Hannah, The Great

I first met Hannah about five years ago when my partner and I split up. I lived in the guest room at Hannah's house for a while. Each night I would climb into bed with my yearling, Grace, and start to cry. This would trouble Grace and she did not know what to do. So Hannah would nudge the door open, come over to the edge of the bed, and place her head near my pillow to check on me. She would lick my tears if needed and once she realized I was alright she would do a couple of circles at the foot of the bed and turn to face the door. She was determined that nothing else bad would happen to me.

In the morning, I would let Hannah and Grace out the back door and watch them race down the deck stairs. Then I would go back upstairs to pull it together for the day. I would be shaving and out the window I would see my yellow lab flash by, followed by the black and grey blur. Around and around the house the two of them would chase each other until it was time to come in and eat breakfast.

Time has taken a toll on the old girl. This weekend Matt, Jenny and I went on a walk through the brillant fall woods with Hannah and four of her canine friends. As we headed down the path, she started looking around as if she were working for the police department. When we got to a steep bank at the river, we let the the two Labs jump in for a swim. Hannah stood up on the bank, pulling Matt towards the water like a puppy, because she wanted to swim too, but we knew she could not get back up the bank. By the time we ended our walk she was dragging her feet through the pine needles and needed to be lifted into the back of a Surburu. This need for help was a far cry from her days of leaping into the bed of the F-150 pickup.

Hannah has been around for nearly fourteen years. It is good to see she still has a bit of the spice, love and spark that makes her Hannah, the Great.