I am sad to inform all those who might have known Henry the Australian cattle dog, whom I adopted from 
the Los Angeles SPCA in 1992, that he passed quietly today. His resume was an impressive one. A friend recently reminded me that he was a “most excellent ring bearer” at my wedding. He even claimed “International Traveler” in his CV, having visited my husband’s family in Canada. Under near-death experiences, he could list “ingested rat poisoning,” “ingested antifreeze,” “overdosed on Rimadyl,” having broken into his liver-flavored meds and eaten the contents of the whole bottle (My husband, Marc, induced Henry with hydrogen pyroxide to vomit up the pills — all over the back of Marc’s station wagon). Among Henry’s gastro-intestinal challenges: He once ate 18 ounces of raisins. Another time, the night before my mother’s funeral, he mowed through a box of See’s candy. And yet another event had him polish off a half-dozen Cliff Bars, most of which he pooped out in the parking lot of the Nordic Center at Snoqualmie Pass, Washington. Knowing Henry’s indiscriminating tastes, we kept our kitchen garbage bin chained in a latched cupboard. Despite the fact that his people couldn’t keep up with his fast-and-furious lifestyle, Henry lived to a ripe 16 years and 8 months.
I’m sure he’s looking down at us right now, wagging his raccoon-like tail up and down and in circles. He must be amazed that in 16 years and 8 months I never discovered his secret. Whenever I left the house for more than 5 minutes, he transformed his dew claws into primary digits. Then he thumbed through all the cupboards, especially the chained-up garbage, which was in fact his favorite snack. The messier the better.
Covert thumbs or not, I miss my fur-shedding, mess-making muse.
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With respect to RIMADYL ‘overdose’ you may be interested in learning that even very light doses of RIMADYL can be deadly. Feel free to check out http://rimadyldeath.com for the symptoms caused by and/or associated with RIMADYL and other “NSAIDS” [non-steroid anti-inflammatory drugs].
Bon voyage, Henry…now free to roam in that great pantry in the
sky, and dine to his hearts desire .
He was a Good Dog.
Aw, Henry. We’ll miss you. Have fun in the Happy Hunting Ground with Scooter, Jill, Teddy, Tammy, and Snickers. Hang in there, Ann and Marc.
Bye, Henry. Now you’re in the place where all cats are slow and nobody ever says “No!”
Say hi to Stella when you see her. She’ll probably still try to bite you, but that’s HER special place too.
[...] I read my writer friend Ann’s, loving, funny piece Goodbye, Henry, it reminded me of my need to write creatively about our dog Capone, when he died a few years [...]