the floor because we were told he was going to be a “real big dog.” Tim would often wake in the morning, look down to the floor at Hank and say, “grow, grow!” Well, he made it to his max weight of thirty pounds. In part this was a good enough reason to give in and bring him up to the couch. But it really only happened when I was living apart from Tim and Hank for 9 months while working in Phoenix. Somewhere in that timeline when I came back to visit and found Hank on the couch and the bed, I said to Tim, “what’s this?” His response, “well, it’s lonely around here.” And that was that.

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Tim was the one who allowed the dog kisses. When Tim would start one of his new home workout routines, Hank loved it. As soon as Tim was on the floor, stretching, planking or doing sit ups, Hank was right there by his head, providing support and encouragement with licks. Tim would say, “Hank’s my Coach!”

Tim was the one who occasionally broke the “no-human-food rule.” I suppose this probably started the same time the no furniture rule was dismantled. Tim said that Hank was his sous chef, and he was by Tim’s feet for the thousands of meals that were cooked. I think we ate steak or some other cut of beef a few times a week just because of Hank. Tim said, “Hank is a man, and he loves raw beef.”  He would take all the good trimmings off the meet, mince them perfectly and place them in Hank’s bowl. I am not sure which of them was more pleased with this.

Hank was Tim’s shadow. They loved each other.

So now what? This dog-faced boy. So smart. So loving. So aware. He lost his best buddy, but he didn’t seem to miss a beat. This breaks my heart in an unusual way. Does he think Tim will be back? Certainly, he can still smell him. His things are all around him. I often imagine the reunion. What would happen if Tim walked in the door? I know I would just drop to my knees and weep as I watched them greet each other.

The last time Hank saw Tim was in Hospice. They were gracious enough to allow Hank in. Our wonderful neighbors, Katie and Tim, were regular caretakers of Hank when we traveled. They gathered all the paperwork from our vet to satisfy the Hospice rules and Hank came to visit. He was there for our wedding laying at my feet.

Hank was very confused when we placed him on the bed with Tim. He gave him “the stiff arm,” as Tim would have said. I wish we would have tried harder to make sure Tim knew Hank was there and to get Hank to relax, but we did what we could. Hank was worried and concerned. I am grateful still that they were together.

Since then, Hank, my little man, has been MY shadow. He hikes with me. He rides shotgun. He lays by my yoga mat. He dries my tears. He talks to me. He sleeps on Tim’s side of the bed. And he knows I don’t carry treats in my pocket, and he seems okay with that. He is always waiting by the door when I come home. This is a new behavior for him. He never did this in our previous home. I have a feeling though that he is not waiting for me.

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