Our beautiful boy died on April 13th, 2007. Our hearts were broken. We will not see him again until we all meet in the spirit world. Hagrid will be waiting there to greet me, right at the front of a long line of my ancestors who live in me but whom I've yet to meet in person. His waiting for me will make leaving this world just a little easier. I miss him terribly.

Hagrid developed complications from an infected toe that would not heal. We had to have it removed and though the operation went fine, his heart collapsed. It was his big heart that let him down, that same big heart that made him the friend he was to anyone and everyone he ever met.

Our Irish Wolfhound was almost six years old. The Wolfhound is the largest and most stately of all dogs and Hagrid's lineage is impeccable (Misty Glen Kennels - http://www.Irish Wolfhound-mg.com/). Our giant was the pick of his litter and had he been blessed with two testicles instead of one, we'd never have known what it can be like to love a dog the way we love him.

You'll have no trouble picking out our boy as you look at his baby picture. He's the four week old looking you right in the eye. He feared neither man nor beast and why should he?

Hagrid came to live with us in Victoria at the age of seven months. He was too large to fly so I packed my PT Cruiser and drove, in mid winter, to fetch him from his birthplace in Newbrook, Alberta. Though he missed his family and siblings, our tall, wrangly teenager seemed quite content with the change of scenery. He quickly became the king of Anderson Hill park and he is today, an urban legend in Victoria.

Hagrid grew as did our love for him. It took little time before he became daddy's boy, which might sound romantic, but it poses problems for a touring author to be in love with a two hundred pound "daddy's boy". Hagrid began suffering bouts of depression when I was away for more than two consecutive nights and as many depressions manifest themselves, Hagrid began eating things. At first, he ate rugs. He didn't nibble the tiniest of corners of the mat at the back door. He used his weight to bunch up the very best of our antique area rugs and devour sections roughly a foot in circumference.We learned after the fourth rug. Faced with the rug restriction, he sought out anything that had daddy's scent on it. An original watercolour from one of my books seemed appropriate enough. He destroyed a valuable painting that I'd left sitting loosely in the library. My lessons cost me enough not to merit any more abuse. I learned.

Hagrid developed into a spectacular specimen.

In the image on the left, he is twelve months of age and is over two hundred pounds. In this picture, you'd hardly guess me to be 6'1" and 235 pounds.

I'd better stop with this lest my children come to realize that the dog seems to have more print space than all five of them combined. I have never known love from any animal as I knew from my dog. I miss him so much.

p.s. If you're interested, there exists a tremendous read (fiction), about an Irish Wolfhound: Finn the Wolfhound by A.J. Dawson. It was published in 1908 but is quite easily located through ABE (http://www.abebooks.com/).