Hannibal

Note: This post written by Hubs.

This was a very difficult day at our house. Our "firstborn", Hannibal, had not been doing well for several weeks. Despite the removal of a rather large adenoma, multiple trials of medications, and several visits to the local vet, his condition continued to deteriorate. After several days of tearful deliberation, today we said our last goodbyes and had him gently put down.

We adopted him at about 6 weeks of age, essentially a late wedding gift; he's been with us from the beginning. When we moved to Rochester he was eight months old; he loved scampering around in frigid cold weather with feet of snow on the ground. When I was working late nights (and occasional overnights) in the hospital, Hannibal was Meredith's constant companion. When I came home - whenever that was - he was always the first to greet me, barking and whining until I returned the greeting. When strangers came to the door, he was the guardian who scared off more than a few solicitors. And when we started to grow our family, he was the enthusiastic welcoming committee for each child when they came home for the first time.

He loved our kids, and they loved him. Near the end, even Garrett, who's just started talking, walked over to Hannibal when he was laying in the yard a little too much and said, "You otay? You otay Han-bal?" Up until the last day, he never minded when some kid (as long as it was one of ours) came up to him and yanked his massive ears or pulled his tail. His personality - easygoing, gentle, and deferent - was perfect for our growing family.

We were indescribably blessed to have him for a little over nine years, and those who loved him most were fortunate to have opportunities to spend precious moments with him near the end. Last night I sat outside with him and thanked him for everything he had done - and been - for our family; it took a while because there was a lot to cover. I reminded him of everything he'd destroyed as a puppy, like Mer's entire CD collection and my leather sandals (which I wore all day today). I told him I was sorry that with each new child Meredith and I had, he had been relegated down the ladder of importance; he seemed to say that he didn't mind. I told him that his pain would soon be over, and he said he was ready. Now it's our turn to heal, as all we have are memories that we will cherish for the rest of our lives.

All the way to the end, through all his pain and discomfort, even though he didn't understand everything that was happening - he was Hannibal. His personality never changed for second as he simply accepted whatever came in life, adapted, and moved on. "We're moving from Little Rock to Rochester? Let's go." "You're going in to work while she's staying here and going to bed? Whatever - I'll watch the house while you're gone." "We're moving from Rochester to Texas now? All right then - but you do realize that I have a permanent fur coat, right?" "We're going to the vet for the last time, aren't we? It's OK. You hang in there." Hannibal will be missed terribly, but we are extremely grateful to our Father who gave him to us for nine years and immeasurably enriched our lives through him.

Allie

Mary

Garrett