Some of you may remember when, two years ago, I brought home a ball of fluff named Henry. This happy, always smiling Golden Retriever became my loyal companion, and at times, he felt like my only friend. He was by my side during so many tough times, always full of unconditional love and a calmness that made me feel so secure. He also changed the lives of so many kids – at first terrified of dogs, as most people are in their culture, they came to love him and trust him. So many times I would find the kids at school playing with him, brushing him, or even just sitting and talking to him. He was always patient and kind, and willing to put up with numerous hugs and other well-meaning tortures. He was the head of what we called our “animal therapy team” – Beasley and Moosie, the other two dogs we added to our family, along with my abnormally friendly and child-loving cat, Pickles. These four trot faithfully behind me to school every morning, spreading out and looking for any kid who might need a friend (or who might have food). Each night when my kids went to bed, the dogs would sit patiently for the bedtime story and prayers, then Henry would check over each kid when they were tucked in, nosing them and making them scream with laughter. Then he would come out and collapse beside me with a sigh…and the two of us would give each other a look that seemed to say, “These kids…what are we going to do with them?” 
One night, Beasley disappeared. She was outside with Henry when I went to bed, laying on the front porch as usual, keeping watch on the house. The next morning, she was gone. We searched the mountains behind our property for hours, but found nothing. We assumed she had either been stolen, or was dead – she would never run away.
A few days later, I went for my afternoon run, taking Henry and Moosie along as usual. The two of them ran happily in and out of the tall grass, full of energy as usual. When I got back, the kids helped me give Henry a good bath, with twenty little hands scrubbing wildly, making mohawks and spikes in his soapy fur. After a good towel dry and a bounce on the trampoline (his favorite) he went running off, probably in search of something smelly to roll in. That night when I went to bed he wasn’t on the porch…I was a bit worried, but just figured he was off wandering or chasing a monkey.
The next morning I opened the front door and saw him lying on the grass. I knew right away he was dead – something about the way he was just laying there, and he didn’t move when I called him. I ran outside and knelt down beside him, tears filling my eyes. “Henry?” I said in a small voice. I ran my hand over his side – it was cold and he felt stiff, but his fur was still soft and clean from his bath the night before. I buried my head in his side, sobbing, as the kids stood around us, unsure of what to do. He had been poisoned – something that is fairly common in South Africa, as people tend to hate dogs and either do it just out of spite, or because they are planning a break in and want the dogs out of the way. It was then that we realized this had likely also been Beasley’s fate – but the people dumped Henry’s body in the front yard so we wouldn’t go looking. It was a really hard time for me…I felt like I had lost my best friend. We buried Henry down at the school, with a cross made from sticks and his old collars on his grave, along with other gifts put there by the kids – flowers, drawings, even a slice of bread and butter one day. Dogs are such an example of patience and unconditional love…he will be missed so much.
