Eleven Years, One Month, and Twelve Days

This morning, we traveled three and a half hours to my sister-in-law’s. Hershey and Guinness were extremely excited to be going on a trip! He couldn’t wait to get in the car. I had to barricade Hershey in the house to prevent him from trying to jump into the car prematurely. Once in, Hershey settled behind the driver, resting his chin on the back of Daddy’s seat so that he could watch where we were going. Guinness was bouncing around the back, but his favorite spot was touching Hershey – lying beside him, sitting so close he was almost on him, straddling him, or biting at his dog tags. At one point, while Guinness was lying peacefully snuggled up to him, Hershey momentarily gave up his preferred peeking position to rest his head on Guinness’ back. Unfortunately, I was not fast enough with the camera.

Hershey adored his Aunt Janet and pranced up to the porch when he saw her. We had a fun day of running errands with her. The final chore was cleaning up the graves of my parents, Etha and William Henry Herne – after whom William Henry Hershey was named. Before we reached Janet’s house, his health commenced deteriorating. Perhaps it was the mushrooms he ate two days ago. Perhaps his body was tired of struggling to be healthy.

He was, without doubt, a treasured chocolate lab extraordinaire. No dog could surpass his matchless canine-ality. In the beginning, he was the worst puppy on this face of this earth. He made mincemeat of the BBQ hoses, dug up buried electrical wires, destroyed my flowering plants, ripped the veneer off the kitchen cabinets three times, ate a hole in the wall, flunked puppy class, and on and on. Then he moved to California and literally became the perfect dog overnight! He was a stellar student in intermediate and advanced obedience classes, earning the right to travel everywhere I went, and to go for walks off leash. He has been on television twice: Once in Chicago on the travel report segment. I sent in a picture of my red Grand Cherokee showing a laughing Hershey hanging out the back window with a description of “Why I love my car.” The second time on a Toronto news cast. He and Grant strolled the irises at the Royal Botanical Gardens after Daddy had completed an interview.

There are myriad awesome stories to be told about him which must be published in a biography. One of my favorites is when he was to have his blood tested before his heartworm medicine was prescribed. As the vet entered the room toting the equipment to draw blood, he leaned his right side against the wall, lifted his front left leg, and turned his head to the wall. Today he valiantly tried to fight his failing body. Either Guinness was pooped from his roaring day, or he sensed that his very sick brother needed peace and quiet on the way home. My poor baby, Hershey, was miserable. It was an easy decision. In fact, Hershey took control of the situation and succumbed while Daddy carried him from the car.

Daddy says, "All Dogs Go to Heaven." I have no doubt of that. Hershey is an angel now. I hope that my Dad is playing fetch with him.

Grant is going to miss his napping buddy as he sets his eyeglasses on the living room coffee table signaling to Hershey that it is time for “an eye rest” with Daddy. I will feel a stab everytime I pick up my car keys from the basket to realize that no eager shadow will appear at my side. How will I endure not having a phone call interrupted by a fuzzy imp demanding a treat? Who will teach Guinness to be extraordinary?