My Little Boo –

I am so grateful that you came to be with us for the last year and a half of your life. But I think back to all of your life that I missed, and I am sad. You were running at Dairyland when I graduated from college. When I adopted my first greyhound, you were running at Southland. All of that seems a lifetime ago, and for you it was. To think that if our paths had crossed sooner, I could have been your momma for as long as I was Palu and Tobey’s momma. I wish I had known you all that time.

I hope with all my heart that you knew love with your old family. That they deserved to have those 9 years with you. I want to hate them for returning you after all that time; I could not have returned you after knowing you for 9 minutes, let alone 9 years. I will never understand that. But in the end I am just thankful that you came to me finally.

I knew from the first moment I saw you that I would love you fiercely and deeply. That I would do anything to protect you and make you happy.

I also knew that you were almost 13 years old, and that any time I had with you would be a gift. You gave us a beautiful year and a half, far more than I had any right to expect. And every day I felt lucky to have you.

Everything feels empty without you here. I don’t have you to check on tonight, to make sure that you are safe and nested into your bed, resting comfortably. You’ve been constantly on my radar for all this time, and I find myself watching to make sure none of the young ones bump into you and knock you down, or take your favorite bed. Even with all these other dogs here, I don’t know what to do without you to take care of.

Of course, until the last you really didn’t need me to take care of you. You were a tough, sassy, spunky guy, full of life. You had the most intelligent and watchful expression, and you were the most food-motivated dog I’ve ever had. Imagine my surprise when the tiny, super-senior dog I had just adopted immediately puts his front paws up on the kitchen counter and grabs things. I will miss you dragging Sunny’s whole big backpack (half as big as you were!) from the kitchen to your bed, unzipping it, pulling out her lunchbox and seeing what you might find inside. I would just stand in amazement and watch you do it, determined and capable. If you found nothing you wanted, I would be so charmed by you that I would offer an apology and get you a snack from the kitchen for your trouble.

I knew you couldn’t really hear when the rustle of the treat bag failed to rouse you from sleep. But when you saw all the other dogs making their way to the kitchen, you would always get up and wind your way to the front of the line. After a while you learned that if you missed a treat, I would bring one to you on your bed. So sometimes you would sit there and wait for it, ears up and alert, knowing that I would not let you down.

You were not afraid of anyone, and never hesitated to give bigger, younger dogs a good grumph to put them in their place. And even though you were the oldest, the smallest and the most delicate, none of the other dogs ever questioned your authority about anything. They all knew that if you wanted a spot on a bed, they had better get out of it. If there was an argument, they would never try to involve you in it. You stayed above it all, and by my side. Even today, just an hour before you died, you decided Petey needed to be taken down a peg and you gave him a classic slow-motion snap right in front of his face. Big 2-year-old Petey high-tailed it out of your way. You made me laugh even when my heart was breaking. I told you, “That was awesome.”

You always wanted to be in the middle of things when we were showing adoptable dogs. I don’t know how many families came for a young fresh-off-the track dog and left wishing they could adopt you instead. Kids telling parents, “My favorite one is Boozer.” I would tell them you were 13 years old, and still they could not help being utterly taken with you. I know they will all remember you forever. Maybe some of them will open their hearts to a waiting senior someday because of you.

Your favorite thing was to be brushed, even though you hardly had any fur to speak of and certainly not enough to get matted. But when you saw the nubbly rubber glove come out, you would come out of nowhere to stand next to me. If I brushed another dog who actually needed brushing, you would get between me and them, telling me “I’m afraid it is my turn now, forget that other dog.” It felt so good that your legs would get weak and I would have to hold you up with one arm and brush you with the other.

Your favorite treat was Dairy Queen, and you were not the most patient pup while you waited for me to finish mine. I would hold my cup up close to my chest, one hand guarding it, and still your nose would find its way in. When it was your turn, I would hand you the whole cone and it would be gone almost before any of the other dogs even had one spoonful. Who is going to get the cone now, Little Boo? I miss you so much.

My little Nugget of Goodness. My little baby bear. I loved you more than you could ever know. I would have given anything for one more day with you, but I couldn’t let you hurt anymore. I don’t understand why loving you this much didn’t heal you. Every time a special one like you leaves, I am always bewildered that love could not make you well again and keep you here, that there is no magic in it to make you whole. Because I loved you with all my heart, little one. And even though I couldn’t take the cancer away, I hope you knew how loved you were and that this was your home forever.

I miss you my fuzzy little bean. I wish I could hold your tiny body in my arms again and pet your soft bunny fur. You brought me so much joy, laughter and amazement. I will always be grateful for the time we had together.



My old buddy Palu, our very first one.  None of us could have known what you would start; all we new was that you were awesome.  Even though I was afraid of you at first!  Seems ridiculous now, after all the hounds that have come through here.  But I had never had a big dog before, and I thought for a few days that you might decide to turn on me and eat me.  Nothing could have been further from your true nature.  Gentle, tolerant, the last to complain about anything.  Sure, you got to be a bit of a grump in your teenage years, but I bet I will be grumpy too when I am 14×7 years old.

You gave us so many laughs.  I must have taken thousands of pictures of you sleeping with all 4 feet in the air (and that was before digital cameras!), thinking it was a personality quirk specific to you alone.  Well, even if all greyhounds do it, none of them did it as well as you.

You put up with so much from your little sister Abby.  I think you really loved her, and I think you missed her when she was gone.  If there is something after this, I hope she is there with you driving you nuts.  When I think of you, one of the first things that pops into my mind is the two of you playing tug-of-war with that squeaky blue elephant.   She with tightly clamped jaws, just hanging on (like a dog on a bone, as it were), and you trying valiantly to shake it free from her grip.  You almost never won, but when you did, she would scold you with a loud yip of frustration and go right back after it as you tried to scurry away.  The two of you were quite a pair.

When the other hounds began arriving, you accepted everyone with your usual patience.  You never needed to be the center of attention; you were always just happy to be part of the family, along for the ride.  Remember traveling with 3 other hounds in the back of the Beetle?  People would stop on the street to watch you all get out of the car.

It makes me sad to think of you watching so many come and go.  Of the original crew, only Chester and Tobey remain.  Did you miss your old friends?  Abby, Crisco, Annie, Tanner?  The founding hounds of MNGR.  That’s still where I start in my mind when I name off the dogs of our family.

And remember the Meet n Greets with Carl in Atlanta?  You came along every weekend, and were the most reliable ambassador.  I have in mind a particular little boy, maybe 2 years old, who just kept on putting his fingers in your eyes over and over.  But you sat very still, looked over at me to be sure I was watching, and let him try to figure you out.  You were always the perfect first greyhound for anyone to meet.

You were so stubborn and patient and stoic, you truly could have lived forever, buddy.  But we knew that you had to be in pain, even though you never once complained.  I know how hard you tried, such a “Tuffy” until the last.  We miss you, Palu.  Nine years in our family, and there is a huge hole now.  But we could never forget you.  You are the one who started it all.  MNGR, BigOrangeDog, it has all been about you.  Everything going forward comes back to you, our first.

Thank you for helping so many other hounds, and for helping me find what I love to do.  Thank you for always just being there, no matter what.  We love you, Palu-walu.  Snack Hound, Stuffie Killer Extraordinaire, and my Buddy.



My sweet and brave Apollo,

I’ll never know what the first 9.5 years of your life were like, or why you lost your other family.  All I wanted was to make you a part of our family, and make you understand that it was really and truly forever.

You had a bit of a hard time trusting people, I know.  You were friendly and outgoing, but were wary of anyone who got too close to you.  I’m grateful that during our time together, you decided to let me in.  That in the end, you were able to take comfort from being close to me.  That you could lay your head on my shoulder and relax while I rubbed your face.

At Heartland, they said you were a “gentleman.”  That’s true.  You always had a dignified air about you, even when you let go a bit and ran just for the sake of running.  The way you sat on your bed watching the household goings-on, your long neck appearing even longer with your missing scapula, you were stately and magnificent.

When people came to adopt greyhounds here, I can’t even count how many times the families wanted to take you home instead of the adoptables.  Especially children, even though you never particularly cared for children.  They were all drawn to you.  Families ignoring vibrant 2-year-old females in favor of a big senior tripawd boy.  There was just something about you.  Always so gentle, so sweet.

You were a beautiful boy.  And that’s not just a mama talking.  The kind of beautiful that made everyone stop and remark upon it whenever we were out.  You had that Art Deco silhouette, everything tapered and elongated.  Delicate but strong.  Soft and sleek.  I remember the feel of your neck and chest under my hands.

I wish I had known you better when I had to make that life-or-death decision for you.  You had only been in our family for 4 months at the time.  I have questioned myself, doubted, regretted, reassured, and questioned again whether we did right by you to take your leg.  I only hope that you understood, at some level, that we were trying to help you.  That every decision was made out of love.

You amazed me from the first day after your amputation, when you hopped out of that clinic under your own power and only got better each day after that.  I know it was hard on you emotionally, but you were brave and you bounced back.  You just kept right on going through everything.  I remember clearly the day we took that video of you running in the front yard.  It was the day that you realized that you could still run.  From that point on, you were yourself again.  Having that video of you saves me.  It helps me remember that you had joy here.

I think that you were happy here, on 4 legs and on 3.  You would run in fast from the yard sometimes, just for the fun of it, or take off to the far corner if Brad was barking at something there.  You learned to recognize my MNGR shirts, and campaigned hard to go to every event with me.  I loved to see you so excited and bouncy, knocking into everyone, wagging your long whip of a tail, even jumping up at me with that one front leg.  It broke my heart when I couldn’t take you.  I always took you when I could; when it was not to hot, or too far for you to walk.  I just hated ever saying no to you, with your sweet expectant face.

I knew that you were feeling good when you would hop after me every time I went to the kitchen.  I could never turn you down, and I always produced some kind of tidbit for you.  I would try to finish up whatever I was doing in the kitchen before you finished eating your treat, or you would be bopping back in there, ears up, to wait for another.

I hope that I can always recall the sound of your high-pitched, hoarse but piercing bark.  You almost never barked, but when I came home, you would almost always meet me at the gate, barking that silly bark.  That was one of those times when I could count on some big tail wags from you.  Oh, those wags of your skinny, curly tail made me so happy.  I just loved that you loved me, after all you had been through.  I’d put myself between you and the rest of the thundering herd, so they wouldn’t knock you off balance.  I would lean over you and hug you, rub your prickly new fur under your chest where your leg used to be, kiss your head and tell you how happy I was to see you.  The house howl will never be the same without your high bark to get them started.

Oh, Pallo.  I miss you so much already, my honeybear.  You were such a huge piece of this family, our “pack.”  The girls love you too, even though you didn’t want to play with them.  They were always concerned about you, asking whether you were okay, showing me that they were being gentle around you.  They name their stuffed dogs Apollo, and draw pictures of dog-creatures named Apollo.  I am so glad that they got to know you too.

Thank you for being part of our family.  For trusting us, forgiving us, for trying so hard, and for loving us.  You have a space in my heart for you and only you.  I love you, my baby boy.



To my Small White Dog:

I only knew you with four legs for a few weeks.  I had only just met you when I had to make that life and death decision for you.  So I watched you carefully, and you showed me who you were.  At 11 years old, I watched you dart around, tease the younger dogs, dig holes and stamp your feet.  You were bright and alert, small but tough.  I thought, maybe he can do this.

But damn, little guy.  You amazed everyone.  You were the strongest little creature – dog, human or otherwise – that I have ever known.  You didn’t let that bone cancer take you down without one hell of a battle.  No one would have blamed you for getting tired and giving in after the amputation, during chemo, or when the first metastasis showed up.  But you didn’t give in.  You made the disease fight every step of the way.  But your little body was not as strong as your spirit.

Even as the cancer was in your one front leg, your spine, your lungs, and probably everywhere else, you kept up your spirit.  You got up every day and did your thing, with dignity and determination.  You enjoyed your food, you checked out things in your yard, you exchanged sniffs with your brothers and sisters.  You were yourself until your very last day.

I can’t help but feel that a part of your will to keep going was that you were happy here.  I hope that’s true.  I wish with all my heart that I could have given you more days of a forever family.  But I think maybe at least you knew that this time it was different.  I hope you knew that we would never ever leave you.

I only got to know you for 6 months, little bean, but you changed everything.  You came into our lives when I needed you most, after losing my Crisco, and you gave me a reason to get up in the morning.  You showed me that I can find my way back after these losses; in fact, that I have to find my way back because there is always another who needs me.  Thank you for needing me.  Thank you for trusting me to take care of you.

I have so many beautiful memories of you being your extraordinary self.  The truly amazing feats, like digging your one-armed trenches in the ground.  And the everyday miracles, like yipping with that particular timbre of annoyance to let me know from down the hall that I needed to come evict another dog from your favorite bed.

After we found that the cancer had spread, I didn’t know whether I would ever see your “go outside” routine again, but you gave it to me one last time.  The insistent wag of your tail, the tossing of your head like a young bull, and finally the loud and unmistakable bark.  Sometimes even a stamp of your front foot for good measure.  We both knew that I knew what you wanted, but I would wait for you to go through your whole routine just for the pleasure of watching you.  Then I would walk to the kennel with you hopping along happily beside me, still wagging.

It was pure joy to see you run on 3 legs, sweet pea.  It was like you had never known any different.  I would laugh and cry to watch you, so grateful that you were feeling good.

I loved your interactions with that little hooligan Hank.  You had such an interesting relationship with him, truly like an irritating little brother.  The only time you would put on your mean face was when he tried to steal your treats, then you would give him your best snarl-and-scold that would send the big strong dog skittering and yelping across the room.  In the yard, when you were feeling playful, you would stalk him like prey and then spring out at him.  I would laugh to see you standing there motionless, watching him with your head down and ears up, hunting.

You loved to go places with us, and even on days when you were full of pain, you would bop up and give me tail wags to come along in the car.  You quickly learned about drive-thru windows, and would hop up behind my seat and watch carefully as I ordered.  And I’ll never forget the trip with you to the 5th grade class, and the girl who said, “Why would anyone want a 4-legged dog when you could have one like Whitey?”  They all asked me about 3-legged dogs for adoption, and were disappointed when I said we had none.  But they saw that there was something special about you too.  You were once-in-a-lifetime.

Oh, little Whitey-Mikey.  You were my little tail-wagger, my perky little bean, my sweet little hopper.  A small bundle of amazing energy, joy, watchfulness, and strength.  I am so, so grateful that I got to know you.  Our family is so much richer for having you a part of it.  I am so sorry that I couldn’t make you well again.  I hope you understand that I tried, that I was fighting along with you.  I thought we could beat it together, I really did.  And if I could’ve taken it from you, I would have in a moment.  I wish we had gotten more time together.  I wish you had gotten more time to be part of a family.  You will be a part of me forever.  This is your home.  I love you so much, Small White Dog.


Crisco Roo


To the bestest Roo that anyone ever knew:

I didn’t know what to say to you today, in what I knew were your final hours.  In the past 7 years, I’ve already told you everything.  We knew each other.  I wasn’t worried about whether you knew I loved you – although I told you that over and over today.  We understood each other, and I know that you knew it.

I loved you more than anyone in the world.  I knew you better.  You knew me better.  I could read the look in your eye and tell what you were thinking.  And at the same time, you were more “canine” to me than any of the others.  You didn’t hesitate to bare your teeth, snap or chase.  It was a reminder of how amazing a thing it is to have this bond with an animal, one that could have chosen to bite me, but instead chose to love me.  Somehow we were the same.

I miss you like a part of my own body.  Truly like a section of my heart is gone, and it is only half beating now.  You were everything to me.

All along we’ve been best friends, but in these past sad months you have been the reason I get out of bed in the morning.  You’ve been my security blanket at times, my foundation at others.  I go to you and draw an unlimited supply of comfort.  Just by you being you.

Last night, in the dark, you looked at me and you told me that you were done.  And however much I wanted you here with me, I had to let you go.  I wish with my whole heart that I could have made you young and well again.  It seems impossible to me that anyone so loved could ever die.  That there is no magic healing in it.  I know you understand that if I could have taken the sickness from you, I would have done it joyfully.

I remember the day I came to get you from Carl’s.  You were in a wire x-pen, and you put your feet up on the sides to get to me.  You used to jump up to give hugs, put your feet on our shoulders and lick our faces.

I’m sorry that I was such an idiot when you first came, and tried to make you sleep in a kennel.  I was new at the whole dog thing.  I thought people should sleep in beds, and dogs in kennels.  You were patient with us and taught us the right way.  What will I do with the ocean of empty space in our bed now?  Without being able to put my face in the top of your head, where I’ve always said it smelled like sleeping.

There was nothing better than to wake in the night with the back of your paw in my face, to look over and see you sprawled on your back, belly up, legs going everywhere.  So peaceful.  I would reach over and pat your belly, grateful to see you so comfortable and happy.

It became Your Bed, and we were lucky that you let us sleep in it with you.  Especially your daddy.  It made me laugh every night when you scolded him for getting in, but then snuggled up to him once he was there.

Who will I share snacks with now?  I’m in the habit of giving you everything you ask for, never finishing my own cookie, never going to the kitchen and making myself a meal without making you a little something too.  Sometimes you would have crusty fur on your neck from sticking your head into a mixing bowl to lick out the batter.

Those things make you sound goofy, but you were regal.  Your posture, the way you moved.  I picture you coming into the kitchen to see what I’m up to, with your head held high, eyes bright, ears perked up and the tips flapping with each step.  You had such a confident walk, always holding your tail high and wagging.  I can hear the mmm-tsss sound of your walk, the one toe that cracked and the one foot that dragged a little, giving you your own little disco backbeat everywhere you went.

And I picture you lying on your bed at countless Meet n Greets, paws crossed in front of you, watching everything that went on with your intelligent eyes.  Someone would stop to pet you and you would graciously let them, holding your chin high and half-closing your eyes.  You rode at the head of the parade float on your soft bed, wearing your crown like any deserving king, and everyone adored you.

MNGR exists because of you.  The number of dogs that have homes because of you, both here and in Atlanta, is probably in the hundreds.  You have changed all their lives, and especially changed mine.

I hope you have forgotten all the hard times that came before.  That all you can recall is being safe and loved in this forever family.

I wish I could think of words to describe you, words that would help me remember all the nuances of your being.  But there are no words.  I can only hold tightly to each memory of you.

You’ve been my best friend, my equal in all things, my support, my joy.  There could never be another anything like you.  My heart is bursting with gratitude that I got to have you in my life for 7 years.  That has to be enough for my lifetime.

You were my Cris, my Crisco Roo, my Rooey, my Crispy Crème donut, my Butterbean, my Snickerdoodle, my Roo Bear, and so many more.  I love you.  My heart is broken.




To my sweet baby Slider,

You’ve been with us for 6 of the hardest months of my life.  When you came here, I was in so much pain from the loss of Tanner that I didn’t know if I’d ever be okay again.  I saw something in your photo on the Michigan REGAP site, and I knew you were meant for us.  And you were perfect.

No one could be around you and be sad for long.  You were irresistible.  You gave us so much in these past months, more than most people get to have in a lifetime.

Thank you for your tooth chattering.  It made everyone laugh.  Everyone at the Meet n Greets was instantly charmed by you, instantly wanted to hug you tight.  It sounded like you were going to rattle your teeth right out of your head.  But we know you did it when you were happy.

Thank you for being such a great Meet n Greet dog.  I know you helped a lot of dogs find homes during your time with us.  Everybody loved you.  They thought you were so pretty and so soft and so sweet.  You let little kids crawl on you, and helped me eat my French fries and cheese curds all summer long.  I’m sorry we kept bringing you to places with balloons.  You really hated the balloons.  It would have been better now that the festival season is over.

Thank you for your wiggly ambling walk.  You had such loosey-goosey hips, and you waved your tail all around.  It made us smile just to watch you trucking around the house and the yard.

Thank you for your paper shredding.  You went at it with such joy and abandon.  And persistence!  You really wanted the paper shredded right now.  Tissue paper was your favorite, but newspapers, napkins, whatever you could get your teeth on would do.  I loved to watch you do it, obviously enjoying yourself so much.

Thank you for your runaway-freight-train run.  You ran sideways, without regard to where you were headed or what might be in your way.  You ran out that way today to the yard.  When I came back to get you, I expected you to run back that way to me, like you always did.  You would run past me a little, turn, dance a bit, and run back up to me.  When we’d played that game once or twice, you’d come to stand next to me and nose my hand for pets, and we’d wait for the other dogs to be done.

Thank you for putting up with your brother Crisco.  He’s old, and achey, and grumpy.  He grumped at you an awful lot, but you never grumped back.  You just sat there calmly and waited for him to get over it.  He did love you, in his way.

Thank you for the way you snarfed down your bagel sandwiches like you were a snake swallowing a rabbit whole.  You’d be done with yours before Crisco had even managed to get the top off his.  It made us happy to see how enthusiastic you were about it.

Thank you for sleeping next to me, and helping to fill the empty space that Tanner left.  I could not bear to see that empty bed every morning.  It made me happy to see you there, curled up or sprawled out.

Thank you for your excitement about car rides.  Whenever you thought you had a chance of getting brought along on a trip, no matter to where, you were so excited we could barely get out of your way.  You barreled down the stairs and through the door….Only to stop and wait for us to lift your back end into the van.

Thank you for your soft bunny fur, and your little pudgy greyhound belly.  You were like a stuffed animal when I hugged you.

Thank you for putting up with Sunny, and maybe even liking her a little bit.  She called you Si-Si.  She always wanted to bring you along in the car, and she laughed at all your silly tricks.  You were just such an easy-going, silly, goofball.

Thank you for trusting us, after so much transition and loss in your life.  I really, really hope you knew how much we loved you and that we would have been with you forever.

Sly, thank you for saving me, when I was in such a dark place after Tanner died.  You brought smiles back to everyone, brought me new hope.  You brought back thoughts of happy times to come, when I had wondered if all my happiness had died with Tanner.  You were so much like him, that if I believed in such things I would believe that he sent you to me when I needed you the most.  Neither of you had a mean or naughty bone in your body.  You were both just pure goodness.  Maybe that’s why I lost you both so quickly.  No one deserves to have that much pure goodness in their lives for long.

Sly, I loved you so much that I even thought I might be able to stand the loss of Crisco.  You made me smile even today, as I sat with him and tried to wrap my head around the idea that I will lose him soon too.  He’s been my best friend for 7 years, and losing him will be like losing a part of my body that I need to survive.  To lose him so close on the heels of Tanner’s death is just too much.  But I thought that if I had you, my sweet boy, I could get through it.  It was too much to ask of you.

I don’t know what I will do without you, my silly old guy.  I truly cannot believe that you are gone.  So fast.  You were acting goofy and playing with your bunny not five minutes before you left me.  I just hope you know that you were loved beyond measure, and that you were finally home forever.

I love you Si Slider, Sly dog, pudge monkey, fuzzy little noodle.  I will never, ever forget you.

If all this rainbow bridge stuff turns out to be true, or some version of it anyway, please take care of Tanner.  You would really have liked each other.



Tanner Portrait

To my beautiful boy…

I love you so much.  Thank you for being part of our family.  I’m so sorry that you lost your first family, but so grateful that you came to be part of ours.  I am grateful for every minute of every day I spent with you. You are my heart and soul.  You are my sunshine.  Just looking at your face could always make me smile.

Thank you for being such a sweet and gentle boy, always.  Thank you for trusting me.  You were with me when we lost our girls.  I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without you.  Thank you for the silly face you made when we tickled your cheeks.  Thank you for your air snaps.  Thank you for the way you eviscerated toys, like you just couldn’t rest until every bit of stuffing was out.  You haven’t done that in so long.  I miss it.  I wish you still could.  Thank you for the little dance you always did out in the yard.  Even when you were hurting so much, you still tried to do your dance and it made me happy to see you.

Thank you for putting up with your 7 siblings, those little hooligans.  You never said a mean word to anyone except in defense of me.  Thank you for telling them “Get away from MY mommy,” in your hoarse, throaty woof.  Thank you for adding your voice to the pack roos.  Thank you for putting up with your brother Crisco, even when he was crabby with you.  For sharing your birthdays with him, and all of your treats.  He loved you so much, just like I did.  Who will share his turkey sandwich now?  Who will be his Dairy Queen buddy?   Thank you for being his Bookend.  Half our hearts are gone.

Thank you for gamely following us to greyhound festivals in Delaware, Pennsylvania, Iowa and Kansas.  Thank you for working so hard at the MNGR events.  Do you know how many greyhounds you saved in your life?  At least 50 dogs in Minnesota, and countless more in Georgia, have homes because of you.  People came to the events and saw you, and said,  “Oh, he’s so sweet!  Oh, he’s so gentle!  Oh, he’s so beautiful!”  And they were right.  They would ask, “Are they all like that?” and we would say yes, but we knew the secret: There are no others even half as perfect as you.

The people let their kids climb all over you, and you let them, even at 13 years old.  It hurts me that Sunny will never know you.  She would have loved you.  You would have loved her too.  We sent photos of you to her in China.  I really wanted her to know you.  I’ll tell her how wonderful you were, though, and she’ll know how special you were.

Baby boy, I would have done anything in the wide world for you.  Anything.  I am so sorry that I couldn’t make you well again.  I’m sorry you hurt.  You were such a brave and strong boy.  You tried so hard.  And I wanted so badly to fix you.  I wanted to be able to pick you up and put you in my pocket and carry you close to my heart.  But I couldn’t carry you, and you couldn’t walk anymore.  I couldn’t let you be in pain.  I’m sorry, buddy.

I hope you always knew how much I loved you, and never doubted it.  Never thought that I would leave you.  I always told you I would be with you forever.  You’re in my heart forever.  My Tanner, my Fuzzy Buzzy Bee, my Little Butter Pat, my Fuzz Buns, my Doodlebug, my Foofy, my Tan Man.  My sweet, sweet precious baby boy.  I miss you.  I love you.



  1. My baby Bella Donna is about to have an amputation (I think) Left front broken radius and ulna revealed sarcoma but her lungs look great. I wanted to know how long after the amputations did you lose your babies. It will help me to make a decision here. My Bella is just so fantastic…not whining or complaining at all and has become very agile on 3 legs already -just since Sunday and she still does her prancy dance for a treat so I’m hoping and praying that amputation is the right decision for my girl. Thank You!

  2. Hi thank you for letting others share your lovely experience of homing Greyhounds and how each one has touched you differently. We have 2, Jonni who is 8 and Starr who is 3. We have had Jonni 6 years now and he is amazing, laid back in true Greyhound fashion, Starr has only been with us 6 months and has been diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma of which will now the results of tommorow if it has spread. If anyone can give us some advise on amputee greyhounds that would be great, pain killers etc
    Thanks Jackie

  3. Thank you for loving this breed so much. I’ve had 5 grey’s and each one is so special. Right now my Roxy, Roxanna, Roxanna Banana, Roxy-o-la, has bone cancer and we took her left front leg last week. I know eventually she will join our Marty and Zach across the rainbow bridge, but I’m hoping for a little more time before we say goodbye. Your posts made me weep and I can say I understand completely how important our furry friends are. Thank you.

  4. Wow. What a great memorial. You write very well, too. RIP all greyt souls.

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