Today would have been Hanibal’s 14th birthday.
No, it’s not as bad as you may think. Hanibal was my dog, part Boston Terrier, part Cockapoo (although I could never see the Cockapoo part). I lost him last year to Cushings Disease just before his 13th birthday. You may think I’m crazy remembering a dog, but losing him was like losing my best friend.
Hanibal started out as a pet for my son and daughter, and somehow turned into being my dog. He did love my son and he tolerated my daughter. My daughter teased him to no end…nothing abusive and mostly funny, but he never forgot any of it.
You could never take him for a ride..he made so much noise you would think he was dying in pain. The only place you could take him was to the vets office because you had to. You would think he would quiet down once we got inside the office, but no, not Hanibal. We were even asked to wait outside once (it was a nice day). I always said if I got pulled over with Hanibal in the truck, the police would escort us (lights flashing and all) to the vets office thinking poor Hanibal was dying.
No one could even touch each other when he was around. He would start barking and get a hold of the pants leg of the person being touched and start pulling you away. Needless to say, it was a rare pair of pants without teeth holes in the bottom of the legs. You could never teach him to go after the person doing the touching.
You could also never teach him to roll over. Sure, he would sit, stay, shake hands, and lay down on verbal command and hand command. He could however, catch chicken legs. Chicken legs are dog treats. Every time I say chicken legs, people think I mean real chicken legs. They are lamb and rice bones shaped like chicken legs.
Hanibal had allergies, so you had to watch what you fed him. He was also on medications for most of his life. He knew he took his pills after he went out in the morning. If for some reason I forgot his pills, he would be sitting in the kitchen by the drawer where his pills were kept just waiting for me to give them to him.
You could never leave food around him. He would eat anything. Onions, carrots, olives. Whatever would drop to the floor, he ate. You never had to worry about crumbs, he got every last one. He was at my Grandparents house one day. My Grandfather dropped the carton of milk, and Hanibal licked up every drop. We once barbecued a huge piece of sausage, put it on the tray, brought it in the house, and put it on the table. Well, he got it. I thought he would get sick, but nope, he just went on his merry way.
The beginning of last year he started drinking hugh amounts of water and having accidents. Hanibal never had accidents. We had to leave him once, and it was 36 hours before we could get home again. I thought for sure there would some type of mess, but again, nope, nothing. So, off we went for our noisy ride to the vets and the beginning of the end.
The accidents became more frequent (he would just stand there and look at me with a look that said “what’s happening?” There were the days he couldn’t eat. There was more medication which he took with no trouble. There were the days he could barely walk, and I had to hold him up…there were the times he would walk into the walls…there were the nights I stayed up all night with him…and finally there was the night that I knew it was time.
We took our last ride to the vets on April 10, 2009, and it was silent for the first time.
