The making of a New York City legend.

In Memory of Harpo

by Maura E. McGill (aka Harpo’s mom)

On November 27th, the day after Thanksgiving, my best friend, my soulmate, my sweet little man, Harpo, peacefully crossed over the rainbow bridge.

Harpo was an eternal optimist. Every day, he woke up with a sunny disposition, a wicked sense of humor, a hint of mischief, and a genuine zest for life. He was the life of the party at the dog park, the social butterfly of the lower east side. He was the kind of guy you’d always want on your team- scrappy, dependable, fearless, and full of jokes. His smile radiated sheer happiness, his floppy ears bounced to the rhythm of his walk, and he certainly marched to the beat of his own drum. He made a lasting impact on humans and animals alike. In some circles, Harpo is a goddamn legend.

About four years ago, the vet discovered a giant, and I mean massive, tumor on Harpo’s liver. “Take him home and appreciate your time with him,” they said. His prognosis was bleak – a couple months, if we were lucky. But Harpo had other plans.

I used to joke that Harpo and his liver had the best short-term rental agreement in New York City. The two of them somehow amicably residing in the same building despite having very different agendas. If only the rest of the world operated like that, I’d say, somehow convincing myself that this peaceful coexistence would last forever. Then came Cushing’s Disease and later, an insulinoma. And yet, he persisted. No one could explain it. Not the vet, not the acupuncturist, not the cranky old dude at the holistic pet store. Everyone was baffled. They all agreed: he was defying science.

Grit. Fortitude. Perseverance. You name it, he owned it. When his other organs were failing him, the vet said his heart was still in perfect condition. He is, and always will be my Little Engine that Could.

Being told that Harpo was sick and didn’t have much time left changed my outlook on everything. There was no time to waste. We ran circles around his bucket list: Road trips along the eastern seaboard, beach trips to Bellport and the Cape, cruising in golf carts and strollers, the most over the top birthday extravaganzas, a well-curated wardrobe for all occasions, a personal gourmet chef (me), the best dog walkers in NYC, acupuncture treatments, doll baby parties, and a never-ending sea of love. Every day mattered, every moment was a gift. After a couple of years, it felt too good to be true, and I would get emotional and weep any time we got to experience yet another landmark moment together. One more birthday, one more Halloween, one more Christmas, one more adventurous summer, one more New York City fall. It was just so special. And more than anything, I never, ever wanted to let it go.

In recent months, as Harp grew weaker and the sparkle began to fade from his eyes, I prayed that there would be a sign, that I would just know when he was ready. But the thing with Harpo, the thing I should I have always anticipated, is that he is a warrior. And even if his body was failing him, he would not stop fighting because… of me.

Every day around 3 or 4pm, the sunlight beams into my apartment from the southwest, weaving its way through the trees, dancing on the walls and wood floors. One afternoon I noticed Harp basking in the light while he was sleeping, looking like an angel waiting to be lifted away. That was it. That was the sign I’d been waiting for. It was me who needed to let go, not him.

His final days were as perfect and full of joy as I could have hoped for: a final trip to Love Thy Pet, morning walks through leaf piles, afternoon stroller rides, an endless amount of treats, and evenings snoozing in a sea of cozy beds and blankets.

On his last night, I took him to watch the sunset, pointed to the orange sky and told him he’s going to be running free up there soon, fast and strong and without any pain. Later that night, in the spirit of “just one more,” I gave Harp one more Christmas. We donned our festive attire, cozied up under the glow of the tree lights, unwrapped his presents and ate enough treats to spark joy in every dog in New York. It was a banner day – one I will never forget.

To hold him, to look into his big, brown eyes and stroke his floppy ears as he drifted to sleep one last time was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. He was so beautifully serene, resting like a little cherub in his bed. “Fly free, my boy,” I whispered to him as I kissed his face and cradled it against mine. I told him how much I loved him and assured him that this is not goodbye – a love as unconditional as ours is eternal.

I keep thinking about Harpo’s arrival across the rainbow bridge and all the friends he has outlived waiting there for him. They’ll all stand there smiling with the sun shining behind them in a beautiful field of flowers, and in his NYC accent, Diego will bark, “Hey-a, Harpo! What took you so long?”

I will love you forever, my sweet, little man.  Thank you for teaching me that happiness is really so simple and that, at the end of the day, the only thing that matters is love. You have been my greatest teacher, my greatest love, and the best friend I’ve ever known. Rest easy knowing the legend of Harpo will never die.

 I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.<3 #HarpoForever