So, you may not know it, but we lost Henry just over two years ago. I didn’t post much about it back then because it was too sudden, too gutting (far more than I was prepared for in spite of trying to prepare myself for the inevitable day). And honestly, the two years since without him have also been infinitely harder than I ever could have imagined. But he was a truly fabulous critter and he deserves to be celebrated, so here’s his long overdue tribute. And read through to the end because ultimately it’s the happiest of stories. 

Henry J. Lord was born some time around early November in 2010, most likely in the San Fernando Valley. By end of March 2011 he’d been rescued from the North Hollywood Animal Shelter by a woman who’s still saved in my phone as “Robin the Dog Rescuer.” Shortly thereafter I met him outside the Larchmont farmers market, where Robin would set up several pens for the dogs she was trying to find forever homes for. This isn’t actually a picture of the first time I saw him. But it’s close enough. 

After a series of false starts Henry came home on April 11. I met Robin in a parking lot opposite Mozza. He cried a little as we drove off, wondering why Robin wasn’t coming with us. This is definitely the first photo from that auspicious night:

He woke up the next morning, apparently, 100% bonded to me. We took a walk and he dropped the biggest turd imaginable for a 10 pound, 5 month old pup to mark the occasion. 

 [ (no photo found) ]

I did not return the favor but I took it as a sign that we were both comfortable with one another. 

The following months were filled with adventures around Southern California, the biggest of which was definitely his first camping trip to Sequoia National Park. For someone who knows/loves national parks a lot you’d think I would know that dogs weren’t allowed on trails. I didn’t, so we hiked anyways, and thankfully no one seemed to mind (most likely because we were there ahead of the peak season). Note: I do not advocate for ignoring this rule, but it did land this spectacular photo of H among the Sequoias and I would happily pay the retroactive ticket. 

On August 21, we embarked on our first big road trip together, a cross country burn from LA to St. Louis. Neither of us realized it then but it would be the last time Henry ever set foot in California. On that particular trip we ended up driving through Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Kansas, the length and breadth of Missouri, Nebraska, both Dakotas, Minnesota and Iowa.

But South Dakota was the most important part of that trip because it was there that he had the great foresight to seek out one Nicole A. Watson in an open field during a display of the northern lights. There were lots of people mingling about but she was the only person he ran up to and intentionally greeted. He had never met her—and I had only just met her the day before—so the message was clear: She had his stamp of approval. And the rest, as they say… 

Later that fall, he became an NYC dog and he took to the city with aplomb. He was absolutely no good at scaring off mice but he did make friends wherever we went—his name was known throughout at least 3 of the boroughs while I was reduced to “Henry’s person,” but, you know, fair enough. That was true wherever this little dog went. People who met him only once have continued to ask about him through the years—I’m really not exaggerating here. Two examples: He rated a mention in a sermon at Nicole’s parents’ church in Atlanta; and last summer Nicole & I were in back in New Jersey for a party, and our friend’s sister, who met Henry exactly once, both asked about him and was clearly saddened when she heard that we’d lost him, and that is a comfort I will carry with me the rest of my days.

He set foot in 33 states plus DC and crossed the border into Canada on a trip to Toronto and the shores of Lake Huron. In addition to the Sierra Nevadas we hiked together atop the Continental Divide in Colorado and all throughout the Appalachians from North Carolina up to Vermont. He was the official mascot of our annual playwriting retreat in the Adirondacks—

—and once, while backpacking in Harriman Park, it was so much colder than we expected, that he crawled into my sleeping bag with me and we made it work. He romped across beaches on the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Gulf of Mexico, touched the headwaters of the Mississippi, and successfully claimed “ownership” of an In ‘n Out when he peed on all four corners of their lot. He was a part of all my nieces’ and nephews’ lives from their births to his passing. He was there when I proposed to Nicole and there when we got married. 

Along the way he made many dog friends, most of whom have also joined him in whatever beautiful place it is that dogs go to when they pass over. These friends include Toby & Seamus, Coco, Miles & Maynard, Jai, Maddie & Milo (though Henry definitely liked Milo better than Milo liked him back. That’s okay; we still loved Milo).

Whenever I think of how unbearably awful the world these days can be, I try to remind myself that there’s a parallel universe where Henry never came home to me at all and how lucky we all were to have him with us through some truly dark days. I could probably write about him every day for the rest of of my life and never finish telling his story, so I’ll just end this eulogy with this one perfect photo:

Rest easy, Kid. We miss you every day. And know that your spirit lives on in both our memories of you and in the indomitable, lovely little spitfire of a younger brother who joined us just a few weeks ago. His name is Jasper and we’re certain the two of you would have been instant besties.