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Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
Harley was our first cherished rescue dog, and no one forgets their first love, whether it has two legs or four. He was an energetic seven-year-old yellow Labrador retriever. He was also an affectionate, master-shedding machine that showed no interest in pleasing us. Harley had a trouble-loving heart and two monkeys with a banjo in his head instead of a functioning brain. He lived enthusiastically and never looked back to see the train wreck he had left behind.
Although Harley was very friendly and did not have a bad bone in his body, he did not come with an off switch. We took Harley to our veterinarian twice in the first month because we were convinced he was deaf. The vet reassured us Harley was not deaf, just stubborn.
We also discovered, quite early, that Harley was a humper. Random pillows, couches, the cat’s post, or anything he could get his front legs around were fair game for his humping follies. He tried to hump our eight-year-old niece, and when I tried to get Harley off her back, she said, “It’s okay, Aunt Tracy; I love it when Harley hugs me.”
We decided to take Harley to obedience classes. Of course, Harley barked so much during the first class that he threw up in the gym. The trainer recommended that the participants conduct the session outside for the second class because “it may help that barking dog from last week.” It didn’t help, and it became the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.
As the class proceeded outdoors, I noticed children playing baseball in the field beside us. At the start, the other dog owners, as usual, stood in a circle with their dogs quietly sitting by their sides. Harley couldn’t sit as he was too interested in the kids’ baseball game, but at least he wasn’t barking. As the trainer started the class, a kid hit a baseball over our group. Harley took off in hot pursuit of the ball, dragging me through the circle of dog owners.
When I got to my feet, I was mortified to find my T-shirt around my neck tangled in my bra, with my breasts on full display. I finished the six weeks of obedience lessons out of sheer spite, with our marriage intact, my breasts kept under wraps and our unshakable commitment to “that barking dog.” Even though Harley passed his obedience classes, he was never the perfect dog and life with him was full of endless negotiations.
One of Harley’s favourite pastimes was going on our boat with my husband. My husband, for many years, would take Harley to a secluded beach to play ball, which kept Harley safe from running away. On one occasion, Harley swam back to shore, dropped the ball and ran past my husband. As my husband turned around, he saw what was about to happen and knew it would be devastating for someone. Harley was running toward a bride and her wedding party who had just set up for ocean-side wedding pictures. The bride saw the sopping wet, sand-covered, barking Harley running toward her. She hiked up her beautiful dress and ran down the beach with her bridesmaids, groomsmen and new husband running behind her. Luckily, my husband captured Harley just before he ruined a beautiful wedding dress.
Harley also made every Christmas special, but one in particular he made memorable for our whole family. We were hosting our entire family of 10 for Christmas Eve dinner. The next day, Christmas dinner would be at my mother-in-law’s, with traditional turkey and ham, so I decided to make a double-sized homemade lasagna that festive evening.
With the table set, Caesar salad, lasagna, rolls and apple pie made and set aside, I took my shower before our extended family arrived. I opened some wine and went to check on the food. Harley was sitting on the couch looking out the window, and shockingly, he was not barking at anyone on the street. On reflection, I should have known something was desperately wrong.
I checked on my oversized lasagna, which I had left on top of the stove to cool, only to find that when I lifted the tinfoil, the lasagna was gone. Harley had eaten every last bite without spilling anything on the counter or floor. I still don’t know how he got his fat head under the hot tinfoil, but he did.
I didn’t say a word to Harley because what did it matter? The lasagna was missing in action, and getting mad wouldn’t achieve anything. I went to the living room, and all Harley did was roll over on his back, wag his tail and rub the remnants of tomato sauce from his face into my beige couch. Our family ate hot dogs that Christmas Eve.
Harley lived the rest of his life with us, and his antics live in our hearts forever – from eating a dead snake (I spent the better part of a week gagging every time I looked at him) to barking at the pizza guy so much that he threatened to stop delivering to our home. We even had to replace the screen on our sliding back door more than five times one summer because Harley kept running through it every time a leaf, squirrel or bird (real or imaginary) moved. He also refused to sleep in our bed but lovingly slept under it. We affectionately labelled this Harley’s bunk bed.
We treasure every memory of Harley and constantly talk fondly about him. Even though he has been gone for many years, and we have had other dogs, Harley was our first rescue dog. We genuinely believe we gave him a loving home, and he showed us how thankful he was by loving us unconditionally and never acknowledging his name. He was the very best bad dog.
Tracy Jessiman lives in Halifax.