In Memoriam

Mr. Cracker April 1993 - June 25, 2005

He was beautiful. He had a gentle grace and dignity that made everyone love and admire him. And everyone who ever petted him remarked on how soft his fur was and how calm and sweet he was. Sooner or later, the same phrase came off of everyone's lips: "Sweet boy".

I brought him home the same weekend Sara and I had our first date. He rapidly became the center of our lives. Every day started with him and ended with him, and he brought a kind of joy into our lives that no words can really describe. It's hard to believe that so much happiness could come from the simple acts of walking him, feeding him, and taking care of him.

He was the aristocrat of Town Lake, the bad boy of the dog park (where he discovered the sport of Weimaraner tipping), the unofficial mascot of the K-State girls rowing team when they came for their yearly regatta, and an ambassador of goodwill for Greyhounds. He hated the rain but loved the water, shied away from crowds but would walk right up to people if they smelled or felt right, was fiercely independent but came on command when he needed to, was reserved and regal but silly and uninhibited when he played.

We would go for walks past the Four Seasons on Town Lake along the hike and bike trail, and every day people would stop and stare and ask me about him. I soon developed my standard speech about him and about greyhounds, and maybe somewhere along the line we influenced someone to adopt a greyhound.

We moved to San Francisco, and he discovered the joys of the ocean and of the mountains. He loved to run along the shore and then sit in the water almost up to his neck to cool off. I use to worry about him getting a chill - greyhounds supposedly being susceptible to that kind of thing - but we decided he knew what he was doing. When we took him to Yosemite and Mount Shasta and introduced him to snow, he was enraptured. He ran in it, rolled in it, tasted it, danced in it, and generally had the time of his life. His usual reserve disappeared at the beach and in the snow, and he expressed his joy and love of life.

His life got even better when we moved to Santa Cruz, because now there was a yard for him to lay in and catch the smells on the breeze and see and hear life go by. When we bought a house, his life was complete because now there was a backyard full of beautiful cool grass to lay in. There's a spot in the center of the backyard where the no-longer-functional sprinkler system leaks and it's cool and damp and the grass grows greener and lusher than anywhere else in the yard, and that became his favorite spot of all. I like to think he also loved the smells of the wisteria, honeysuckle, trumpet flowers, roses, and jasmine in spring and summer. It was his oasis, and we were delighted to have pleased him so.

His generosity of spirit allowed us to bring in another greyhound whose personality was 180 degrees different from his and who brought a load of anxieties and problems from having been ill-treated as a racer. He accepted her, made room for her, and never acted jealous or hurt, even when she tried to bully him. Instead, his personality rubbed off on her slowly and surely, and she became calmer, a little less anxious, and more loving as time went on.

He made us better people, too. Sara treated him like a king, and he responded by being even more loving and lovable. He was a finicky eater, but he never acted spoiled or petulant. Both acceptance and decline had a graciousness that I, awkward and graceless, admired without envy. I'm not ashamed to say that, like the other role models in my life, I wish I was more like him.

His decline was slow and gradual and then came swiftly at the end. Two winters ago, he stopped running. We thought that the arthritis he'd developed was the cause. But he still loved his walks, especially after we discovered the trails at DeLaveaga park. We could see that he was slowing down and that his back legs were getting stiff and awkward, so it was no surprise to learn that he had degenerative myelopathy that was robbing him of the ability to control his back legs. But he developed a limp and when Sara took him to the vet 2 Fridays ago, we discovered that he had cancer in his leg and his lungs. Mercifully, his suffering did not last long. We almost lost him the next week, but shifting to a steroid-based medicine got him walking again and gave him 6 more good days with us. He let us know that he was ready to go, and we called the vet and put him at peace.

I wish he were still here so I could rub his chest, kiss his head, look in his eyes and have him reach out his paw to me to tell me to rub him some more. This house feels so empty without him that I can hardly stand it. Yesterday after the vet left I though my chest would explode. But my sadness is tempered by the knowledge that he had a long, happy, and beautiful life and that the love he gave us will eventually fill the holes in our hearts back up.

I do believe that all creatures have souls and I believe in an afterlife, although I have no idea what form it takes. But I like to imagine that he's running on a beach somewhere with all his greyhound buddies that went before him, and that nearby is a snowbank that he can just dive into whenever he feels like it.

Goodbye, Mr. Cracker. We loved you so much, and you gave us so much more.


...do you know what love is?

Sure I know.
A boy loves his dog.

Harlan Ellison, A Boy and His Dog