Henry is a large-framed, open-faced former military officer with the Canadian Forces, a genial man by nature, and when his family lost their former companion, a Golden Retriever, he gave no thought to bringing another dog into the house. His wife thought otherwise and urged him to think about this time opting for a small dog, one whose size he could manage. And whose needs would keep Henry on the move.

And there was a year-old Chihuahua being advertised for adoption by the Gatineau Humane Society; a connection made in heaven for both Henry and for Taz. Taz has never forgotten his anger, hatred and fear of those who maltreated him and then summarily disposed of him. He is suspicious of everyone, his body becoming a solid muscle of angry resistance whenever he encounters anyone on his regular trail walk in the ravine with Henry.

He has known us for years, but his anger is unrelenting. It dissolves entirely when he looks up adoringly at Henry. Taz is as frantically energetic as Henry is a compressed ball of incessant pain, necessitating that he keep his movements to a minimum. He walks with the aid of a walking stick, but he is as robust as that little Tazmanian devil dancing at his side. He's there to protect Henry. Just in case anyone gets too close to his beloved. And when that happens all hell breaks loose.

Henry is long retired. When he was a teen he had a bout with Shingles, and it wasn't pleasant. He was diagnosed with psoriasis, so that hasn't been pleasant. For years he was bedevilled with a growing persistent incidence of pain so intense he could barely function physically. Test after test eluded diagnosis. Finally his condition was correctly diagnosed as a rare type of arthritis connected to his psoriasis. He now takes medication that makes his pain tolerable, enabling him to get out and about, so he no longer involuntarily muses whether living is worth his while.

That medication comes at a steep cost, and it's only one among many drugs that have been prescribed for him, to allow for some quality of life. It alone, administered by injection twice monthly costs close to two thousand dollars. It's why his wife is still working. Her job isn't a great one, her payday nothing to celebrate, not much of a retirement plan, but the drug benefit plan is great.

When he's older and reaches 65, he'll be able to take advantage of the provincial drug benefit formulary. By then Taz will also be older, but it's unlikely that he'll be more forgiving of anyone who approaches too close to his best friend.