Bee Wiseman was a twice-returned bounce with pannus and separation anxiety when she was finally adopted by her owners Trish and Burke. Within a few weeks after she went home they found out that she was Daddy's girl. I've read where she was so happy when he returned from work; rolling onto her back to have him rub her belly; groaning when her ears were rubbed. Burke took her every day to the auto repair shop where he worked so she could greet his customers when the disease that ultimately took her made breaking a leg a real possibility.
Trish sometimes asked me for photo advice when she photographed Bee and their other greyhound, Murray. She really didn't need to ask. Her pictures of Bee and Murray are far, far better at capturing their personalities than anything I could have done. But that is as it should be.
You can read her remembrance story here.
I met Steaky at Dewey Beach last year. He was a snuggler: it was the thing that he and Beth would often do together on their couch. She often posted pictures of the two of them doing exactly that. He was goofy and happy. While he was at Dewey he was taken for many runs up and down the beach along the water's edge. I love the expression on his face here:
It was a couple of months ago after Dewey that he began having seizures. It took many months and much patience to find a combination of drugs to get them under control. At times Beth mentioned about how hard it was to see Steak endure all this as they diligently worked on his condition. He just wasn't the same goofy dog he was before the seizures began. But finally, a drug protocol was put together that worked for him, and the dog she knew was back. For seven weeks he was seizure-free -- until this morning.
The greyhound community is a small one as dog breed communities go, and the loss of these exceptional hounds diminishes all of us who have come to know and love them even though they not be our own. Would that they could stay with us forever.
Hug your hounds.
Hug your hounds.
