In Memoriam: Rufus ? - March 15, 2008

He came to us on a beautiful day in fall and left us on a beautiful day in spring, and every day in between was a gift. I only wish there had been more.

He’d been dumped at Town Lake Animal Center in a horrible state - filthy, with matted yellowed fur, a serious skin infection, hookworms, whipworms, a disconnection from people, and an aggressive attitude towards other male dogs. Fortunately, someone called GPA/CT right away instead of just treating him like another unwanted stray. Fortunately, some of the folks at GPA decided they had to take him even though he was not a former racer (no tattoos) and may have not been 100% greyhound. We heard rumours that he caused quite a controversy because of this and because he was considered unadoptable. But they did take him in and he got the care and treatment he needed to cure his physical ailments. Fortunately, two experienced trainers did a pro bono evaluation and decided he was shy and scared, not mean and aggressive. Fortunately, Kristen and the other wonderful folks at Dog Camp took him in and gave him free boarding and lots of love for 10 months. As a result, the real Rufus emerged as he became more socialized - a sweet, loving hound with a shy disposition. Fortunately, the folks at GPA kept working to find him a home even as time at this sanctuary was running out.

If anyone involved in rescuing Rufus ever reads this, thank you. I don’t have the words to express the deep and profound gratitude we will always feel for everything you did for him. Without you, he would have never become part of our lives and for that we will always be grateful.

I don’t believe in predestination, but I do believe that some things happen for a reason and aren’t just happenstance or random accidents. That’s why Barbara Clark put his leash in one of my hands and a bag of hot dog pieces in the other when we went to the Greyhound reunion in Zilker Park one September afternoon. That’s why he and Sophie - our then 8-year-old alpha-plus warrior queen - sniffed, rubbed noses, and decided they’d get along without any fuss.

I fell in love immediately, even though I didn’t admit it to myself. But I kept thinking about him for the next few weeks, and then Pam Cook sent out a message late in October that he needed a foster home. We decided we would take him in as a foster and think about adopting him if things worked out well. Pam picked him up from Dog Camp and met us at Zachary Scott theater, near where we lived at the time. Without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped in the back seat of my car and settled down like he’d done it every day of his life. When we got home, we put his bed in the living room and he settled down like he’d always lived there.

The next day, Sara called Pam to let her know that we’d be adopting him, and that was that. He was meant to be with us, and we were meant to be with him.

In the next few days, he discovered the furniture. First, there was the living room chair - comfy, but a little small. Then the couch - perfect for stretching out on. Finally, the king-size  bed - a good jump up, but the softest thing he’d ever found.  And he discovered a whole new world of treats. And he discovered that he loved Sara more than anything else in the world, and that she felt the same way about him.

He was home. There was a greenbelt to walk on, a stream to dip his paws in, cats next door to bark at, and an armadillo to chase under the shed in the back yard. A year passed, we moved to a new house, and he had a new neighborhood to explore.

Of course, you can never leave the past completely behind. He still reacted aggressively to cats and other male dogs (egged on by Sophie, who never met a non-grey she didn’t want to challenge). Certain things terrified him - especially pre-adolescent boys, small yappy dogs, and loud garbage trucks. Occasionally, something would trigger a panic attack - usually the garbage truck or a group of people. I learned to recognize when one of these was coming on and would just hold him until he calmed down. 

We speculated about his past, wondered if and how long he’d been a stray, felt he’d been abused, and guessed at his age. He probably came from the illegal racing that goes on east of Austin and had been thrown away when we he was no longer useful. Maybe somebody adopted him and treated him badly, or maybe he ran away and was a stray until someone caught him and dumped him at Town Lake. We’ll never know.

But as time passed, he became calmer and more confident. He filled out, his coat became thick and glossy and silky soft, and he discovered toys and would play with them every day. No squeaky toy was safe - he’d toss it, paw it, and gnaw on it until he killed the squeaker. We sewed them up when we could and bought new ones when we couldn’t. 

My favorite thing was to get up in the morning, discover him lying on the the couch cockroached on his back, and rub his chest. He had the best chest ever - silky soft and broad enough the I could lay my whole hand flat and rub. I don’t know who enjoyed it more, but he could never get enough. Sometimes I’d rub his chest or his haunches until my hands cramped, and still he’d want more.

Rufus never sulked or pouted, never got jealous, never was mean, never got snarky, and never acted sad or depressed. Except for the things that occasionally scared him, he was always happy. In the beginning, he was grateful for everything with a look that seemed to say he couldn’t believe that this was happening to him. Eventually, he got used to it but still wagged his tail for every little thing.

I always wondered about the breadth of his chest, and the robustness of his midsection, and the crook in his nose that reminded me of a Borzoi. People came up to me at various times and asked if he was a short-haired Afghan. I always wondered if he was a mix of greyhound and some other sighthound. Again, we’ll never know.

The one thing he didn’t do much of was run. He had a happy trot that he would break into when he was feeling good, or wanted to catch up to Sophie, but he very seldom broke into a real full-out run. I noticed that his back right leg seemed a little stiff and wondered if it had been injured. 

We started taking him to the dog park at Clarksville to both give him a chance to run and  a chance to socialize with other dogs. This had mixed results, especially if there was a yappy little dog. But one day last summer he took off running full-tilt after another dog he’d been playing wth, which thrilled us.

A few days later, though, he was limping a little bit on his back leg. We assumed he’d hurt it running, took him to the vet, and treated it until it got better. The limp went away for a while and then came back a few weeks later. We took him back to the vet and this time she diagnosed it as arthritis because the xrays seemed to indicate calcium deposits on his leg. This came as a big surprise to us, because we had been assuming he was about 5 years old. But this diagnosis seemed to indicate he was at least 7 years old. It made us sad when we thought about it, because it meant that his former life had lasted even longer than we’d been assuming.

But he was with us now, and we were going to have years to love him to make up for whatever had happened before his rescue. But the limp got worse as the fall passed, and Sara took him back to the vet. The diagnosis shocked us all - Rufus had  soft-cell sarcoma that had already spread to his lungs. 

The vet gave him two months. He got three and a half, and we were grateful for every single extra day. His back right leg got worse until he could no longer walk on it at all, so he learned to hop around on three legs. We had to stop taking him for walks, so he decided his job was to keep the back yard free of cats, birds, and possums. We worried constantly, afraid he’d fall or hurt himself, but he just kept going. His tail kept wagging, his appetite was good, and the possums stayed up on the power lines.

He turned nocturnal, sleeping on the bed all day and prowling the backyard at night. One of us would sleep in the back to watch over him, and his increasing restlessness would keep us up most of the night. We could see the end coming, especially when he began to loose muscle mass in his legs, but his days were still good and he seemed happy in spite of everything.

The end was very peaceful. We saw that he wasn’t having good days anymore and his breathing was getting increasingly labored. We made our decision and called the mobile vet. On his last day, he climbed up on the bed - his favorite place - one final time. It was a beautiful day and we opened the front window so he could look outside and watch the cars and people go by. We laid next to him while Dr. Wyatt ministered to him and held him as he slipped away.

I regret not doing all the things we wanted to do with him. He loved the water, and we never got enough chances to take him places where he could splash around. He loved riding around in the car, and we never got to take him on a road trip, and we never found a perfect meadow for him to run around in. We never planted the grass in the garden bed that we were going to dedicate for him and Sophie. And I regret that he wasn’t with us long enough to overcome his fears and his shyness, because we always wanted everyone else to see him the way we saw him. 

But there is no way that we could have loved him more, and no way we could ever regret having him in our lives.

He was our miracle boy, and just because a miracle doesn’t last forever or even for as long as you expect doesn’t make it any less miraculous.