As I sit writing about the loss that we feel, I admit it comes with almost a feeling of guilt. There are others who have lost so much more than us: families who have lost loved ones, those who are suffering from horrible illnesses or injuries, a friend who recently lost her oldest son, taken from this life far too young.

We can’t possibly know or understand what they feel, and our hearts hurt for them. But to us, our loss is painful. Without children, our dogs have become, in a way, our children. They are our family. They are who we look forward to coming home to each night.

Harley liked to live life his own way. We did our best to try to teach him to live by our rules, but he was his own man. His life had gotten off to a rough start, but when he came to us, he brought something that we’d been missing for some time and really didn’t even realize.

Harley was a Doofus Maximus. In other words, a goofball. A lummox. A dingbat. He brought us joy, laughter, and silliness. Over-the-top boisterous fun, which we hadn’t had for a long time.

Jimmy’s heart really had never healed after losing his beloved Maggie. You see, the other girls are sort of Momma’s girls. He really didn’t have a buddy anymore.

And then Harley came along. For a few weeks, there was unrest until everyone figured out their job  in our household. Once that happened, it came easy: Harley looked after Jimmy, Ekko looked after me, and Charra looked after both of them. And for the most part, we had peace.

Every day, Jimmy rejoiced that he “had a wiener in the house!”

Little did I know it was a ploy.

He’d been out once already. Our potty ritual was for me to let him outside, and I would stand on the front porch and watch. Once he realized I watched, he would watch to see if I was watching. It became a game.

So for the second time this morning, he acted very excited to go outside. It was an emergency! He needed to go now! I assumed he needed to poop.

I opened the door. He shot past me off the porch, running full speed toward the front of the yard as if he were after something. Knowing he wouldn’t listen to me (as in the past), I sighed and walked to the kitchen, stuck my coffee in the microwave, immediately walking back to the front door. That probably took 20 seconds or less.

I thank God that he protected me from seeing it.

By the time I got to the front door, it had already happened. I saw him lying in the road, the vehicle just past him slowly moving, then speeding up and driving away.

It didn’t register.

“What is he playing with that he’s lying in the road?” I thought.

I called to him.

He raised the front of his body up, barked twice and yelped, not so much in pain, but more as in telling to hurry up, he needed help.

Realizing what happened, I ran to him as fast as I could. My worst nightmare would be seeing him ran over yet again right in front of my eyes. Our yard seemed to be huge, but in reality it probably took less than 15 seconds for me to reach him.

By the time I reached him, he was taking his last breaths. I couldn’t believe it. Surely this was a bad dream.

Dragging him off the road, I called Jimmy and laid there snuggled up against him (pajamas and all), until Jimmy could get here to pick him up.

A neighbor, whose kindness I am grateful for, turned around and waited with me until Jimmy came. Several vehicles stopped, but there was  nothing to be done.

My heart hurt for my husband. His heart hurt for me. We talked about every hour or two, because we didn’t know what else to do.

Harley made Jimmy smile again. He finally had a dog of his own, a buddy. They were inseparable. I knew he would feel the loss acutely.

Thankfully, we are not “what if” people. What is, is.

We all suffer setbacks. But to torture yourself doesn’t change anything. All it does is make you miserable. Life will always hand you lemons, and sometimes it makes you feel weary, as if you don’t want to go on.

But the quality of your life and your character are determined by how you react to things.

You see, we believe that things happen the way they are supposed to. We don’t always understand them, and may not for years. But at some point, it all makes sense. By no means does it hurt any less. But our faith helps provide us perspective and logic.

I have experienced premonitions in the past that have always preceded a loss.

I didn’t remember until this evening that I’d had somewhat of an ominous feeling the last few days. I couldn’t explain it, and it wasn’t terribly intense. Just a feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Our friend Jenny (who also happens to be our veterinarian) came by to bring us a card this evening and to offer her condolences

“I don’t understand why God would give us something to fill such a void only to take it away,” I said tearfully.

“Because he needed you,” she said wisely. “He lived a wonderful life with you that he most likely wouldn’t have had otherwise. Not many people would have been willing to take him  and his situation on. And in spite of your best efforts to train him, to calm him down, he wanted to live life his way.”

And just like that, it all made sense.

Our time with Harley was way too short. We had him less than a year, and he was only 15 months old. And to quote my husband, “he lived life full bore until it was over.”

We all should be so lucky. And at the end of the day, it’s about him and not us.

Thank you Harley, for all that you gave us. I’m so glad we were able to share our lives with you. We’ll miss you always.