The Best Nose

Harlow Scott – May 7, 2013 – May 26, 2026.

Thank you for everything you brought me these past twelve years, eight months and eight days, my sweet girl with the best nose.

I hope I didn’t let you down.

The feelings I have around Harlow dying are far more complicated than I ever imagined they could be. Maybe it’s because I have anticipated her leaving since she was diagnosed with bladder cancer nearly two years ago. I don’t know. For now, I am trying to be nice to myself while I work through it. Today I want to share about her last days with me.

First, Harlow’s vet, and all the reading I’d come across said “When there are more bad days than good, you know it’s time”. I watched Harlow carefully in her last week, joining her when she went outside. Each time we went out, she squatted to pee over and over again. The squatting seemed painful for her back legs too. It was clearly painful to lie down and stand up, and she did both with trepidation.

She was still eating, still drinking. She’d greet me at the door but with very little fanfare and barely any tail wag. A friend came over to watch a movie with me and Harlow greeted her silently. Silently. That is unheard of for my mouthy talker of a dog.

“When there are more bad days than good, you know it’s time”

I didn’t want my beautiful dog to have a bad thirty minutes, let alone start making my own judgement on what counts as a bad day and whether they are outnumbering the good ones. Eight and a half months ago the vet said she had six months, and I agonized over my decision leading into Memorial Day weekend because who am I to decide when another being’s life should end?!

I knew that at any time, and I’d never really know when – her urethra could get completely blocked by the tumor, she would be in pain and we’d have an emergency on our hands.

She would be scared. I didn’t want to let that happen.

So, on Sunday, May 24 I went online and filled out a form for a vet to come see us on Tuesday. One of the questions asked was “What breed is your pet?”

I typed in “Hound, Terrier, and Muppet”

Over that weekend I made cookie dough, and as I starting to clean the bowl in the sink I realized the situation and turned to Harlow “You’ve never had cookie dough! You want some?” And I put the bowl on the floor. She delighted in jamming her entire head into that bowl and licking it clean. And suddenly I remembered a video I have of her as a puppy, jamming her entire head into a large yogurt container to get the dollop of peanut butter off the bottom. It made me smile and heartsick at the same time.

I bought and cooked steak and treated her to little bits all through the weekend.

We went for long meandering walks, wherever she felt like going, and I was rather proud of myself at how well I was able to simply be a dog for those days, remaining completely in the moment with her. No thinking about the past, no worrying about the future without her. I tried to make her final days as normal as possible, and that included refraining from looking at her and bursting into tears and freaking her out.

Tuesday was the day the vet came, and I realized that I had not taken note of Harlow enjoying her last evening dental chew the night before. I was very focused on keeping a normal routine for her with some fun sprinkled in that I forgot it would be her last one. One last evening ritual and I let it pass without note.

That morning I gave Harlow her meds. Yes, I gave her meds she no longer needed, but she did enjoy the prosciutto they were wrapped in so why not?

Before the vet came we went for a walk through the Fells. We hadn’t been in a long time since she hated the car, but I knew this would be worth it. Her tail had stopped wagging the week prior, but I knew she delighted in the wandering, sniffing, and meeting other dogs. At one point a bernadoodle puppy came flying down a path and plowed right into her. I laugh because it was exactly the kind of shit she used to do! I mean, that dog ZOOOOOMED by just like she would if she got loose when she was younger. Harlow grumbled at him when he made a second pass at her.

I told her it was karma.

You’re not allowed to let your dog in the water in the Fells, but of course I put my rule following ways aside, “Go ahead!” I told her when we got to the lake and let go of her leash. She ambled around, a bit confused, as though she knew it wasn’t allowed.

I got a text from the vet letting me know she’d be at our house in 45 minutes. I sat with Harlow in some grass, and while she looked around at everything but me, I told her “If I’m too upset to tell you later, Thank you for being my friend! You’re such a good dog, you know that? Such a good girl. Thank you.” She was entirely uninterested which makes me chuckle to think about.

On the drive home she stuck her head out the window, (my smile in the photo below is very genuine. I was really happy to be with her. Accepting of what was coming or in denial, I’m not sure, but in that moment I was happy). When we arrived, Mom and Dad were there. We went inside and eventually the vet arrived. We chatted for a while and she eased my guilt a bit about not waiting for a string of bad days. “You are making a kind and compassionate choice for her” she told me, sharing that she noticed substantial muscle deterioration in Harlow’s body, and some lack of coordination. I still felt guilty for days after, even though I knew it was the right decision.

Mom gave Harlow chocolate chip cookies which Harlow became entirely obsessed with.

When Oliver died, he was taken out of the room at the vet hospital to put an IV in and then brought back in. He was rolled back in on a gurney, and he was sitting up and actively looking for me sort of hopping on his two fluffy front paws in a sort of panic. Then I took him into my arms and he immediately calmed down. He was so happy to be in my arms. And that wasn’t the experience with Harlow. She was being given chocolate chip cookies, and pieces of really juicy fatty steak which the vet kindly cooked and brought with her. It was completely, utterly and entirely her whole focus.

As she was administered anesthesia to make her sleepy the steak was all she cared about. Comically so, though it wasn’t funny in the moment. She fought the sleep purely because she wanted more steak! I was irrelevant. I didn’t matter in any way, shape or form. She was going to eat steak until she was fast asleep!

Once she lay there sleeping, the vet told me that hearing is the last thing to go, but I wonder if she heard anything that I said to her, and that made me sad. I also have to recognize that she was a dog. She didn’t know what was going on, all she knew is she was getting really sleepy and she wanted steak. She didn’t need me in that moment.

For years now Harlow’s normal state of breathing was fast paced. Even when she slept she breathed a bit faster than most dogs do. When she fell asleep that day, I lay down next to her on the floor and put my ear to her head, enjoying the sound of her now calm breathing. For once in her life, she was breathing calmly.

As she started to leave her body I jumped up and opened a window. I’ve heard that in some cultures windows are opened so the soul can leave. I figured it couldn’t hurt.

After she was gone, I brushed her one more time. It was my last chance to care for her, I guess. So I took it.

After the vet and I carried her out to the vet’s car and I let her go, I came back in and felt dumbfounded. Not quite sure how it could be real, even though I’d known it was coming for years. I still can’t quite wrap my brain around it.

I’m still trying to.