Animals
For Love of Henry
by Trish Hubschman
There’s nothing more wonderful than the unconditional love of a dog. I desperately needed that again in 2019 after the deaths of my two dogs, Hope and Charlie. Hope died in January from bladder cancer. Charlie took a stroke a few months later. I was devastated beyond anything imaginable. I couldn’t stop crying. I could barely eat or sleep. I could barely get my head off the pillow in the morning and didn’t want to. I lost my two best friends. For the previous ten years, while my husband went to work every day, it was just me, Hope and Charlie.
But I knew I had to survive, even if I didn’t want to. I wanted, needed, to see playful, happy, loving dogs. “Let’s go to North Shore Animal League,” I suggested to my husband. He was also devastated by Hope and Charlie’s deaths. “We don’t have to adopt another dog right now, It’s probably too soon. But I want to play with the dogs.”
Well, we did adopt a new pooch that day. Henry licked my fingers when I poked them into his cage. I knew at once I wanted him. He’s so sweet, loving, playful. He knows about his older brother and sister, Hope and Charlie. I told him. He even knows about his Uncle Cookie, our first dog, who he’s the spitting image of, though smaller.
Henry. Image @ Trish Hubschman
A few days before Christmas, we moved from Long Island, New York, to Easton, Pennsylvania. Henry got his own home. It was a fresh start. The new house has a big front window. Henry loves sitting on the back of the sofa and staring out the window. In the first few months, because of his long nails, Henry ripped the sofa, and for fun, he pulled out stuffing and tossed it on the floor. It was a mess. I put Henry’s behavior down to adjustment. We were all trying to do that.
“I think it’s time to get rid of the sofa,” I told Kevin. The sectional was less than a year old.
Henry and I have a nightly, before bedtime, ritual. As I’m climbing the stairs, I call out to him. “Henry, let’s go upstairs to see Daddy.” Henry is usually nestled on the sofa keeping an eye on me. “Come on, Henry,” I call again. This time, I hear the tags on his collar jingle and he bounds up the stairs. He’s in Kevin’s computer room before I get there. I sit on the floor and reach out to take Kevin’s socks off. He can do that himself, but we make a game of it for Henry. He thinks we’re playing. He does a body block between me and Kevin’s feet or sits on them. It’s hilarious and frustrating.
“I’m going into the bedroom now,” I announce. Henry’s already in there when I get there. He’s lying against my pillows. “Please move?” I ask. He ignores me. The first time I’m always polite. “Get off my pillows!” I demand. He doesn’t budge. “Your dog is in my way,” I call out to Kevin.
He comes into the room, takes Henry’s paws and slides him down to the other end of the bed. Last night, after this routine, i realized that the fan on Kevin’s nightstand was off, so i slid over in bed to turn it on. When I turned back, Henry was again on my pillows. This is ridiculous!
Henry likes getting hugs and kisses in the middle of the night while we’re all supposed to be asleep. He plants himself on top of me or Kevin, wakes us both up. We’re, of course, happy to comply, but it’s often difficult to fall back to sleep, at least for me and Kevin. When Henry gets his fill of attention, he plops down between us and is in a deep sleep-in seconds. How is that fair?
Henry makes me smile and laugh. He’s a good dog. At times he can also be stubborn, disobedient, cranky. He has such a human personality. I love him so much and I know he loves me too.
About the Author
Trish Hubschman has published three books with America Star Books: a short story collection of time travel and romance stories called Through Time and the first two books in the Tracy Gayle/Danny Tide series: The Fire and Unlucky Break. Trish attended college at Long Island University’s Southampton campus, earning a BA degree in English with an emphasis in writing. She lives on Long Island with her husband and two dogs. Her website is https://www.dldbooks.com/hubschman/.
