Are you upset little friend? Have you been lying awake worrying? Well, don’t worry…I’m here. The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you. -Charlie Brown to Snoopy

Henry has spent the better part of this week snuggled as close to me as physically possible. Usually, he’ll sleep on the edge of the bed, wrapped up in his brown plaid blanket. He’s really good about sleeping through the night and doesn’t get up until my feet touch the ground, but I find him almost wrapped in my arms when I wake up.

Words do not do the feeling of waking up with a warm dog next to you justice. There are few pleasures greater than a friendly and loving lick in the morning or a black snout buried within the confines of your arm. He doesn’t need to be by me, after all- his puppies day are behind him and he’s already 2-years-old in human years, but he wants to be.

I stroke his belly and pat his head and he settles into a ball for the rest of the night. Sometimes, I wake to find him sprawled out on his back, his legs are far apart as can be and his front paws so close to his chest that he looks like a little otter. He feels at ease, relaxed and without a care in the world. It is in these instances where I am truly jealous of the life Henry leads.

He has no work to worry about, no social life, no bills, no traffic. His only concerns involve him securing the parameters of the house, perfecting his Academy award winning begging routine and resting after a day’s hard work of scaring away imaginary invaders.

At night, he turns almost human. The shapes in which he sleeps in, the content noises he makes when he’s come into an agreement with a space in which to lay his head and the way he rubs his eyes with his paws first thing in the morning, turn him into my little child instead of my little dog.

And that’s one child I’ll happily accept at this point in my life.

Two nights ago, I gathered my things from the living room, including Henry the Maltese and went to bed, like I do every night. I had just settled in under my sheets and was planning on doing some reading, when I looked over to find that Henry was not on his usual spot on my bed. I looked around the room without getting up and I couldn’t spot him anywhere. I knew he couldn’t have gone out, as the door was locked, so I decided to look under the bed. Even though it’s one of his favorite spots, he wasn’t there either. I started to call out his name and got up, but soon enough my panic had melted into uncontrollable fits of laughter, as I saw that he had climbed into my knitting basket that was full of yarn and decided to perch on it indefinitely.

Naturally, I had to get out the camera and snap a photo of my dog-hen before he decided that nesting time was over.

I couldn’t contain my laughter. I sat there wondering what has possessed him to climb into that basket. He wouldn’t even budge when I tried to move him.

His shenanigans were just another reminder of how much he brightens my day and brings the utmost joy to my life. There are days when I can’t remember what life was like before him. How on Earth did I live for 22 years and not have him with me? It’s inconceivable.

The way he goes mental when I come home, how he licks my tears when I cry, the invisible intruders he barks at on his nightly patrol of the house and the persistent way he scratches at my legs, as if to say “lift me in your arms, now,” these are all moments that I am always going to remember. I can’t bear to think of my life without him, even though the reality is, that that time will come.

But let’s not talk about that now.

Today, Henry the Maltese turns 2-years-old. Two years ago, I drove out to Hemet, Calif., to see a litter of Maltese puppies. It was just him and his brother left. They were both placed in my arms. His brother was sweet yet docile. Henry began to gnaw at my fingers immediately. That’s when I knew that it was meant to be. I drove back two months later and brought him home, where he proceeded to take a nice long piss on my mother’s treasured Persian rug. Oh well.

There is so much to say about Henry. He’s only 6 lbs, but he has more heart than I ever could have imagined. He is fiercely protective of his toys and nothing makes him happier than getting a new one. He loves eating pepper and blueberries and runs circles around the dining room table when he’s excited. When you’re sad, he’s sad. When you’re happy, he’s happy. He wont even think about leaving your side if you’re having a bad day, sacrificing food and water to keep you company.

Last summer, Henry had to have surgery for luxated patellas on both of his knees, which I documented on this site. For such a little dog, he’s been through a lot. He spent almost two months holed up in his crate, with wrappings and stitches and an Elizabethan collar which I detest so much. But he pulled through and although it was difficult for him, it was one of the hardest experiences I went through in my life. It was in those moments of his pain, that I realized what it was like to have and care for children.

Henry is everything I’ve ever wanted and more. I hope you have a good birthday King Henry, I’ll have new toys and a tea saucer full of green bell peppers waiting for you.

Hugo is my boyfriend’s dog and the inspiration for getting Henry. He’s the original Maltese in our circle and is about 3-years-old. He spends his days perched on the couch, people watching by the window and barking at unsavoury characters. He loves liver treats, strolls in the park and holiday sweaters. It’s my dream that Hugo from London and Henry from Los Angeles will one day meet.

When Henry the Maltese decided to wake up at 2 a.m. and stand in front of the bedroom door, patiently waiting for me to open it, I knew there was a problem. Usually if he gets up at an odd time, it’s to crawl under the bed in an effort to find cooler space, or sniff out some socks to chew on. I stumbled out of bed and opened the door and watched him head straight for his pad in the kitchen. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, and before I knew it, Henry was spinning in circles like a mad man, arching his back and probably feeling horrible that he was having a big bout of explosive diarrhea.

After I cleaned him up, wrapped him in a towel and went back to bed, I knew it wasn’t the end of the Diarrhea Night of Hell. I opened all the windows in the kitchen, knowing full well that if that putrid smell was not allowed to exit the building, it would surely kill a 200 lb. man.

By 6 a.m, I had let him go about his business and washed him about three times. When 7 a.m. rolled around, I contemplated whether or not I should make the trek to work.

Somehow I pulled strength from somewhere and got up to get dressed. I had barely made my way to the bathroom when I heard something that sounded like faint fireworks exploding in the living room. When I got to Henry, he was crouched over, no doubt in pain from whatever had just shot out of his ass. It was clear we were not celebrating ANYTHING.

The rest of my day was spent nursing him back to health. In more ways than you know, I needed a day off, and perhaps Henry answered my prayers by deciding to keep me up all night and day so that I could wipe his bum and try not to throw up at the same time.

As the day progressed, he sat in my lap, where he is right now, seeking warmth and comfort from me. Occasionally, he’d raise his head, look at me with those big brown eyes and let out a tiny whine. Tucking his snout under my arm, he went to sleep, only waking up if he heard a threatening sound. It’s in these moments, that I realize that I need him just as much as he needs me. The cleaning, the wiping, the worrying, the taking time off work, it’s all worth it, when at the most unexpected moment, he pops his head up just to lick my hand, as if he’s saying “thank you.” No Henry, thank you.

He couldn’t get up as the early as rest of us, so he snuck out to his local polling center at PetSmart down the street and cast his vote. I tried to get him to tell me who he voted for, but he wasn’t having it. However, I think it’s safe to saw he went for Baruff Obama and not John McClaw.

This is a portrait I drew of Henry and I last summer. It’s acrylic on canvas and was finished in one night, although it still needs some touch ups. I put this photo up instead of one of Henry in his current state because he’s sleeping and not only do I not want to bother him, but he looks so scruffy and I’m sure he hates his life at this points, so I’m not going to play intrusive journalist right now, you know?

He’s been holed up in his crate, but he’s doing well. The staples in his legs are getting looser, which is a good sign. He has an x-ray and suture removal scheduled on Thursday and hopefully I can take that horribly annoying Elizabethan collar off his head. I think I hate it more than he does. It’s just awful. It is amazing how well the dog formally known as Mr. Pick. E. Eater is responding to food. He gobbles up his dry and wet food and the chicken and turkey and peppers he’s allowed in between. Because of this, his poop schedule has become so normal – once in the morning, once in the evening.

He finished up his antibiotic medicine today and will be off his pain meds this week. His hair is growing up at an astonishing rate, so we’ll have to even it out in a month or two. He is in dire need of a bath and he knows it. He self-grooms like a cat every chance he gets.

He didn’t make much noise during the earthquake that rocked Los Angeles today, except for letting out a big yelp the minute it was over.

More updates after his next vet appointment!

I talk to him when I’m lonesome like; and I’m sure he understands. When he looks at me so attentively, and gently licks my hands; then he rubs his nose on my tailored clothes, but I never say naught thereat. For the good Lord knows I can buy more clothes, but never a friend like that. ~W. Dayton Wedgefarth

He coils himself asleep next to me and licks my ears every chance he gets. In the mornings and evenings, he patrols the house, like a senior member of an elite canine military, looking for the slightest sound of any disturbance outside. At 6 lbs, with a coat of white polar bear-like fur, he’s more a lover, than a fighter. He’s the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and the last thing when I go to sleep. I never get bored of snuggling him and he never gets bored of snuggling me.

Though I hate to admit it, Henry is more like my child, than my dog. We spend almost every waking and sleeping moment together and I would not have it any other way. He’s everything I had been waiting for my whole life, as for one reason or another, I was denied a pet by my parents throughout my entire childhood. Looking back, I was upset, but now, I realize that not letting me own a dog was a really good thing. Because now, I don’t have school, social situations or homework distracting me from Henry. The only time we’re apart, is when I’m at work and sometimes that’s even too much to bare. I can’t imagine what my life was like before him. A lot of people scoff at the idea of ‘romanticizing’ a pet like I have just now, but I don’t really care. They are the type of people who either have never owned a pet, don’t like animals or treated their animals like crap, and I don’t associate myself with the latter two types.

Being a Maltese, Henry is not only rambunctious, fiercely loyal and loving, but he’s also very delicate. Like many small dogs, Maltese are susceptable to a problem known was luxating patella (or trick knee) in which the kneecap dislocates or moves out of its normal location. This is a common condition and also happens in humans as well.

When he was almost a year old, Henry begin limping while running. He wouldn’t do it very often, so I didn’t give much though to it immediately and hoped it would go away. Unfortunately, it only got worse. I did some research and suspected a luxating patella, but took him to the vet to make sure, who only confirmed my worries and said there was nothing that could be done until he was about a year and a half. We would have to wait until he was done growing. During the past 6 months, I’ve tried to minimize pressure to his knees by buying pet stairs and supplementing his diet with glucosamine and chondroitin. Well, the time to revisit this case came this weekend. He’s a year and a half now and I thought that the sooner we get this over with, the better it is for all of us, especially him.

After having x-rays done, it was confirmed that he needed surgery on both knees to correct his kneecaps. I had prepared myself for this, but for the first time, I realized what a parent must feel when told their child needs some kind of medical care. It is absolutely heart wrenching. Each leg has a recovery time of 6 weeks, however they’re going to be done separately. So, after 12 weeks of his life being miserable, he’ll be able to have almost 100 percent mobility without any pain. No pain, no gain, as the saying goes.

If you could only see him now. He’s nestled next to me, on his back, with his little white paws in the sky. He has no idea what I know. He has no idea that in about a month’s time, he’ll be back at the vet, in surgery. It breaks my heart thinking that this little 6 lb fluffball of mine is going to be operated on.

I’m praying every day that things go well when the time comes.

Sometimes, it becomes quite evident in my thought process that Henry isn’t going to be around forever. I think of this quite frequently, although I’m not sure why. I mean, everyone’s life is finite, but dogs don’t live very long and I am dreading the day when I’ll have to say goodbye to him. I know it’s unnecessary and a bit morbid to have thoughts like this, but I can’t help it. I don’t how I will ever deal with life after him. I’m just so glad he’s around. I’m so glad he picked me and I’m so glad I picked him and I don’t even want to imagine what his life would be like if someone else had gotten him. They’d probably give him up, knowing they had to pay for his surgery.

I’m trying to be strong and looking at this entire situation as something that has to be done. I’m trying to concentrate on how much his quality of life will improve after the surgery and I’m thanking God that veterinary medicine exists. I’m trying to stay positive, but I know that when he’s in surgery and I have to possibly spend a night away from him, I’ll cry. And he won’t be there to lick my tears away.

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself. – Josh Billings