Harry The Boy Who Refused to Give Up Until He Couldn’t

He’s gone.

Just like that… he’s gone.

My beautiful, unstoppable Kangal boy full of life and fire took his last breath today. And no matter how many times I say it, or write it, or scream it, the words still don’t make sense. Harry is gone. Forever. Stolen away from us.

Born on the Streets Fighting from His First Breath

Harry’s start in life was a tragedy written long before we ever met him.

He was born in a dump literally surrounded by rotting filth, toxins, and disease. His mother was exhausted, her immunity all but destroyed, her litter doomed from the moment they arrived in this world.

When we first met Harry, he was just weeks old. A tiny waif of a pup, alone and struggling with rickets so severe that one paw was soft as jelly. Walking caused him pain. Simply being alive was a battle.

We arranged to take him to the vet, but before we could get him there the frantic call came, bloody diarrhoea, lethargy, collapse.

There was only one word in our minds: parvovirus.

And we were right.

He Fought Like Hell

Parvo kills without mercy. No cure. Only support and hope. And Harry… well… Harry fought. He ripped out his lines. He bit anyone who dared touch him.

That was Harry.

I had been a nurse. I knew what we had to do.

A nasogastric tube was our only option.
He needed the medicine.
He needed that chance.

And against the odds, it worked.
He fought back.
He ate.
He rallied.

Harry survived parvo.

From there he transferred to our city vet for his rickets, then battled a parasitic infection, then fungal sores. Again, he fought. Again, he won.

Paradise His Heaven on Earth

Eventually, when he was strong enough, Harry moved to our sanctuary programme.

Wide open spaces.
Grass and sunshine.
A swimming pool under a bright Turkish sky.
Friends to run with.
Humans who adored him.

For the first time in his life, Harry lived not survived, he lived.
He tumbled with Stella.
He swam.
He played with Zeliha.
He grew strong, bold, mischievous, stubborn, hilarious.

He was loved. Deeply. Completely. Utterly. Wildly

The Disease I Hate Most

And then… distemper.

Another street-born curse.
Another disease that stalks the weak & vulnerable.
Another invisible predator taking aim at the young.

Distemper destroys.
The gut.
The nerves.
The brain.

Most dogs don’t make it. Those that do are scarred tremors, tics, neurological damage.

But Harry survived again.
Outwardly, he bore no scars.
Inside… we didn’t know what damage lingered.

Ten Months of Freedom

Ten months.

Ten months of joy he never should have had.
Ten months of life stolen back from the claws of fate.
Ten months that mattered.

For a boy born in trash and despair, ten months was a miracle.

Today, His Miracle Ended

The call came today.

He was fitting. On his way to the vet.
I thought epilepsy. Manageable. Treatable.

But no.

A minor infection had thrown him into catastrophic respiratory failure.
He couldn’t breathe.
His heart rate dropped.
And I knew, I knew that this time Harry’s strength wasn’t enough.

He was gone.

The Guilt That Devours

In the aftermath, my mind spiralled.

Why couldn’t I save him this time?
What use am I if I can’t keep them alive?
What’s the point of fighting if we lose?

I sobbed.
I raged.
I cursed the dumps.
The streets.
The system that lets puppies be born only to die.

Nothing comforted me.
Not logic.
Not compassion.
Not even love.

The Truth I Had to Remember

That day a dear friend reminded me of something I had lost sight of:

Harry didn’t die unloved in a garbage heap.
He didn’t die nameless or alone or terrified.
His life wasn’t as short as it should have been.
Not compared to what fate had written for him.

Without intervention, Harry would have had only a few weeks, painful, hopeless weeks.

Instead, he had nearly a year of:

• love

• freedom

• play

• sunshine

• friendship

• dignity

That was his life.
Because we tried.
Because we refused to let the streets write his entire story.

Why I Must Keep Going

Tonight I wanted to quit.
To walk away.
To stop hurting.

But I can’t.

Because tomorrow, another Harry will arrive.
Born into the same nightmare.
Facing the same odds.
Needing the same fight.

And the last thing they need is a woman broken beyond repair.

So This Is My Promise

To Harry.
To the dogs still fighting.
To the ones not yet born.

I will keep going.
Through the tears.
Through the fury.
Through the heartbreak.

I will not abandon them.
I will not bow to the streets.
I will not stop.

And in every battle, every rescue, every victory…

I will carry Harry with me.

Rest easy, my beautiful boy.
You were loved.
You mattered.

Always.
Forever.

My Harry.