Henry The Eighth Is Number One – Part II

Dumping your pet at a dog park may seem like a better idea than leaving him by the side of a road or taking him for a “drive in the country”. Perhaps you think some soft-hearted dog lover will take Fido in and life will be happy ever after. Never mind that your pooch may be confused, terrified, hungry and at the mercy of the elements. The stark fact is that most such abandoned animals are found by park staff who are obligated to call their city or county animal control, which is rarely no-kill. So you may just have condemned your pet to death; and a callous one at that.

In recent months there have been three dogs at our local park who were spared that dreadful fate. A precious little chihuahua left on the counter in the public restrooms was given a home by the mother of one of the temporary park staff; a young and very sweet-tempered pit bull was taken home by the girl who found her and eventually re-homed; a darling little dog who looked like a fox went to Southern Hope Humane Society (one of the best rescue groups around) and was very quickly adopted.

Then there was Henry VIII. Let’s resume his story.

Time was running out for our abandoned little Yorkshire Terrier. There were just a couple of days to find him at least a temporary home before I left town. A friend had suggested that Hans, who runs Camp Woof, might be able to help. “Bring him over and let’s take a look,” was the response when I called. So off we went.

My intent was to ask that Hans keep Bailey (as we’d named the pup) either until a permanent home was found, or until my return. Camp Woof has many dog-lovers in and out of its doors every day, so it seemed likely that someone would see Bailey and fall for his irresistible charm. Well, within just a few minutes it was looking as if Hans might be that someone.

Bailey was born to perform. He can do cute better than a dimpled Shirley Temple singing “Animal Crackers In My Soup“, and he certainly laid it on for Hans and everyone at Camp Woof that day. I left him there with assurances that he’d be well cared for and a strong suspicion that he’d be a fixture at the camp by the time I came back.

Sure enough, a couple of weeks later I raced over to the daycare to check on my former protegee and found him ensconced, throne-like, behind the counter, his every whim being catered to by the staff and graciously accepting the adulation of all who passed by. Never was a dog more assured of his kingly status than this petite pedigreed pooch and he had a new name to prove it – Henry VIII.

In actuality, Henry was not named for the infamous Tudor of Olde England but came by his name for a more practical reason. He had indeed joined Hans’ already extensive family of rescues and, as it happens, was the eighth dog! So, as Hans tells it, “He had to be Henry the eighth”. Turns out the name was a little serendipitous, however. Henry, though the smallest dog by far in the Hans’ household, in short time was reigning supreme both at home and Camp Woof.

As Hans tells it, when he first came home Henry was a little timid; within a week he’d taken over the household. Seven of the other dogs accepted him immediately, including JJ, the rotweiler mix. Hope, a dachshund mix who didn’t like anyone at first sight, now loves Henry. “His Highness”  grandly helps himself from everyone’s food bowls and none of them object. At night he sleeps with Hans and likes to get under the covers when it’s cold. He insists on sitting on Hans’ lap when being chauffeured around town.

The one thing that Henry will not now or ever be able to do is have an heir to his throne. During my absence, he had received all his shots and been rendered unable to spawn progeny. Not that a bunch of ditto dogs wouldn’t be adorable, but no-one (at least, no-one who reads this blog) wants more little unloved and homeless yorkies running around.

If only every story could have such a happy ending as that of Henry and Hans. Theirs’ is a perfect match. It’s obvious that King Henry has no doubt of his status in Hans’ heart and, in return, is devoted to Hans. “He’s such a character,” says Hans. “I can’t imagine my life without him”.

“To his dog, every man is King; hence the constant popularity of dogs.” – Aldous Huxley