If you’ve been around my blog for a very long time, you might remember this guy. Hank. The impossibly sweet Golden Retriever.

I was watching Buddah tear up and down the hall, chasing Max, chasing his own tail, pouncing on anything that so much as twitched, and the thought crossed my mind that Hank would have loved Buddah. He would have laid there quietly, just watching, and he would have let Buddah climb all over him. When he was younger, Hank used to feed some kittens that were born under our house; we’d put his food out, and he’d wait until all 6 or 7 of them had their fill before he’d eat.

Trailing on that thought was today’s date. May 28. Hank died two years ago today.

I still miss him. Honestly, I don’t miss all the dog hair covering the furniture, I don’t miss all the doggy landmines in the back yard, but I do miss him and his goofy, always happy ways.

Obviously, we’re pet people. Looking back, we spent most of May 2003 totally focused on Hank and his declining health; I even cooked his meals, something I wasn’t even doing for us. Two-three years before that we spent a year focused sharply on Dusty, our cat, trying to keep her comfortable and happy through a major heart problem that eventually cost her her life.

And here we are now…focused on two furballs who may or may not learn to peacefully co-exist. I have high hopes; right now they’re napping just a few feet from each other, and earlier Max stole Buddah’s crunchy treat right out from under his nose. Buddah meows in a squeaky, not yet developed voice for Max to play, and Max is starting to swat at Buddah any time he gets too close for comfort.

Hank would have loved watching the commotion.

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